Page 74 of The Last Valkyrie

AS WE LANDED ON THEshores of Selby Village, cutting through the final fjord that led into the peninsula, I managed to calm my speeding mind and heart.No,I thought.That’s impossible. I’m being stupid. If Sigmund is my father, where are his half-pointy ears? His silver hair? How can he be the “dragonslayer”—a man trying to eradicate the world of Azerot the Wrathseeker’s descendants—if he’s dragonkin himself? It makes no sense.

Even though the logic wasn’t there, the mere thought of it brought bile burning up my throat. I pushed the dismaying notion aside as theGray Wraithstruck landfall, bottoming out on the shoreline.

Within minutes, the ten of us had disembarked and began wading through the frigid knee-high waters toward the outcropping of longhouses and structures in the distance.

Gothi Sigmund led the way, but I wouldn’t let him get too far ahead, hurrying to keep pace with the chieftain. Thane Canute was never more than three feet from him.

An elderly fisherman I recognized lifted his head from the bank and let out a squeal of shock at seeing ten burly figures headed his way. I imagined we looked like Vikings of old storming an English bank through the fog, ready to lay waste to their pristine monastery.

The fisherman went running off toward town, undoubtedly to alert people to our presence.

Minutes later, as we neared Selby Village, I could hear the low thrum of conversation and surprised shouting rising up from the villagers on the wind.

We had brought excitement and activity to my small, peaceful village.

A row of ragtag men in leather armor and old rusty weapons waited for us just before the first longhouse. One of the men was hurrying to throw on a tin helmet, and it was somewhat adorable because he had to be ninety years old.Still living in the Middle Ages, Klein? Even in the twenty-first century.

I smiled at the old man’s show of defiance—lifting his chin, his helmet tipping awkwardly on his head. Five younger men and women were by his side, stopping our progress.

“What is the meaning of this?” Klein shouted in a cracking voice. He raised a spear, wagging it in the air. “Outsiders to Selby Village are unwelcome unless given admittance by our elders.”

Sigmund stepped forward to announce his status, but a voice to the side cut him off, piercing through the tense standoff like a knife through butter.

“Stand down, Klein. This here is Sigmund Calladan, Gothi of Vikingrune Academy.”

Swordbaron Korvan appeared from around the side of a longhouse, his two swords strapped to his hip, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Korvan!” I shouted gleefully. He was a sight for sore eyes.

The man who had raised me from youth—taught me fighting, honor, and who acted like a father figure when I had none—nudged his chin past Sigmund when he noticed me standing in his shadow. “Our most illustrious children have evidently returned.”

Korvan bowed his head to Eirik and Damon next to me. He had trained them as well—Hel, he’d trained everyone in this damned village.

The Swordbaron sidled up next to Klein and patted him kindly on the shoulder. “Be a lad and get Lindi and Hallan, won’t you? Tell them their kin is here.”

Klein swallowed hard and nodded. I noticed the slump of his shoulders, the sheer relief at not having to defend the village’s honor and sanctity in his declining age.

Klein ran off with the others and left Korvan standing in front of us, his arms folding over his chest. His brown-and-gray hair had grown longer, down to his shoulders, though he kept his beard trimmed and proper. He was as strong-looking as ever, with burly arms and a lithe build—impressive for a man well into his fifties.

The ruckus from the village had gotten louder as more and more people came out of their hovels to see what all the fuss was about. I heard the whispers, the rumors already building.

Clearly, Ma had not told anyone about the letter she’d sent me, because we were unexpected.

“It is good to see you again, Swordbaron,” Sigmund eked out. It sounded like his words were strained, said through gritted teeth.

“And you, Sigmund.” Korvan sounded more comfortable, if not a little surprised to see us.

My brow knitted and I darted looks between the two men.They know each other?

“You remember Canute?” Sigmund asked, as if trying his hardest to make small talk while we waited. He shouldered the giant man next to him.

Korvan chuckled. “How could I forget? Only man to nearly best me with a sword in my day, eh, Canute?” His tone wasteasing, showing me a side of the serious, heartfelt tutor I’d never seen.

Canute grunted. “It’s Thane now.”

Korvan went into an obnoxious, over-the-top bow, clearly not cordial with the guardmaster of Vikingrune. “Apologies,ThaneCanute.”

Gods, what is happening? Korvan must have attended the academy. Clearly. How did I never know that?

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