Page 158 of The Serpent’s Shadow

A couple Huscarls to the side of the leader chuckled at the incredulousness of my request. No one, especially a student, could simplyrequesta meeting with the leader of Vikingrune Academy.

The chucklers were the younger ones. The elder soldiers elbowed them to shut up, noticing the stoic, severe expression on my face.

“That is impossible,” the commander said.

I stared at the vertical scar cutting down his right eye, rendering the socket empty. It dragged down and cut into his lip.

I gazed at the scar to show this man he didn’t scare me. None of these fuckers did, no matter how big they were, how much gear they wore, or how they presented themselves.

I said, “It concerns his prisoner, the Ljosalfar elf named Corym E’tar. Believe me, sir, the Gothi will want to hear what I have to say.”

At mention of Corym, the commander flared his nostrils with loathing. The bone piercing stretched his nostrils. He gazed directly into my yellow eyes, into my soul, while the ten other soldiers beside him shared questioning glances and looks of surprise.

The leader turned to a man and whispered something to him.

“Are you sure, sir?” the younger guard asked, eyes propping high under the rim of his helmet.

The commander simply fixed him with a wordless, deathly stare.

The younger guard nodded his apology and ran off.

I waited in the freezing morning cold for nearly half an hour, not moving a muscle or changing my stance. The commander waited with me, even as his comrades wandered off, finding me no threat.

The commander stayed unmoving, and I felt obliged to respect his resilience if he was going to respect mine. This was a man who did not underestimate anyone, and I admired that because it reminded me of the kind-hearted, stern-faced soldier who had trained me, Swordbaron Korvan.

“What is your name, commander? If I may ask.”

His lips pursed beneath his long beard. “You may not, student.”

I nodded. “Understood.”

With my attempt at trivial talk squashed, I averted my gaze and kept my arms folded. The cold winds whipped my hair around my face and bit to the bone, even through my fur coat. It took everything to keep my teeth from clattering.

Overhead, the weather was ominous, with bleak gray-black clouds and a light drizzle starting. Mixed in with the rain were flakes of snow, and in the far distance on the northern horizon, I could see that the peaks of the Telvos Mountains were topped with white.

Finally, Huscarls behind the captain started to part the way from the long entrance of Fort Woden, stepping out of the cobbled road leading up to the courtyard and foyer.

I glimpsed Gothi Sigmund marching in my direction, flanked by ten soldiers, and my heart lodged in my throat.

I had never seen the Gothi, the dean of the academy, outside his ceremonial robes during Dorymir Hall speechesand orientation. It was almost like he never left Fort Woden, preferring to lead behind the closed doors of the fortress.

Gothi Sigmund was a striking figure, taller than the rest of his soldiers tailing him, and was an equal height to the huge commander in front of me. Neither of them were as tall as Grim Kollbjorn, of course, but then again, neither was any other man I’d ever met.

Sigmund gave Grim a run for his money in size, and easily outclassed him in ambience. He had a grave aura about him, a huge black beard peppered with fetishes, bone ornaments, and braids running through his long hair and beard. He was not a pretty man, with a perpetual scowl, scars and warts marring his face, a burn mark riddling his left ear with raised, puffy pink skin, and a big nose. His eyes were pits of black and brown, discerning and small in his head.

He reminded me of a Viking of yore.

On top of that, the headmaster of Vikingrune Academy wore a blackened chainshirt that was dinged up and well-worn, gauntlets on his fists that made them the size of my torso, and greaves running up his shins.

On a freaking Monday morning.

I suppose there’s never a wrong time to be prepared for anything. Even in your own home.

The commanding Huscarl stepped away from the gate, giving Sigmund a simple head-nod as a salute.

Through the fence, the Gothi’s lips hardly moved. He spoke low in the howling wind. “What is your name, young woman?”

“Ravinica Lindeen, sir.” I pounded my chest with a fist and lowered my head in a salute.

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