The dead were still warm when the horns sounded again.
Not ours.
A single sharp blast echoed from the western lowlands—short, deliberate, the kind of signal used by men who wanted to be heard and wanted witnesses. Every head in the camp turned at once. Hands went to weapons without being told. Fatigue vanished, replaced by the cold, familiar edge of readiness.
Rethan was already beside me. "That's not a scouting horn."
"No," I said. "That's a challenge."
We climbed the ridge together, boots slipping in churned earth dark with blood that had not yet soaked in. Below, the land dipped into a shallow basin of scrub and broken stone. A force stood there—smaller than Voss's, perhaps eight hundred men—but arranged with deliberate intent. Their shields were painted black. Their armor mismatched but well-maintained. Veterans. Hired steel or loyal to someone who paid well.
At their front stood three figures on horseback.
One banner.
Not royal.
A black field marked with a white, jagged crown.
Rethan swore softly. "House Darneth."
I felt a tightening behind my ribs. "So the Council's decided to outsource."
House Darneth had a reputation older than this war. They didn't raise large armies. They raised killers. Men trained to fight commanders, not formations. When a general died under strange circumstances, Darneth's name often followed in whispers.
The central rider spurred forward alone.
He dismounted halfway up the basin and began walking, slow and unarmed, helm tucked beneath his arm. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Scars like pale ropes across his neck and jaw. His hair was iron-gray despite his strength.
He stopped within shouting distance.
"I am Lord-Commander Halvek Darneth," he called. "I am here for Cairos."
No title. No honorific.
Just my name.
"I'm here," I answered, stepping forward before anyone could stop me.
Rethan grabbed my arm. "This is what they want."
"I know."
"Then don't give it to them."
I met his gaze. "If I hide now, I die later. Slowly."
I walked down the ridge alone.
The basin felt larger with every step, the silence heavier. Hundreds of eyes tracked me. I stopped ten paces from Halvek.
"You've made a mess of things," he said conversationally. "Killed a Council army. Killed Voss. Burned a banner."
"You rode a long way to say that," I replied.
He smiled faintly. "I rode a long way to offer terms."
"Go on."
He gestured back toward his force. "Single combat. You and me. Here. Now. No interference."
Rethan shouted from the ridge. "No!"
Halvek ignored him. "If I win, your army disperses. You surrender. Clean ending."
"And if I win?"
He shrugged. "We withdraw. Today."
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," he said, "you're still a problem."
I considered him. His stance was relaxed, but not careless. A man utterly confident in his ability to kill.
"What does the Council pay you?" I asked.
"Enough," he replied. "And they promised me your head."
"Figures."
I drew my sword.
The sound rippled across the basin like a held breath released.
Halvek smiled wider and drew his own blade—long, heavy, nicked along the edge. A soldier's weapon, not a noble's ornament.
"Let's see if the stories are true," he said.
We closed.
He struck first—fast, powerful, a downward cut meant to break my guard outright. I barely turned it aside, the impact jarring my arm to the shoulder. He pressed immediately, no pause, chaining strikes together with brutal efficiency.
I gave ground, boots sliding over loose stone, parrying, twisting, absorbing blows that rattled my bones. He was stronger than Voss. Not as quick—but relentless.
"Too slow," he said, as his blade grazed my thigh.
I hissed and countered with a low sweep aimed at his knee. He jumped it, laughed, and kicked dirt into my face.
Dirty bastard.
I slashed blindly, forcing space, wiped my eyes, and felt the cut on my thigh burning already.
Halvek circled. "You fight like a man who's learned the hard way."
"Still learning," I replied.
He feinted high, then slammed his pommel into my ribs. Something cracked. I staggered back, air exploding out of my lungs. He followed, blade rising for the killing stroke—
An arrow slammed into the ground between us.
From our ridge.
Rethan's warning.
Halvek snarled. "No interference."
"Then finish it," I growled, forcing myself upright.
He came again.
This time, I stepped into his attack instead of away from it. Let his momentum work against him. Our blades locked. Steel screamed. I drove my forehead into his nose.
Bone crunched.
He roared, blood spraying, but didn't fall back. He smashed his elbow into my jaw. Stars burst behind my eyes.
We grappled, blades forgotten for a heartbeat, shoving, twisting, boots digging trenches in the dirt. I felt his breath hot against my face, smelled iron and sweat.
"You're already dead," he snarled.
"Then why are you bleeding?" I spat.
I broke free, slashed across his forearm, deep. His grip faltered. I didn't waste the opening. I drove my sword through his abdomen, felt resistance, then warmth as it slid home.
Halvek froze.
For a moment, he just stared at me, disbelief etched into his scarred face.
Then his knees buckled.
I stepped back as he collapsed, choking on blood.
Silence crushed the basin.
Then chaos.
Darneth's men surged forward, screaming vengeance. Our horns sounded in answer.
The fight exploded.
Their killers were good—damn good. Small groups broke off, targeting officers, trying to decapitate command. One charged Rethan with twin axes; Rethan took one in the shoulder and split the man's skull with a mace swing that left him swaying.
I fought nonstop.
A man with a hooked blade tried to hamstring me—I kicked his knee sideways and stabbed down through his collarbone. Another lunged from behind; I spun, blade flashing, opening his throat.
There was no line. No formation. Just clusters of violence tearing into each other.
A Darneth captain challenged me directly, shouting Halvek's name like a prayer. He was fast, lighter than Halvek, darting in and out. He cut my cheek. I broke his rhythm with a shield bash to the mouth, then drove my blade through his eye.
Blood soaked my hands. My arms trembled. Pain screamed from my ribs and leg and jaw.
I kept moving.
When it ended, the basin was a butcher's pit.
Darneth's force withdrew in disorder, dragging what wounded they could. They did not look back.
Our men cheered this time—not wild, not triumphant, but fierce and hoarse. The kind of sound born from survival.
I stood where Halvek had fallen, staring down at his body.
Rethan limped to my side, blood running down his arm. "You idiot."
I laughed, then winced. "Still alive."
"Barely."
As the sun dipped low, I understood something the Council never would.
They could send armies. Generals. Assassins.
But every blade they threw at me only sharpened the men behind me.
And the next duel would not be offered so politely.