Page 174 of Into the Isle

I stared in disbelief as I watched one of those cruel blades cut into the chest of a Vikingrune soldier, spraying blood everywhere. Another man was summarily decapitated not five feet from me, before he could even raise his spear.

One of the soldiers lifted his spear, and the blade sliced clear through the top of the wood and took the man’s throat with it.

Guttural cries and bloodcurdling screams filled the peaceful afternoon.

Arne tossed icicles at one of the attackers, and the projectiles shattered into a thousand tiny snowflakes as it landed on the man’s golden armor, merely pushing him back a few feet.

To his credit, the damned fool hurried over to me at the creek and stood in front of me with his arms out wide, as if he was some fucking hero.

I would have scoffed, if I wasn’t so awestruck. We’re both going to die, you idiot. No point trying to prove your honor now.

I had never seen anyone fight like these menaces from Hel. Even on my best day, they used maneuvers I’d never seen. I wouldn’t have been able to bring down one, most likely—much less the ten that now crowded the meadow.

Besides their golden armor, they wore helmets with horns that covered their faces, and had long hair spilling out the back. The hair was bright like the sun, nearly blinding.

Their pristine armor and weapons were quickly coated with the blood and gore of my Huscarl captors.

With the six soldiers dead, splayed along the meadow, they advanced on Arne.

The iceshaper didn’t cower, and he didn’t back down. He held his shoulders high—

Until one of the attackers pushed him aside and approached me. Another man held Arne down, pinning him to the grass.

I only realized how tall the man was once he walked in front of me—nearly Grim’s height, yet lithe and slender where Grim was stocky and broad.

The man crouched in front of me. I could see nothing past the golden plate of his helmet. Nothing but the shimmering yellow eyes on the other side.

Slowly, the man removed his helmet.

Arne, from his back, gasped, as if he knew something already that I didn’t.

The first thing I noticed was the beauty of this man. He was regal, with sharp lines and an angular jaw. His eyes pierced into my soul. He looked alien, honestly, like nothing I’d seen before. His hair was silver, but more pure and platinum than the messy silver of mine with its black-green streaks.

My eyes widened as I took in the rest of him.

The ears. Pointed—and not in the rounded, half-ass way that mine were. No, these ears were long, full, sweeping toward the side of the man’s head, severely narrowing at the tips.

“Ljosalfar,” I breathed.

He looked at me curiously, with a foreign expression. Taking in my features, he reached beside him and produced a gorgeous dagger with marks along the blade.

“No!” Arne screamed from the side.

The man holding him down punched him in the ribs, making him cough, and I got a twisted sense of satisfaction seeing it.

The elven man in front of me gestured over with a tilt of his sharp chin. “That is the man who betrayed you?”

His voice was just as regal and deep as I would have expected. It came with a thick accent I couldn’t place—probably because this man was not from this world, if my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

But it’s impossible. Elves cannot come to Midgard anymore.

Another “history lesson” from my classes I could discard as sheer bullshit. I was staring at an elf right in front of me, and this was no dream.

“Yes,” I said in a low voice. “That is the one.”

He let out a low hum. Then he twisted the dagger around to hand me the hilt. It was gold, wrapped in leather, with a ruby pommel that shone in the sunlight.

I lifted my shoulders. “Shackles,” I said, shrugging.

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