Page 34 of Blood Fist

“This is the training ground. It’s where you’ll find many of us when we’re not working.”

Corric lithely hopped the fence, not looking back to see if they were following. Assuming they should, Brune clambered over. He had an easier time of it than Niklas, who was still wearing his sword and bow.

“The soldiers,” Osmond called to them once they were safely on the ground. His smile was bright. Not a hint of the man who thought they’d hurt Corric in the night. Then, he’d been terrifying, a whirlwind of citrus scent and carefully timed punches. Now, with the sunlight glinting off his hair and his blue eyes crinkled, he looked…harmless.

Stepping forward to meet them, Osmond rested a hand on one of the twin daggers sheathed on his belt. “I don’t think we ever formally met. Osmond Snow Tipped.”

“Brune.” He glanced back at Niklas, who lookedlike he had just swallowed something sour. “…and this is Niklas.” Neither of them had family names. At least, not that they knew of.

Osmond’s eyes lingered on the beta. Brune saw his nostrils flare as he tried to take in his scent. He doubted he could. Not with so many other smells being whipped up over the sunbaked sand.

The large alpha beside Osmond stepped up, hands on hips. It was apparent as he loomed over Brune that there wasn’t a thing about him that wasn’t massive—even his teeth. His cropped hair was dark with sweat and his voice was loud, too, as if his larger chest produced an echo.

“Henroen Large Fist,” he introduced himself.

Corric nodded toward both. “They belong to Chief Restrina’s inner circle.”

Turning his attention to a red-faced Niklas, Henroen glanced at the bow on his back. “You’re quite the archer,” he commented. “Despite your inferior bow.”

Niklas was a nervous man until it came to his archery. Something came over the shy beta, something Brune couldn’t describe, but when it came to wielding a bow and arrow, the man never faltered.

He pulled the bow off his back, eyeing it critically. “It’s served me well.”

“I’m surprised,” Henroen said conversationally, ignoring Niklas’s bristling. “Looks more suitable for kindling.”

If Niklas had fangs, they’d be dropped by now. Brune moved to say something, but Osmond beat him to it.

“You must be truly talented, to be so successful with an unworthy bow.”

“I…I wouldn’t know. That's all that was given to me.”

Osmond seemed to puff up at that, his chest expanding as he took in a deep breath. “Then perhaps you can try some of ours? I’ll admit, archery is not my specialty, but I would be honored if you showed me.” He didn’t wait for Niklas to answer, swinging an arm over his shoulder and dragging him toward the targets set up at the far end of the field.

Henroen just shook his head, smiling fondly. Brune wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with being separated from Niklas, and his alpha itched to see him so far out of his protection, but he had to remind himself that Niklas was timid, not helpless. He could hold his own.

“He’ll be fine,” Corric said, looking over Brune’s shoulder at someone. “If you’ll excuse me.” He didn’t wait for a response, skirting the group and jogging over to a broad man with dark curls hanging in front of his eyes.

Before Brune could make out anything else about the man, a large hand slammed down onto his shoulders. He was guided into the center of the field as Henroen cast a critical eye over him.

“Why did you choose a sword?”

Brune rubbed the back of his neck, feeling warmer under the scrutiny. “It’s what they gave everyone. I’m not very skilled with it, so they had me defending the archers.”

“Of course you’re not,” Henroen laughed as he squeezed Brune’s arm. “Look at you. You’re all top heavy.”

“What do you mea—AGH!” he didn’t finish his question before he was knocked onto his back, squinting into the too bright sun as he wheezed.

Henroen hovered over him. “You’re big, so youpack a solid hit. But you’re slow. You saw Bargrave fight Ridan?”

It was a rhetorical question. Everyone had seen it. Henroen didn’t wait for an answer.

“Bargrave knocked him around, but ultimately, he tired. Became slow. Ridan hit him with smaller, less lethal hits to wear him out.” He helped Brune to his feet. “It’s not about molding the warrior to the weapon, but about finding a weapon that extends the warrior.”

Brune had seen none other weapon. In Kaledonea, it was a sword and bow. That was what they were given. That wasn’t the case here. Chief Restrina wielded a weapon he’d never seen. Corric’s swords were slender and elegant. Henroen had an ax strapped to his broad back.

“I will never be as fast as Osmond,” Henroen said as he pulled the massive ax from his back. Fur wrapped around the hilt in stripes with a delicate string of what looked like multicolored clay beads. He spun the thing easily. “But I don’t need to be. I only need to hold fast against him until I can hit him. Once.”

Turning, he swung the ax into the closest dummy. Even with a wooden center, the ax cleanly cleaved it in half. The top half toppled to the ground without even a splinter.