Page 4 of Into the Isle

The hiss of disapproving bystanders filled the night.

At the last moment, Damon put all his weight behind his spear-thrust, carrying his momentum toward me.

I dropped down into a severe crouch, ducking under his lumber hardly three feet off the ground. With my hands touching the dirt, spear at my feet, I brought my leg out in a deft roundhouse sweep.

Damon’s legs flew out from under him, my inertia carrying me in a spin like a trained breakdancer. When I came back around, leg still extended, Damon was on his back, billowing dirt around him.

He blinked up at the dark nighttime sky.

I lifted my heel and brought it down on his chest, hard.

The thud rang out. Air shot from his lungs in a sharp exhale. He folded in on himself. Dropped his spear. Curled into a fetal position, likely from a cracked rib.

I hopped to my feet, kicked his weapon away with the toe of my boot, and leveled my spearhead at his throat again.

He writhed, groaning in agony.

Across the way, Hallan scratched his forehead, evidently ashamed at his offspring’s sudden show of audacity and balls.

My stepfather sighed. “As I said. You’re not ready, son.” He glanced to another man in the crowd and nodded.

Swordbaron Korvan, an elder of the village, crossed the barrier of the Sticks and stood in the center of the square. “Victor, Ravinica,” he announced in his booming voice.

I grunted, nodded to him, and walked off.

No great cheer rose up from the audience as they departed. Because no one had wanted me to win.

An hour later, I had changed out of my fighting leathers and was dressed in more comfortable pants and a loose shirt that hid the curves of my body.

I stared into the crackling flames of a campfire outside my family longhouse. Alone. Going over the fight in my head, wondering if I could have done anything differently—if I could have disposed of my enemy quicker.

Shouldn’t think of Damon as my enemy, I guess, I thought.

Something nudged my shoulder. A damp sloshing trickled over my tunic.

Furrowing my brow, I looked over.

Korvan held a mug of ale down to me. The wizened man sported a small grin under his bushy gray beard, plaited in twin rivers down to his chest. “You stare at that fire any harder, it might start talking to you, cub.”

I blinked at him and the mug he held at me.

“Come on, take it,” he said, nudging my shoulder again, spilling more ale over the rim. “My arm’s getting tired. You deserve it after your victory.”

I flashed him a small smile before taking the mug and sipping from it. “Doesn’t feel like much of a victory beating up dogs.”

“Dogs can bite.” Korvan sat across from me at the fire.

“They can also bark. In fact, I think that’s all this one can do.”

He laughed, full-bellied as usual, and slurped from his own cup. “You shouldn’t talk about your brother that way. He is young.”

“Half-brother.”

“Even so. Why are you so dour, cub? You’ve done a great thing. That trial all but solidified your inclusion to the academy. Twice over. You should be proud of yourself.”

I appreciated the fatherly tone Korvan took with me. He was the closest thing I’d ever had to one. Even so, I didn’t need him coddling me or explaining things to me. I knew how things worked in Selby Village and beyond. I hadn’t been happy here for quite some time. My family and the villagers made sure of it.

Only once I left would I find some semblance of contentment, I felt. Once I had a purpose.

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