Chapter Ninety Eight: Valkyrie War

Chapter Ninety Eight: Valkyrie War
The rain hadn’t stopped since dawn. It slicked the cobblestones, pooled in the gutters, and bled the torches’ flames into wavering halos. Logan stood in the shadow of the east wall, cloak pulled tight, listening to the slow creak of the city gates as they closed for the night.

Jeff’s body had been taken hours ago. Not to the burial grounds yet no, they’d keep him in the cold chamber until the tribunal decided whether his death needed “investigation.” Logan knew what that meant. They’d twist his friend’s name, bury him twice: once in the ground, once in memory.

Footsteps approached through the drizzle. It was Corwin, his beard damp, eyes hollow.

“You should’ve left with Evelyn,” Corwin muttered, stopping a pace away.

Logan didn’t look at him. “And let them take everything? Let them kill Jeff for nothing?”

Corwin’s jaw tightened. “They already did.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of rain filled the silence, cold and steady.

“You saw him last,” Logan finally said.

Corwin nodded slowly. “He told me… he thought he was being followed. Said if anything happened, I should find you.”

“Followed by who?”

Corwin hesitated. “The masked benefactor’s people. Or someone working for them. Jeff didn’t know for sure. But he said” Corwin’s voice cracked, “—he said you’d understand why they’d come for him.”

Logan turned sharply, eyes flashing. “If they thought Jeff knew where Evelyn went…”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Corwin cut in. “They’re tightening their grip, Logan. Every ally we’ve got left they’ll hunt them down until you’re standing alone.”

A gust of wind pushed the rain sideways. Logan stepped closer to the wall, lowering his voice. “Then we stop them first.”

Corwin shook his head. “You’re talking about war.”

“I’m talking about making them bleed for Jeff.” Logan’s tone was low, dangerous. “Every man they send after us doesn’t come back. We make them afraid to leave their own doors.”

Corwin’s eyes searched for him, weighing the fire there against the risk. “And when will they come for you? Because they will. You’re not untouchable, Logan. Not without Evelyn.”

The mention of her name landed heavy. She was far from here, chasing her own fight in another city, unaware that Jeff’s blood had been spilled in the streets they once walked together.

Logan’s hands curled into fists. “She doesn’t need to know. Not yet.”

Corwin’s brow furrowed. “You think you’re protecting her. But if she comes back and finds out you kept this from her…”

“I’ll take that risk.”

The silence stretched again. Rain pattered against the stone. Somewhere beyond the wall, a bell rang for the ninth hour.

Finally, Corwin stepped back. “If you’re serious about this, we’ll need more than vengeance. We’ll need real, solid proof. We hit the wrong person and Jeff dies for nothing.”

Logan’s voice was like steel. “Then tomorrow, we will start digging. Names. Faces. Whoever held the blade that cut him down, I want them before me alive or dead.”

Corwin studied him one last time, then nodded grimly. “Alright. For Jeff.”

“For Jeff,” Logan echoed, the words tasting like a promise he wouldn’t break.

The rain kept falling, but now, it felt like a drumbeat.

The rain hadn’t stopped for two days. It drummed against the barracks windows in an endless, restless rhythm, as if the whole city were holding its breath. Logan sat alone at the council table, shoulders bowed, staring at the small pool of water gathering under his gloves. He hadn’t taken them off since Jeff’s death.

Corwin entered quietly, bringing with him the smell of wet stone and smoke. He didn’t sit right away, only stood at the head of the table, his voice low.
“You can’t keep blaming yourself,” he said.

Logan didn’t look up. “Can’t I?” His voice was flat, almost calm, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “He was covering my flank. That arrow was meant for me.”

“Or it was meant for him all along.” Corwin finally took a seat, the chair groaning under his weight. “You know how the benefactor’s people work. They take what matters most. Not what’s easiest to kill.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists. He’d been in the southern quarter when Jeff fell, chasing some phantom lead about a shipment through the canal gates. By the time the messenger reached him, the streets had already claimed Jeff’s blood.

The door creaked open again. Nadia stepped inside, rain dripping from the hem of her cloak. She shut the door behind her and crossed the room without a word. When she set a small pouch on the table, the metallic clink inside was sharp in the quiet.

“They found the one who shot him,” she said. Then, after a pause, “Or they found his body, anyway. Someone silenced him before we could.”

Logan’s gaze darkened. “Convenient.”

Nadia drew the pouch open just enough for the red gleam of a polished stone to catch the candlelight. “This was in his pocket. A bloodstone token, marked with the Broken Tower’s seal.”

For a long moment, Logan stared at it. The reflection staring back at him on the smooth surface looked older than he remembered harder, colder. “Then they’ve stopped hiding.”

“Or they want you to know,” Corwin said. “Which is worse.”

The storm filled the silence between them, hammering against the roof like the drumbeat of a march. Logan closed the pouch again and pushed it toward himself.
“If they think Jeff’s death will scare me off, they’ve miscalculated,” he said.

“That’s exactly what they want,” Nadia warned. “You are charging in blind.”

“Then I’ll let them th
ink I am,” Logan replied, rising from his chair, “while I plan their funeral.”