Page 1 of Into the Isle

Part One

Allies

KING DANNON, THE LEADER of the humans, fought fiercely alongside the leader of the elves, Lord Talasin.

Together, the two commanders fought against the invading creatures, finding commonality among the two races—races that had had a tumultuous relationship before the Taldan Wars first broke out.

Dannon and Talasin were unified in the destruction of their enemies. The goblins, the kobolds, the pests, the vermin—no one was safe from the falling axe of King Dannon or the slashing blade of Lord Talasin, as they cut a path of destruction and victory through the human realm of Midgard and the elven realm of Alfheim. Ridding their respective worlds of invaders.

Toward the end of the First Taldan War, Dannon and Talasin made a discovery that would change the trajectory of their alliance and friendship in the years to come.

On a battlefield littered with the dead bodies of trolls, goblins, humans, and elves, a glowing object caught their attention. Nestled within a broad mountainside, the warlords stumbled upon a strange orb that shimmered with magic. Strewn across the artifact’s surface were deep grooves in the shapes of rune markings, which King Dannon and Lord Talasin both recognized.

The two warlords shrugged at each other, took the orb together, and hid it away from their peoples so they could study its secrets.

That night, a grand feast was held to celebrate the victory of the humans and elves over their adversaries. It was the end of the First Taldan War.

Dannon and Talasin, grinning broadly to their lords, ladies, and courts, clasped arms and claimed each other as eternal allies.

Across the table, King Dannon’s eyes caught the pristine, elegant face of Lord Talasin’s beautiful elven sister, Lady Amisara.

Dannon and Amisara smiled at each other.

Chapter 1

Ravinica

TODAY, I WOULD BRING my family name honor. Even if I had to kill family to do it.

I did not fight for the probing eyes watching the battle on the other side of the Sticks. This wasn’t a duel for the ages, to reclaim the noble birthright of my forefathers. I didn’t much care for my stepfather at all, in fact—this wasn’t about fathers or brothers or men.

No, I fought for the lesser, forgotten names. For my mother’s lineage, passed down to me. Scoffed from the lips of the villagers. Derided in hushed whispers across the moor. Detested by the people who were supposed to be closest to me, even though I had no say in my name and simply had it passed down.

Lindeen.

That was me. Daughter of Lindi, my mother. That surname was how I saw myself.

Others called me Linmyrr.

Daughter of the swamp.

I circled my younger brother within the boxlike confines of the Sticks laid out in the village square—simple yew rods stretched fifteen feet in every direction. I’d been training for this moment for years.

Inside the Sticks lay glory. Stepping outside the box? Shameful defeat.

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