Page 51 of The Last Valkyrie

So I pulled some trickery of my own.

One second, he was matched in battle with Gresh’kellen, their swords singing in a metallic blur. The next, I Shaped and gave our enemy a taste of his own medicine.

Gresh’kellen hissed and sliced his blade in a downward arc toward Corym’s rising steel, meant to parry—

But the dark elf met only air in a greatwhoosh.

A black hole had taken Corym’s body.

Corym now stood ten feet away from the dark elf, directly in front of me.

Before my friend could gain his bearings, I wrapped him in a hug from behind, shouldered the door open behind us, and fell into the portal, leaving the dark elves screaming in their harsh language as they descended on the cabin.

We emerged from the portal what felt like a century later. With Corym wrapped up in my arms as we went through, he dissipated from my grasp once the eerie green and blue tinges of the portal took shape around us. I was on my own, traversing the strange plane, until I found the bright beacon harkening to my need.

Alfheim was balmy, hot, and trapped in a midday green glow. We were in the Kiir’luri forest once more, among the ritualistic elfstones of the clearing.

We took a moment to take stock, catching our breaths.

“Little excitement never hurt anyone,” I told my elf comrade.

He grinned at me, getting to his feet from his knees and dusting himself off. “I had him.”

“Gresh’kellen? That’s his name?”

He nodded.

“What about the other six closing in on you? Did you have them too, elf?”

Corym glanced away but remained smiling. “What is it your people say? Touché, bloodrender.”

“How do you know the dark elf commander?”

His face turned serious. “Through combat only.”

“How long have you known him?”

His piercing gaze swiveled to mine. “Decades, Magnus.”

I left it at that, understanding by his expression he didn’t want to talk about it. I’d respect it.

As I walked past Corym, clapping him on the shoulder, I said, “Next time you’ll have him for sure, brother.”

He didn’t move with me. “Where are you going?”

I looked back over my shoulder, pointing into the distance, into the strange trees of this world. “Heira? Your nation?”

Corym said, “May as well wait for the inevitable. I believe the people you wish to speak with will be here before long.”

I shrugged and sat in the glade. We had made good time here. We could use the rest.

Sure enough, we didn’t have to wait more than an hour before the trees around us rustled and the bronze-hued Skogalfar scouting party came into the clearing. They had their silver-tipped spears drawn, their breechcloths flapping on hard, lean muscles. Their leader stepped to the front, taller than his kin, with his silver hair dappled black and brown.

Corym bowed. “Hunter-Chief Jhaeros of the Northern Kiir.”

The man grunted, speaking in his own tongue.

Corym translated, turning to me. “Prince and Bloodless One,” he calls us. “His wardtracers said there’d be one arrival based on the spirit-blood changes, yet there are two of us. He was somewhat surprised, until he realized it was you.”

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