The sound of clashing metal rang loud. Rolan staggered back several steps. Shuffling feet, heavy breaths and quick movements preceded a shout and someone hitting the ground. James lifted his head, the world blurry and bright from having squeezed his eyes so tight, and made out the small frame of someone familiar.

Looking down at him was the silhouette of Evan Goodheart, his half cape billowing softly. Both hands were gripped around a bloodied sword.

James was taken aback by the serious look the Voarn gave him. Heavy brows tightened over his dark slanted eyes. James moved to rise, but a sword tip turned toward hm. He froze, dripping with sweat, with Evan’s sword inches from him. He tried to read the Voarn’s expression, but couldn’t see what was going through his mind.

The sword tip inched away, and Evan took a step back.

Shivering and confused with fear, James now saw two men on the ground, one groaning with a large gash on his arm, the other not moving, possibly with a wound he couldn’t see. Evan’s attention was now on Rolan.

“Release him.” Evan tilted his head to the men holding Sam down.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, there,” Rolan bellowed, approaching Evan.

The sword rose and pointed to the Canarrian, who stopped walking.

“You must be the little runt the boys duffed up this morning.”

“I said release him,” Evan commanded.

“Now wait just a second.” Rolan waved a hand. “They negotiate where you’re from, short-step? This here is how we negotiate. You ask for something, I ask for something, you ask for more, and you might get some of what you want, and I might get some of what I want. Now, if you want your mate to keep his head, I suggest you put your little knife down.” He took a step forward. “Before someone really gets hurt.”

Mechanisms shifted behind Rolan when two men in the group raised their large rifles. The stub-barrelled bolt rifles were standard Lawman issue, as were the thick gloves they each wore on their right hands. James knew that meant they were able to fire the weapons.

Evan froze in place, but for a different reason. His wide eyes were fixed on the sword in Rolan’s sweaty grip.

The man in black stepped toward his leader and whispering something to him. Rolan’s eyes flashed; a devilish grin growing on his face.

“Well, well.” Rolan glared at Evan, who now visibly shook with restrained anger. “She’s something, ain’t she?” His laugh was low as he goaded Evan. When he held up the large sword, James saw how he tried to hide the strain of holding it one-handed.

Evan’s fists were now clenched tightly around his own sword: a thin silver blade with a cloth-wrapped hilt that paled in comparison to his father’s magnificent broadsword.

James had to do something. His head ached and his stomach promised vomit at any moment, but he had to react before Evan did something that would get himself hurt.

The men with the rifles held them steady, still trained on Evan.

“She is,” James found himself saying. Rolan turned to him with a smile, enjoying the unexpected interaction. “Would fetch quite a price, too,” James continued, thinking fast. “If you kept it, well, seems strange that you could live with it never really belonging to you.”

A minor spasm shook Rolan’s head as he finished a thought, which reminded James of the jitteriness of the man in black. “I s’pose I could live with that, aye boys?” He looked around, his smile broader than ever, enjoying the laughter from his men. “I could live with a lot of things not rightly belonging to me.”

“I can believe that,” James said dryly. “It’s just that this sword has a history of being passed down to the mightiest of warriors. My friend here won it in a contest, after the previous owner had won it off a great king. Only the mightiest of warriors have wielded it.” The word warrior gave him pause and made him think of Den Keenosh, but he quickly recovered. “And, well, I was just thinking… now correct me if I’m wrong here, but it just seems odd that you would take it from someone and keep it like that. Not much honour in that.” James knew as soon as he added the last word that it was the wrong thing to say.

“Well honour ain’t really my thing, matey,” Rolan retorted, sticking his head forward, once again enjoying the laughter from his men. “But you do have a point.” He raised the sword with both hands. “This sword… is my sword, you see? And I won’t have anyone telling me I ain’t worthy of it. In my world, I take something and makes it rightfully mine. I won’t ’av some city scum telling me I ain’t mighty enough for what’s mine.”

“I was just saying, it don’t seem right to me, you having the sword without winning it. Didn’t mean to imply anything about your… might. If I were you, I’d be looking to just sell it on and be done with it. Better than having someone see it and try and fight you for it. You’ll be having people coming from all over once word gets out you have it.”

If Rolan sold the sword, it would make it easier for James to try and track it down. He was friendly enough with the border control guards, and Tam had Lawmen friends. Selling the sword was a better option than Rolan wanting to keep it.

Rolan stepped back and looked over his people. “Well, there ain’t nothing to say then, ain’t there. I’m just gonna have to kill you both right here,” he added with a dramatic flair.

“You don’t even want to know how much you could get for it?” James quickly asked, but Rolan ignored him.

Looking over his shoulder, Rolan called out, “You had enough of ’em as much as I have, fellas?”

The riflemen adjusted their aim to focus on James and Evan.

“Oh, Rol,” a soft voice spoke out, sounding angelic next to Rolan’s raspy drawl. “Proving me right once again.”

“What’s that?” Rolan grunted, frustration and annoyance colouring his tone.

From her position on the wall, the exotic woman sighed. “I knew you couldn’t hold yourself up to these boys. Not with force. Not like a real man.” She giggled to herself with a bored air, shaking her bald head dismissively.

James tried to understand the woman’s motive. Why was she trying to goad Rolan into a fight?

A rush of anger shook Rolan’s shoulders. He fixed his attention back on James, who had the impression that the Canarrian was trying to avoid the woman now. “A fight it is,” he said, and pointed the sword at Evan. “Go on then. Me and the runt. I’ll show ’im who this pointer belongs to.”

“Accepted,” Evan said without hesitation.

