Page 30 of The Serpent’s Shadow

Chapter 11

Magnus

I WAS ALREADY FEELINGweak, drained, and lethargic, yet I knew what I had to do. In order to keep Ravinica safe and Grim out of academy jail for false accusations against him, I needed to keep coming to these . . . leeching sessions.

I had no other way to describe them.

It was trying. Just casting a simple shadow-beast this morning had nearly drained me completely. How much of my blood did these bastards need to get the results they wanted?

For the past week, ever since admitting my guilt over Astrid and Corta’s murders to Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr, I’d been assigned to meet in a specific location on specific days.

Today was one such day.

I arrived at Fort Woden, staring up at the monolithic black structure that looked more like a gothic cathedral than anything else. It was interesting architecture for people of Viking heritage, with twisting spires, four towers at the corners, and numerous stories of secrets inside those blackened stained-glass windows impossible to peer into.

There was a reason the central structure of Vikingrune Academy was called a fort, and why it was dedicated to Odin, the All-Father, chief of our gods.

Initiates like me were forbidden inside. Upper classmen could not go in without express directives. The high doors wereguarded by countless Huscarls, who stayed on a perpetual watch all through the day and night.

There would be no breaking into Fort Woden as I had Mimir Tomes. I suspected there were some underground tunnels that led here, since the spiderweb of labyrinthine caverns and corridors seemed to trace the entirety of Academy Hill. If there were, the Lepers Who Leapt had not found the entrance yet. Or they kept that information close to the chest.

Fort Woden was the command center of the academy. It was the place where the Hersirs did their dirty work. From here, they watched the rest of the world, to make sure inhabitants from other realms—other worlds—were not encroaching upon Midgard. It was also home to many of the Hersirs, including the Gothi, Sigmund Calladan.

I wondered about the secrets the place held, as I stared at the edifice of the fortress and waited for my escort.

My prisoner exchange.

Eventually, four Huscarls came to greet me at the wrought iron gates. They surrounded me and wordlessly led me through a dark foyer with the slatted ceiling of an arboretum.

At the main entrance, the Huscarls passed me off to a masked, hooded acolyte. It was interesting to see the black-robed helpers of Mimir Tomes here in Fort Woden, which I considered a military encampment rather than a scholarly one.

A hood was placed over my head, before we stepped inside. It came abruptly as ever, with one of the Huscarls blotting my sight with the hood and then pushing me forward.

I followed the footsteps of the acolyte down marble hallways, onto rugs, through darkness. I could only see vague shapes through the wicker-pattern of my hood.

Eventually, a door slid open. I was led to the testing room, which I had become accustomed to over the past week.

The hood was unceremoniously pulled from my head, and I let out a deep breath. My eyes squinted against the harsh light of the overhead bulb strips—like the emergency room of a hospital.

This was one of the more alarming secrets Fort Woden held. In essence, a laboratory, with countless rooms in the large space. Misty windows partitioned the different labs where acolytes did their studies and tests.

I was one of the test subjects.

I didn’t recall this place from my youth, as a whelp when the academy had first leeched me, because most of the memories I had of that time had been blocked through magical amnesia. I only had vague fragments in my mind. Nothing here looked familiar—not the blurry windows, the robed acolyte scientists, or the tables of beakers, vials, and potions.

Someone was either protecting me from the horrors of my past, or hiding it from me. I had no idea which was the truth at this point, but I intended to find out.

Coming here was a first step in the right direction.

From my studies in Mimir Tomes, I knew what the academy wanted from me—what they wanted from any rare bloodrender. The academy wanted my blood so they could use it to create something. Super soldiers, perhaps, who could utilize my abilities to amplify their own; other bloodrenders, with scars marring their skin as a physical reminder of the sacrifice it took to use our unique magic. Maybe the academy just wanted to know how I operated, and where I came from.

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