“It matters that people believe us,” Malekar replied. “Whether our promises are holy or horrific, the point is they’retrue.” He shrugged. “Besides, it only matters if Daziel fails.”
Vorian grunted, conceding the point. They all understood what a broken promise would cost, not just in blood, but in myth. Every lie would chip away at what the Horsemen were. What theymeant.
Below, Daziel ducked a wide, arcing strike that would’ve shattered bone if it landed. The stranger followed with a thrust, quick for his size, aiming for Daziel’s exposed side.
Daziel spun away, the blade only skimming his ribs, tearing through leather. Blood darkened the fabric but went unnoticed. He countered with a brutal elbow to the giant’s face—bone meeting bone—then drove his sword forward, aiming for the heart.
The stranger caught the blade and shoved Daziel back, forcing space between them. Both men huffed air, feet planted in the dirt as they circled. Every strike now came heavier, more calculated. The challenger was wearing Daziel down.
“Not much longer now,” Kaelric observed with a grim tone.
Malekar’s gaze turned to Rynna. “I believe you’re next.”
“Yes.” A cold thrill ran through her as she lifted her sword to the side, arm steady, and flicked it once. Blood flew through the air, spattering the ground beside her boots.
Below, the challenger struck.
His blade carved a vicious path through Daziel’s neck, splitting flesh and bone in one brutal sweep. Daziel went still instantly—severed spine exposed—as he crumpled to the ground in a spreading crimson pool.
The giant threw his head back and roared, voice hoarse with fury and triumph. Then he dropped to one knee beside the fallen Horseman, raising his blade with both hands, aiming for the heart.
Rynna’s hand moved before thought could catch up. One knife flew from her fingers, slamming into the hilt of his sword. The impact knocked it sideways, steel clattering to the dirt. The second blade buried itself deep in the muscle of his shoulder, jerking his body backward.
“You must know we aren’t going to let that happen, friend,” she called across the distance.
“I suppose not.” He straightened, brushing off the pain with surprising civility. “But you will free the children, per the terms of our deal?”
“Yes,” Rynna answered. “Though I’m afraid you won’t be around to see it. We will honor the Trial and fight one-on-one, but you won’t best all of us and begin taking hearts.”
His shoulders slumped, though his stance widened. He understood what came next, but he wasn’t afraid.
She smiled. He was smarter than most.
“Very well.” He tore the blade from his shoulder with a grunt and raised his sword, grip firm despite the injury. “Come die, little woman.”
Then, with a quick twist, he hurled her own knife back at her, nearly as hard as her original throw.
Finally.
Satisfaction lit her nerves like a fuse. She caught the spinning blade midair, the handle slapping solidly into her palm, and tucked it into her belt without breaking stride. And in the next heartbeat, she lunged. Her body vaulted forward, landing in a crouched stance, her golden sword reaching out as if it could already taste his death.
Every muscle in her body hummed. It had been too long since she’d faced someone worthwhile.
The giant took a half-step back, eyes flicking to the blade in her hand.
“What is that?” he rasped.
But the words barely passed his lips before she moved. Their weapons met with a sickening clang, breaking through the quiet square and scattering birds from nearby rooftops.
Steel followed steel. Parry. Counter. Strike.
He caught her first blow, but she was already gone, vanishing to the side in a flash of motion, feet sliding over the ground as her sword swept up toward his ribs.
He turned to block too late, and the flat of her blade skidded against his, deflecting just enough to send the bite into the flesh above his hip instead of his heart.
His grunt was short, surprise lighting his face.
She saw it clearly then: the dawning horror of his own death.
