Jeskar was the swifter of the two combatants. He lashed out in a blur, striking like a snake, and Nessalir was only barely able to side-step his blow and deflect it with her own sword. The clang of metal against metal echoed through the ravine. Nessalir attempted a counter attack; she stepped in low and swung her blade at his torso, but Jeskar twisted himself around and spun away.

  He quickly raised his sword as though he were expecting a follow-up attack, but Nessalir kept her distance. For a moment, the two simply stared at each other, neither moving.

  Iarius held his breath.

  There was movement above him, and he chanced a look away from the duel to see that more bandits had joined the archers. They were all watching the fight with keen interest. Iarius cast his eyes over them, and was stunned to realize that the majority were women and children. Among the spectators' number, he could count only a handful to appeared actually dangerous.

  Another ringing clash drew his attention back to the duel. Nessalir and Jeskar had traded places, and now circled one another. Jeskar struck his sword again and again, and Nessalir parried each blow. She did not, as far as Iarius could tell, attempt to respond to any of them.

  "Cut that bitch down!" someone shouted from above.

  "That's our Jeskar!"

  "Send her head back to Remura!"

  Their leader seemed to be attempting exactly that. His style of swordplay was aggressive, even to Iarius' untrained eye, and rained blow after blow down upon Nessalir. Yet the mercenary woman never faltered. Her blade met his time and time again. For a moment, Iarius truly believed that she could keep this up forever.

  But then he noticed their feet, and fresh terror crept through him.

  With every attack, Jeskar advanced, just a few inches. And with every parry, Nessalir was driven backward the same amount.

  It couldn't last. Soon enough, she would find herself pressed against the canyon wall.

  Iarius wondered if he should shout a warning to her. Surely, a warrior such as she would already be aware? Yet she moved as though she were wholly ignorant of her environment. He leaned forward on Bellus, and a bead of sweat ran down his brow. With every passing second, Iarius became more and more certain that he was about to witness the end of Nessalir the Red.

  She backed up closer and closer to the rock. Her tail brushed against it, and she froze. A savage grin spread out over Jeskar's face, and all could see plainly that he had won.

  Drawing back his swordarm, the elf-blooded bandit swung his blade forward in a final, decisive strike.

  "Nessalir!" Iarius cried in terror.

  But a strange thing happened; Nessalir moved, far more swiftly than she had moved thus far. She dropped down, ducked below the sword, and her tail lashed out around her, its tip throwing dirt up into the air.

  Suddenly, in a cloud of dust, Nessalir struck out not with her weapon, but with her hand. As her sword rose to meet Jeskar's, her red-scaled claw slashed at his torso. Blood was drawn, and Jeskar cried out in surprise and pain. He stumbled, and Nessalir seized the advantage.

  Immediately, she was on her feet again, and now the tables were turned. Iarius watched, stupefied, as the virem draconem began raining blows down upon her opponent with the same savagery with which he'd just been attacking her. Now it was Jeskar who was forced to focus on defense, continuously driven back under a flurry of strikes.

  With a snarl, the half-elf suddenly threw himself to Nessalir's left, away from her sword arm. He slashed at her as he did so, but even Iarius could see that the attack was a distraction and nothing more. He rolled, sprang back to his feet, and spun on the mercenary.

  Nessalir had already twisted around to meet him head on. Their swords clashed, and the cry of steel against steel rang out across the ravine.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Now they stood there, these two hardened warriors, their blades pressed against one another, their strengths pushing each other back. They were as statues, so equally matched were their crossed swords, neither able to overpower their opponent.

  "I will admit you are skilled," Jeskar said. "But I have no intention of dying."

  "No man ever does," Nessalir replied. "And yet so many have."

  His grin widened. A smile spread across Nessalir's face in answer. Red blood flowed down his stomach, covered the green ink of his tattoo. Iarius thought he could now detect a tremor in the half-elf's weapon.

  He is injured, Iarius thought. And that injury weighs on him. Nessalir's claws cut him deeper than he is willing to admit. It is only a matter of time now before all his strength is bled away.

  It seemed that the combatants were both aware of this as well. Jeskar's face was growing ever more pale, and Nessalir's sword was beginning to inch forward. The bandit's grin faltered.

  "Take my body as proof if you must," he said. "But please, spare my people."

  Nessalir met his eyes, and her lips parted to reply, but whatever she said was lost in a woman's shout from further up the path.

  "Jeskar! No!"

  The woman running down the ravine was dressed in leathers similar to Nessalir's own barbarian armor. Her black hair was tied back in a series of braids much like Jeskar's, and lines of green ink snaked their way up her throat and down her arms as well.

  "Stay out of this, Orla!" Jeskar barked.

  "I will not, brother!" announced the newcomer, drawing a sword from her side. "This bitch will not be the end of you! We made an oath on our mother's grave, did we not? We will see Remura burn!"

  "This is a duel! It is a matter of honor!"

  "Honor!" Orla scoffed, approaching Nessalir with the blade at the ready. "What good does honor get us against the honorless?"

  Nessalir glanced at her. She kicked out at Jeskar's knee, and the bandits' leader shouted and fell. Iarius thought perhaps she would take the opportunity to deliver a killing blow, but instead the mercenary merely pointed her sword at his throat.

  "The battle is won," said Nessalir. "Does your brother yield?"

  "I will not—" Jeskar began, but Nessalir cut him off.

  "Does your brother yield?" she asked again, all of her attention directed at Orla. She pressed the point of her blade firmer against Jeskar's throat.

  The elf-blooded woman met her eyes, but said nothing. By now, other bandits were beginning to appear behind her. Iarius risked a glance upward, and saw that the ridge above was now occupied only by the wives and children of the bandits, as well as the two archers.

  "If he does not yield," said Nessalir, "then I shall cut off his head and bring it to the Remuran authorities in Paeliig. I shall tell them that the bandits are no more, and then they will pay me and I will be on my way. You may then remain silent for a few months, allow the Remurans to believe you wiped away, before resuming your activities, striking at a now-unsuspecting foe."

  Orla's eyes widened. A big man with a large blond beard twisted into a series of braids stepped up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  "On the other hand," Nessalir went on, "if he does yield, then your brother lives."

  "If you kill him," said Orla, voice cold, "then I will kill you."

  Nessalir nodded. "You are welcome to try."

  "And if he yields, if you let him go, what is to stop me from trying then?"

  "Nothing," said Nessalir. "Your brother places a high value on honor. It seems I have no choice but to place my trust in that."

  Orla laughed. "You would trust in the honor of a pack of bandits?"

  "Yes." Nessalir said the word firmly, in a tone of such sincerity that Iarius found himself wondering if the woman had gone mad.

  For a moment, the two women simply looked one another in the eyes. Iarius got the impression that an understanding passed between them then, some silent communication to which he was not privy. At long last, Orla nodded.

  "Very well," she said. "Jeskar yields."

  "Orla!" her brother protested, but Nessalir had already withdrawn the sword from his throat and stepped away. He stood up, glaring at the mercenary, then turned his fury upon his sister.

  "You had no right to speak for me!"

  "She saved your life, Jeskar," said the big man with his hand on Orla's shoulder.

  "Toli speaks true," Orla told him. "You are wounded. You must have that tended to." She looked past him, toward Nessalir, and smirked. "Besides, we have something far more valuable than some dead Remurans now."

  "And what is that?" asked Jeskar, even as the bandits began to advance.

  Nessalir sheathed her sword, then raised her hands in surrender. "You have prisoners."