As the children ran, Iarius stared after them in confusion.

  "Why are they…?" he began, but he failed to form the remaining words in his question, so great was his shock. Nessalir directed her horse in front of his and drew her sword.

  "Prepare to run," she said.

  Iarius considered the mountain path they'd taken up here, and realized that he was not confident in his ability to navigate it at high speeds on horseback. He swallowed, and realized as well that his mouth was suddenly dry.

  Shadows passed over the ravine, and Iarius glanced up to see a pair of men on the cliffs above them, merely a dozen feet away, with bowstrings drawn back and arrows pointed at the interlopers. He wondered if these were the very same archers who had attacked the Equine Century just a few days earlier.

  "Nessalir," he said.

  "I know," she replied, not bothering to glance back. Her gaze was fixed upon the path forward. Louder, she proclaimed: "I am Nessalir the Red, and I have come to challenge your leader in honorable combat. Will he accept, or will he hide like a coward?"

  Iarius winced. Somehow, he did not believe that calling the bandits' leader a coward was the wisest course of action. Yet Nessalir spoke with such confidence that he found himself wondering whether this might be some cultural tradition among these barbarians that he did not recognize.

  Regardless, silence greeted her proclamation. Iarius counted the seconds. When twenty had passed, Nessalir began to speak again.

  "I repeat, I am Nessalir the Red, and—"

  "I heard you."

  The new voice was deep, gruff. A horse appeared from around the corner up ahead, grey with flecks of black in its coat. Upon the horse rode a tall man with lithe yet firm muscles, clearly visible, for he wore no shirt or jacket. His bare chest was decorated with a series of blue and green tattoos, depicting the branches of a great tree, the stylized images of snakes and squirrels among its boughs. The man's hair was long and black, tied in a series of braids, yet his beard was short. His ears, Iarius was shocked to see as he drew nearer, were pointed like the blades of a dagger.

  "Greetings, Nessalir the Red, famed drakkowar," said the man. "I am the leader of the Paeliig Remnants, Jeskar Elfson."

  "You are ailefwar," said Nessalir. "A rare breed."

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  "One could say the same of yourself," said Jeskar Elfson. "Tell me, are all dragon-blooded so brazen? You come here to challenge me, and you speak of honor, and yet you travel with an honorless Remuran."

  Iarius opened his mouth to protest this characterization, but Jeskar shot him a glare. "Do not deny it, wretch!" he sneered. "I have seen how your people conquer. Your soldiers poisoned our waters. Your general challenged our Jarl to a duel, only for your soldiers to launch an attack while all eyes were upon their single combat. Your people burned our homes, forced the Jarl to watch, then made him sign a false treaty so that your Emperor could claim our home for himself. I have seen the honor of Remura, and I will not be fooled by your words."

  "Be that as it may," said Nessalir, "what of my own honor? I have taken a contract with the Remuran government, to cleanse these mountains of bandits, and I am duty-bound to see it to the end."

  Jeskar spat on the ground. "There are no bandits here," he said. "We are the true sons and daughters of Paeliig. You insult us by mistaking our people for common outlaws."

  Nessalir's voice softened. "Jeskar. You know you cannot keep this fight going forever. The empire will outlast you."

  "Then I shall fight to the very end," he growled. "If you truly had honor, Nessalir the Red, then you would slay that Remuran you travel with and join us in our struggle."

  "I have given my word to keep this man alive," said Nessalir.

  "Word to honorless means nothing!"

  "A warrior who goes back on her word is nothing," Nessalir replied.

  "You are a fool, Nessalir!" said Jeskar. "These Remurans will turn on you, the very second you cease to be useful."

  "And so you would have me do what?" Nessalir asked. "Join your little band? Hide out in the mountains, foraging for berries and raiding merchants? Living in constant fear of the Remuran Legion bearing down on you? What life is that?"

  Jeskar shook his head. "You know naught of our plight," he said. "We have lost everything, and you dare sit there and speak of killing our children as though it is the honorable thing. What can you know of us, who have been driven from our homes by invaders? How can you comprehend our despair, when our kingdom has fallen and we are without a homeland?"

  The change in the mercenary's demeanor was subtle. She tensed. Her shoulders squared. Iarius got the impression of a woman struggling to hold something back.

  "I grew up in Lorveg," she told Jeskar, her voice laced with ice. "I was there when the Winter King descended upon us. I saw men I fought beside—men I loved—frozen in ice. You would dare to claim I know nothing of loss? You have insulted me, Jeskar Elfson. Face me in combat now, so that you might die with honor."

  The elf-blooded man met her gaze, and there was a fire in his eyes. His lips curled into a vicious grin. "So be it," he said.

  He dismounted his horse. Nessalir did the same. From his side, Jeskar drew his own sword.

  Iarius watched, heart racing. He gripped his reins tight in fear and anticipation. The two warriors sized each other up, then raised their swords.

  "Let us begin," said Nessalir.

  "Yes," agreed Jeskar. "Let's."

  And with that said, the two combatants charged forth at one another.