Page 144 of The Last Valkyrie

Chapter 46

Ravinica

THE ACADEMY WAS A COMPLETEshitshow as I flew overhead, trying to get my bearings.

First there was the shock of it all—the Dokkalfar making a concerted effort to push into the academy from the southern gate. I wondered how they could have caught the academy unawares.What distraction must they have caused to draw people away from the southern gate? Or could they have simple muscled their way in with the help of . . .that.

Thatwas a jotun standing taller than anything else on the smoky battlefield. From my aerial view about fifty feet high, he took up much more space than anyone else, and people tried to avoid him—both dark elf and human alike.

My heart sank when I noticed who fought him: crimson hair as fiery as the blazing watchtower nearby, tendrils of blue ice, and a big man with a bigger shield.

Arne and Magnus are down there with Thane Canute!

I elevated with a flap of my wings, gliding in a circle around the crumbling southern wall to gain more intel so I wouldn’t be blindly crashing down among enemies. Heads were already starting to glance up into the sky, fingers pointing through the haze of dust.

An arrow whistled by, a feet to my right, and I jolted. I wasn’t sure where the arrow came from, but it didn’t matter. I’d been spotted and was in danger.

Rounding the wall coming from the western side, I took stock of the various academy contingents on the field. Axel Osfen led a well-oiled troop of determined Huscarls and cadets from the west. There were about fifty of them, and . . .Who’s that near the front, screaming his face off at the soldiers to close ranks? Sven!

That was three mates accounted for, though two were in a frantic fight for their lives with the jotun, nearly fighting behind enemy lines.Get to them faster, Axel!

Cutting in from the center of the academy, a straight southerly trajectory, were groups of Ljosalfar and Skogalfar. A few Vikingruners were mingled within the groups, but I saw mostly gold among them, and a flight of scary arrows pouring down on the enemy, forcing the dark elves back to the broken wall.

There’s Deitryce and Vaalnath leading the elven contingent. But where’s Corym? Surely he would be with them.

Odin’s saggy balls, how had things fallen to such shit while I’d been gone on my pointless journey?

It wasn’t entirely pointless, however, because it taught me about Dahlia and what the Tomekeeper was capable of. It painted her as one of our enemies, a disciple of Swordbaron Korvan, and I needed to alert the others once we forced back this wave of baddies.

I did one more pass-over from up high, lowering into a glide along the curve of the wall that stretched east.

My heart rumbled in my chest when I spotted the nude, delicious form of Grim Kollbjorn in all his splendor. Except my mate didn’t look very splendid right now, limping back toward the battle with only a sword in hand, a big swinging dick, and sheer audacity. He was favoring his right side, and his left arm dangled like his naughty bits, clearly useless from some wound he’d taken.

Fuck I love that man, but gods-damn me if he isn’t stubborn going into a fight like that.

Further away, my eyes took in the rest of the academy.

What I saw stunned me, and answered my question about how things had gotten to this level so quickly.

Bodies dotted the fringes of the academy in random places—broken forms on the cobblestone roads, in the central park, nestled among the trees. The garrison at Gharvold Hall showed me a vicious fight had taken place within the Ljosalfar camp, with corpses lining the space. Even Fort Woden seemed affected, its gates blown apart, glass and dead acolytes rotting beneath the moon.

As I fought off a shudder, I knew I had to join the fray and do something fast to make myself useful. Recognition dawned on me: These were not only elf or human corpses—the losses were too great and would have equaled the entire academy—but also the bodies of people with scrapped clothes and ragtag armor that would have never been allowed at the academy.

Draug.

Thatwas the distraction. Horror filled me.Given the seeming randomness of their attacks . . . they must have come through the ground from the underground tunnels.

I glanced right to Tyr Meadow, the wide expanse that went nearly as far as my eyes could see. It looked strangely peaceful, unbothered by the interior attack except for a few man-sized gopher holes where draug must have crept up through the soil.

My stomach dropped as I lowered to squint into the dark blanket of purplish grass blowing in the breeze—and my stomach dropping wasn’t from the weightlessness of losing altitude.

It was because two figures were in the middle of the meadow among the hills, on their backs, unmoving, and I recognized both. The first had the stark white hair of a Dokkalfar—theadded bun atop his head identified him as Gresh’kellen. The other unmoving form wore gold armor and had the face of a man I loved.

“Corym!” I screamed. My wings frantically slapped the wind and I gracelessly veered down. I landed hard and scrambled to my feet as I ran to the duo, wondering how the Hel they had ended up here, away from anyone else.

A dagger protruded from Gresh’kellen’s forehead. He was clearly dead.

Skidding to my knees, my hands hovered over Corym as dread filled me. He was sohurt, cut in a dozen places, and had the hilt of a sword sticking out of his fucking chest. I panicked, not sure what to do, and put my hand to his heart, next to the blade.

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