Saer forced words past the rawness of his throat.“Fine.We fight.What’ll you give me in exchange?”
“I will reveal what I know of Errshek’s last whereabouts.”
He could truth-name command her.Though, if he did that, any fragile credibility he’d gained would be lost.Errshek’s story would solidify as truth.
Like Hells, would he allow that to happen.
She might not know anything.
Saer found, as he rose off the ground with eyes locked on Runeak’s, that he didn’t care.
“I accept.”
24
Theynegotiatedtermsaheadof time—no replenishing of strength from flames or restrictions on which forms they could or could not take.The winner would be declared when the other party conceded defeat.Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Saer could not invoke his hierarchical power or Runeak’s true name to control her.She demanded a true test between them without safety nets.
They didn’t delay.Runeak was arguably the least patient of theDaemoenica, though Saer held no desire to wait.
Runeak left her armor in place, but didn’t don a helmet.She exited the tent, and Saer heard her low but commanding voice speaking the local language, presumably to spread the word of their impending clash and to ascertain her soldiers cleared the sparring field she had in mind.
While Runeak occupied herself, Saer pulled off his hooded cloak in preparation.Under, he wore a simple sleeveless top woven from hemp and similarly made trousers for his legs.After an internal moment of debate, he pulled the shirt up and over his head, leaving him only in loose fitting pants and leather-tied sandals.
Saer rolled his shoulders and his neck, then lifted the tent flap and stepped out into the afternoon sun.
Two guards waited to escort him.Their dark eyes lit up with excitement as he approached, though the pair schooled their faces to careful neutrality.The atmosphere beyond and around them buzzed with activity and excited voices.Groups of soldiers hurried towards the sparring grounds on the outskirts of the encampment.In the span of minutes, word had traveled of the upcoming entertainment.
One of the soldiers at the tent entrance reached out to grasp Saer’s elbow, but he pulled away.Jerking his chin instead in the direction the crowds headed, he spoke in their language to the best of his ability.“I follow.Show me.”
The guard shrugged and beckoned, taking the lead, though his partner remained at his back to flank.
Saer ignored any whispers, stares, and fingers pointed his way, preparing his mind for the fight at hand.He held no doubt Runeak learned more tactics through the centuries.Their first battle might as well have been a toddler’s flailing skirmish in comparison to what they each knew presently.Saer’s heart thudded light and quick in his chest, flutters of anticipation.He excelled at combat, though he didn’t tend to seek it for sport or relish in it—certainly not in the way Wrath did.
But Lucifer created him as the pinnacle of physical prowess.He would defeat the Fifth.Pride did not doubt.
Runeak came into view, at least three hundred feet away, directing the final steps of her makeshift arena.On the borders stood racks filled with both practice and true weapons, archery targets, and soldiers.
The oval sparring field carried a false impression of tranquility when Saer stepped to its edge.The muttering intensified, and Runeak glanced to confirm his presence, then raised her hands, calling for quiet.
The escorting guards shuffled away to join their comrades.
Walking to the center of the crushed grass meadow, Runeak addressed her people, somehow managing audibility without shouting.Though he couldn’t understand all the words she spoke, Saer paid close attention to the humans’ responses.Reverence shone in their eyes and body language, so different from the harvests he had taken in the recent past.An air of solidarity hung between Wrath and her soldiers, bereft of deceit.They saw her as their war leader, and they would follow her blindly into battle wherever she went.
This was how Wrath harvested alone.
A great cry rose from all around at the end of her address, strong enough to vibrate Saer’s ribcage.If anyone else evoked such a response, they might have smiled, but Runeak only stared, then turned her head to nod at Saer.
He stepped onto the field, weaponless.
Tense silence rolled through the audience.
Runeak prowled to one of the weapon racks.From his vantage point, Saer discerned her picking up a few different items and placing them on her person, though he couldn’t tell their shapes.She came away with one final armament in her hands, a metal sickle on a short wooden handle which she grasped with her right palm.The posterior of the blade attached to a long chain with a weight at its end, and these links Runeak coiled around her left hand and wrist.She stalked back onto the grassland until she stood ten paces from Saer.
She addressed Saer in low, guttural syllables, using the first language they’d ever known, “Your move, Eldest.”
Saer offered the barest nod of acknowledgement, then slid a foot back into a more rooted stance.
Susurrations percolated at the borders of the meadow.
