Page 65 of Into the Isle

Turns out the boogeymen are real, I suppose.

Hersir Thorvi had said something toward the end of class that made me perk up in my seat.

“The records room of Mimir Tomes is off-limits to initiates, yet we will draw from some tomes there—texts rented specifically for this class—so you can gain a better understanding of the conflicts we face and the people who perpetrate them.”

The records room, I thought, glancing around the hall slyly, noticing no one else cared about that tidbit as much as I did. That’s where I need to go.

It wasn’t where I needed to go for History & Tomes; it was the first clue I’d gained to aid my ulterior motives coming to Vikingrune Academy.

I kept that part to myself, walking out the hall with Randi to attend our second class together, Combat & Strategy. I looked around for Magnus Feldraug but couldn’t find him walking in the same general direction as the rest of the students from Dorymir Hall.

I did notice Ulf Torfen and Astrid Dahlmyrr, both of whom I avoided while strolling with my new friend.

Combat & Strategy took place at Gharvold Hall, which was south of Dorymir and a little west, toward the monolithic main structure on campus, the gothic-looking cathedral of Fort Woden.

I had confidence in my abilities regarding these first two classes. The latter two, I was a bit insecure about.

Randi told me the pertinent information on the way, as we walked the cobblestone roads through a park, a winding bridge over the western stream that hooked through this part of campus and spilled down the mountainside, and toward a large quad of green flatland.

“Gharvold Hall is the garrison,” she said, hugging her textbooks to her chest. She nudged her chin down at them. “We won’t be needing these.”

“How many soldiers does Vikingrune keep at the garrison?” I asked.

“Don’t know. I’m assuming we’ll find out, babe.” Eyeing the grassy flatlands in front of us, she added, “That’s Tyr Meadow. Training grounds.”

Named after the god of war. That checks out.

Parts of the flatlands sloped into gentle hills, and beyond its southern border it was flanked by thick woods that delineated the northwestern district we were in with the southwestern district where the male dormitory, Nottdan Quarter, lay.

On the eastern side of the meadow were longhouses, stables, and corrals, and I noticed a few grazing horses lingering on Tyr Meadow. On the western side of it, to my right, was a large squat structure I assumed was Gharvold Hall. Smaller buildings surrounded it. Further west of that, on the peak of the rising hillside that overlooked the rest of the Isle, Fort Woden loomed ominously.

I glanced up at the sky, noticing a bit of cloud cover coming in now that afternoon was upon us. The chilly breeze accompanying the clouds would do well to shield us from the heat and the sweat we were sure to build up during training.

Other students were coming from different parts of the academy—the eastern and southern woods, the roads snaking around the trees, and a couple of people from the western entry gate into the academy. They all converged on Gharvold Hall for this class.

I noticed quite a few more students lining up for this one than there’d been in History & Tomes.

Randi explained, saying, “Combat & Strategy isn’t only co-ed, it’s also co-year. As far as I understand it from my brother’s time here, initiates and second-year cadets team up.”

I quirked a brow. “Team up?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

As we neared Gharvold, I spotted a wispy mane of golden hair blowing in the breeze. Pretty-boy Arne Gornhodr made his way toward the garrison from the east. He sauntered through a crowd, forcing them to part for him—even though he could have easily gone around them—displaying his seniority to the initiates.

The man wore a tight-fitting blue tunic rolled at the cuffs—unbuttoned down the first two buttons—and leather pants that made him look like he was a heavy metal frontman rather than a student of Vikingrune Academy. The academy emblem was planted on the shoulder of his fancy garb.

I quirked a smile at the sight of him and his confident swagger, though he didn’t spot me coming from the north.

Turning my head from the northern edge of the expansive Tyr Meadow, I saw Grim Kollbjorn making his way out of the thick trees lining the meadow. He stomped through the meadow, drawing everyone’s eyes due to his size, like a giant lumberjack in a loose shirt that hugged his massive frame. He even had a huge axe on his shoulder to complete the look.

Behind, moving to the grass of the meadow, headed toward the garrison, Magnus Feldraug made his appearance. He’d taken the beaten path to get here, avoiding everyone. His trench coat fluttered in the breeze, nipping at the ankles of his high black boots.

The three men who draw my interest the most, I thought. All in one place. This could get interesting.

As if reading my mind, Randi bobbed her eyebrows mischievously. “Don’t stare too long, babe. They might notice.”

My face warmed. I blinked back to reality, away from the trance of Magnus’ fluttering coat. “What?”

---