Page 142 of The Last Valkyrie

“Shield wall!” a voice called from the west.

Our heads whipped over to the sight of Hersir Axel Osfen, newly arrived with Huscarl reinforcements. They lookedmuchmore ready and aligned for the fight ahead than the initial defenders of the wall had seemed.

Sven grunted. “Better get to it then, eh?”

He dashed away before I could respond, lifting his sword and shield to join Axel and the incoming wall of muscle, armor, and spears. The Ljosalfar weren’t far behind us to the north, and the Skogalfar were already starting their deadly volleys with arrows punching into dark armor along the wall.

For the first time, I felt we finally had a chance to defend this junction. To push the Dokkalfar back and claim victory, even if only for a moment. It would be a huge morale boost.

Yet Ravinica is still missing, and my morale will never boost as long as she’s gone.The rage in my head swirled, threatening to unchain.

The sound-barrier-breaking blasts of Thane Canute’s shield rang out, and for a moment I was stunned to see the huge warrior fending off against the jotun singlehandedly—faring much better than I had.

There was magic in that shield, I was sure of it. If anyone ever deserved the title of “Defender of Vikingrune,” it was that one-eyed motherfucker right there.

Through the slowly lifting fog of dust and grime, I glanced far to my left to see how our flank was doing on the outskirts.

And that’s when I spotted Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr. He was decidedlynotlocked in the battle like the rest of us. I squinted, because he was . . .

Talking to a gods-damned Dokkalfar?!

The Steward of Vikingrune nodded to a shadowy, white-haired man near a section of the wall that was still intact, just under the rafters of a watchtower.

A dark cloak shrouded his face, but I had a profile view of him, and those blond braids running down to his chest were impossible to hide.

Twisting my head back to the fight, I saw that our people were starting to get the battle in hand, fighting ferociously against the Dokkalfar and even forcing the single jotun back toward the wall as Magnus and Arne joined Canute to fight him.

So I ran toward Ingvus to the left, fifty feet from the battle. The dark elf had vanished into the shadows, leaving the cunning Hersir alone. He began walking away, further east and further from the fight.

“Jorthyr!” I roared, twenty feet away and still moving.

Ingvus froze. He dashed a look over his shoulder, the whites in his eyes growing bigger.

He took off into the shadowy scaffolding under the watchtower.

I sprinted after him, with only a bent sword in my hand.

The sprawl of battle behind me intensified, the cries and clangs growing louder.

I dashed into muffled silence within the open alcove of the watchtower, under crisscrossing sections of lumber that held the tower up.

Slowing my roll, I muttered, “What kind of treachery are you playing at, Steward?”

A blade emerged from my left, a flash of moonlight on the steel saving my life.

I lifted my sword to desperately parry, just as Ingvus Jorthyr tore from the darkness with a snarl on his face.

He hacked at me, fighting with the trained ruthlessness of a Huscarl. The jailer moved fast, aiming at weak points of my body—veins and muscles that kept everything working.

I backpedaled and fended him off, swinging my sword around in an effort to keep him from striking me.

“They are the future, cur,” he growled as he struck at me. “No one else seems to understandthat!” A particularly vicious hack caught my blade and nearly knocked it from my grip.

I dug in, charging at him, lowering my shoulder.

He sidestepped and slashed across me, nearly severing a tendon and drawing blood and an echoing growl from my lips.

“If we want to survive, we have to compromise, as Salos said!”

---