Page 66 of Into the Isle

“Those three strapping lads. You sure know how to pick ‘em. They couldn’t be more different from each other.”

“Pick them? I hardly know them. Especially Magnus. I haven’t even spoken to him before.”

“Sure, but I can tell by your expression you’d love to get to know him better.” When I gave her a scowling look, she chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder before starting forward across the meadow. “Don’t worry, I would too. There’s no shame in looking. These guys know what they’re doing.”

I sighed and followed after her.

“What about that one?” Randi asked as we made our way over the soft grass.

I turned and saw where she was looking, east. Sven Torfen met up with his brother Ulf. Sven wasn’t quite as tall and broad as Ulf, but he was arguably the most handsome man I’d ever seen. His wavy black hair was messy in a way that looked planned. He was clean-shaven, whereas most of the others here had some form of beard, mustache, or five o’clock shadow.

Actually, Arne is bare in the face too. Magnus has a bit of shadow, if only to hide his paleness.

Sven most resembled Arne, though while the iceshaper was pretty, Sven was downright gorgeous in a more traditionally masculine way. Movie star handsome, with a chiseled jaw line crafted from stone, smoldering dark eyes, and full lips that looked utterly kissable and—

I blinked rapidly, brain short-circuiting. What in Hel am I thinking? That man is responsible for ambushing and hurting me last night. I glanced down at my calf. I wonder if he was the wolf responsible for actually ripping his claws through my flesh, or if he just surrounded me and goaded the others on.

How could I ever think of him as anything other than an enemy, when he clearly had such disdain for me?

My lips firmed as Randi and I made our way across the meadow, nearing the garrison.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to answer that question,” Randi said, noticing my scowl.

I’d forgotten she even asked one.

A smirk tilted her lips. “Now I’m wondering if it’s because you’re worried what your body’s telling you, because it’s all bad and scandalous, and you don’t want to let it out in public.”

I flared my nostrils. “No, I’ll let it out: I fucking hate him already.”

Randi’s lips parted. My admission clearly surprised her. It only took seconds for the smirk to return, with even more deviousness this time.

“Delicious,” she muttered.

The initiates stood in a line facing the garrison, while a squat, broad man with a huge orange beard assessed us. Behind him was a line of second-year cadets, also facing the initiates. My brother wasn’t in the mix, which I found odd.

“I’m Hersir Axel Osfen, battlemaster of Gharvold garrison,” the Combat & Strategy teacher said. His voice was gruff, no-nonsense. His beard blew in the breeze up against his burly chest. A spear stuck up from his back diagonally, with a round shield behind it. He wore black leathers with a big stamp of the Vikingrune emblem across the front.

His eyes were scrutinizing as he gazed at us like a drill sergeant. “Gothi Sigmund tells me this crop of new initiates is supposed to be a strong class. I’m not seeing it. I’ll give my opinion on that once I see what you can do.”

Okay, so he’s a bit of a prick. I can handle that.

Most of the men from Selby had been blustery and filled with bravado. The antithesis of what Swordbaron Korvan was—a humble, intense but kind tutor—and what he taught. I couldn’t say yet which way Hersir Axel leaned. He looked on the cusp of fifty, with a bit of gray streaking his beard. His head was bald, with blue rune marks tattooed across his scalp, and large studs in his sagging earlobes.

“There are a lot of you,” he said, starting to pace in front of us. “Not all of you will be successful here. Some might be more inclined to the softer arts—runeshaping. Others might fail at softness altogether.” His eyes landed on me for a flash, and I bowed my head.

Of course he would already know about me. I just hoped he wasn’t trying to single me out with that last comment.

No one said a word as he spoke. He demanded respect and exuded authority, in a much sterner way than Hersir Thorvi had.

“You’ll notice second-year cadets behind me.” Axel gestured over his shoulder. “They’ve been in the same position you are in now. This is a rite of passage you can’t escape at Vikingrune Academy, and you shouldn’t want to. Without our steel and shields, we are defenseless against the overwhelming enemies at our doorstep.”

At our doorstep? I thought. Everyone keeps talking about the imminent arrival of our enemies, yet I haven’t spotted a single sign of danger. If anything, the enemy is inside these walls. And to them, I’m the enemy.

I didn’t know how to escape that fate.

My eyes veered over Axel’s shoulder. He wasn’t very tall—shorter than me, actually—and I wondered if he had a bit of dwarf blood in him.

I surreptitiously glanced at the huge form of Grim Kollbjorn behind Hersir Axel. He stood off to the far side on the right, while Magnus Feldraug mirrored him, away from the others, on our side of the line.

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