Page 4 of The Last Valkyrie

I snickered. Dagny, Randi, and I followed my mates down the stairs to the lowest level seats, nearest the stage.

I wanted to be up close and personal when Gothi Sigmund started the assembly, so I could read between the lines and lies when he opened his deceitful lips.

Chapter 2

Ravinica

GOTHI SIGMUND CALLADAN, the chieftain of Vikingrune Academy, was a large man. He commanded the stage, moving slowly across it while speaking in a loud, booming voice. He wore a heavy coat and dark armor underneath, making him broad and intimidating.

He put on a show, neglecting his academy robes for a combat uniform. His dark hair swept over his shoulders, his beard reached his chest, and he spoke with a voice that echoed off the auditorium halls.

In front, just below the lip of the raised stage, stood the rest of the Hersirs staring out at the packed assembly. A dozen mean men and women, half of whom I didn’t recognize.

“These are unprecedented times at Vikingrune Academy,” Sigmund began, hands moving in tandem with his words, gesturing the air like a politician at a podium. “For those of you who have only recently joined us, the initiates who have not gotten to experience the splendor and camaraderie of Vikingrune Academy as it’s meant to be experienced aboveground, I apologize.”

I tilted my head, confused where he was going with that. Other students shared looks with their peers.

“I apologize because this endeavor will require assistance fromeverystudent at the academy. Initiates included.”

A wave of worried murmurs swept through the crowd.

My stomach sank. I chewed the inside of my cheek.He’s going to get people killed.It was my first and only thought.

“Never before have jotnar come to our realm. At least not in a thousand years, I’m aware of.” He spoke deliberately, slowly, bowing his head as he paced from one side of the stage to the other. “We must head them off so they don’t think they have jurisdiction to roam our realm unbidden. We will fight the giants. Some of us will die. It is the nature of battle.”

The wave of murmurs turned into a tsunami of shocked cries. I understood their outrage and grief. For the initiates, they had just arrived here from their respective villages. Back home, things had been quiet, probably peaceful. Now this? Being thrown into the lion’s den with fuckinggiants, when they didn’t know the first thing about war or Shaping the runes to use the magic coursing through their veins?

After a long pause, the Gothi held up a palm to silence the crowd. The scared hall fell to a hush.

“The jotun race is a menace to our people. If able, they’ll break our wards and traverse the seas to the corners of the world, leaving death and destruction in their wake.” His palm, still held up, closed into a fist of confidence. “The recruits of this academy have something few others possess. Runeshaping is a powerful tool. A noble heritage empowers you all. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

He flared his nostrils as he finished. I didn’t appreciate his small dig at the Lepers Who Leapt—men and women whose powers had never come to fruition, exiled from the academy.Maybe he didn’t mean it as an insult and I’m reading too much into it.

I found myself leaning forward in my seat, elbows on my knees, clasping my hands together. A hand fell on my shoulder to try and ease my tension. Grim’s hand. The usual suspect when I was starting to spiral.

“You come from strong stock and powerful families. Though you haven’t had the time to train properly and unlock your full potential and capabilities, you must place trust in your brothers and sisters at the academy. Listen to the Hersirs to guide you, initiates, and do not stray from our pack.”

Our pack?I found it an interesting way of putting it. As if Sigmund regarded Vikingrune as one big, happy family. When, if you’d been here for any length of time, you understood that wasclearlynot the case. Rivalries were intense here, violent, and even led to death.

I wondered how many initiates from the winter crop knew of the deaths of Astrid Dahlmyrr and Corta Gamdeen, or Anders Rennarfen from the previous term before I’d arrived, or the two-dozen dead Huscarls littering the fields and forests outside these protective walls.

“The academy marches tomorrow at dawn,” Sigmund announced, stunning the crowd. He stopped pacing, facing the sea of shocked students. “We head northwest through Delaveer Forest and the Niflbog, with our final destination the Selfsky Plains. There, we make our stand. Our army marches in three regiments—three paths around the Isle—to keep our numbers vague to any enemy scouts. Second- and third-year cadets will fall under the command of Hersir Axel Osfen, our battlelord. These proven warriors will be our primary fighting force, the largest of our company, and will make up the center of our attack force.”

With a motion of his hand, he beckoned the stout general standing at the base of the stage. Axel Osfen marched expectantly up the platform, standing next to his chieftain. He clasped his hands in front of him with a stern frown marring his red-and-gray beard, his bald head shiny as a bowling ball.

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