James tensed. If Rolan was willing to fight for it, then he was sure that Evan, who shook with restrained energy and looked bursting to attack, would give him a good fight. He understood now that this way meant Evan could fight the gang leader without the riflemen firing. The woman had bought them more time. James just hoped Evan was as good with a sword as he hoped he was.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

James was pulled back as the group made space for the combatants. When he made eye contact with the bald woman, she gave him a small playful smile, her golden eyes gleaming. She almost appeared friendly, but James wasn’t sure what to make of her.

If Evan was scared or unsure, he didn’t show it. Rolan clearly had the superior sword, almost twice as large and thick as Evans’ current blade, as well as a height and weight advantage.

The fighters assumed stances and studied each other, waiting. James felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Rolan struck first, lunging toward Evan, who side-stepped the blow with ease. Evan used his momentum to manoeuvre himself for a side strike, which Rolan blocked and then swung back, pushing the two away from each other.

Rolan jumped forward again with a stabbing strike that Evan dodged by diving into a roll away from the attack. When Rolan faltered a step, James saw the weight of the sword was uncomfortable for him to wield.

Evan darted forward and swung several times, each strike met with a block, except the last one which missed Rolan’s chest by inches as the gang leader jumped back.

To James it seemed that Evan was the most conservative fighter; more composed and faster. It was clear that Evan had been trained with a sword, as James had thought, although the gang leader’s superior size and strength made up for his less artful style.

A succession of blows followed, with each combatant blocking, dodging and countering. As their parries quickened, Evan changed his strike mid-swing and caught Rolan across the arm. The Canarrian staggered, seeing the red line across his upper arm. He nodded to Evan approvingly, and stepped toward him, not caring for a formal stance now. Evan did return to his stance, arms straight and low in front of him, sword turned slightly.

Rolan was fiercer this time, striking hard and fast with loud grunts, though he was slowed by the weight of the broadsword. It was as if Evan’s father’s sword was somehow struggling against Rolan’s hold, helping the young Voarn. Evan dodged and parried the next strikes but was thrown off-balance on more than one occasion from the ferocity of the blows. Breathing heavily, Rolan charged, turning a feint attack to a low arc, which Evan jumped to narrowly avoid. Landing nimbly, Evan blocked the next strike and their swords locked, each pushing against to the other.

Evan’s eyes were drawn to the rival sword, and James saw the internal struggle he was facing, attacking his own father’s sword. In the second Evan had lost his focus, Rolan swung an elbow out struck Evan on the head, sending him tumbling to the ground.

James took an instinctive step forward but a rough hand pulled him back. He spared a glance at Sam, who was being held back by two large men, but his colleague seemed just as helpless.

Evan staggered to his feet with a dirty red gash on his forehead. He grimaced, faltering his first step, before he returned to his fighting stance and advanced on Rolan.

Their swords clashed again, though this time Evan struggled to block and dodge the attacks as swiftly as he had previously, and he was soon backed against the wall of the trench.

Rolan took the moment to strike his deadly blow, raising the sword high above him.

A strong downward thrust which would have skewed Evan to the ground missed its mark as he jumped up, planting his feet against the wall and launched himself over Rolan’s bent body. Rolan turned as Evan’s sword cut across his arm as he landed, followed by another swing that struck the width of Rolan’s chest, spraying blood in an arc.

Rolan dropped the sword immediately and staggered back like a drunkard. “Agh! Alright, alright. Fine, you win it.” He sounded to James like a whinging child who hadn’t got his way, and was more annoyed than hurt.

Evan also dropped his sword; his entire body trembling. He stared at his defeated opponent with wide eyes, blinking rapidly as if returning from a dream.

The gang leader fell to his knees, throwing up dust around him. Dark red blood poured from his chest wound. A man near James left him and jumped to his leader’s side, as did two others from the group. Evan stepped to the defeated Rolan with fists clenched at his sides. Gang members called out and spat curses, but Evan’s focus was on Rolan. The Canarrian panted heavily, his hand pressed against his chest. Evan’s father’s sword lay unclaimed on the ground between them.

Evan took another step closer, but Rolan threw a hand out and grabbed the sword hilt, a wicked snarl passing his lips. Before Evan could voice his complaints, which would have been considerable from his red face, the bald woman started towards them. Her sudden presence silenced them both.

Her brows rose mockingly. “Now be nice, Madsi. This little prince won fair, now.” A thin smile played on her sculpted face.

Rolan held her gaze for a moment with bared teeth, before releasing the sword with a frustrated grunt. “You know what, just take the blasted thing. Blighted freshling brats…”

Evan lifted the broadsword, far more easily than Rolan had. He held it before him for a long moment, before stepping to its leather-bound scabbard and sheathing it, all with careful and controlled movements. His eyes were sorrowful as he moved about, lost in his own world.

James went to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. Evan ignored him as he gazed at the sword, running a small thumb along the rough scabbard. Finally, he turned and offered a weak smile. James noted something hesitant in the Voarn’s shimmering eyes. What could have been fear, or perhaps shock.

Not for the first time, James looked upon Evan and saw a small child, though this time he saw a child that was dangerous and unstable. He squeezed Evan’s shoulder comfortingly, hoping to remind him they were on the same side.

Sam came over to them, his face hiding a grimace. James locked eyes with his friend and they exchanged a smile, both visibly relieved to still be alive. Though James’s smile disappeared when he remembered that Sam still had a lot of explaining to do.

“You fight a good fight,” the bald woman said, strolling over to Evan. Her dazzling gold eyes mesmerised James. She was easily one of the most beautiful and alluring women he’d ever seen. “You really showed him something.” James guessed that Rolan’s defeat pleased her a great deal.

Evan nodded to the her, though his face remained impassive.

Her plump lips pressed in a small arc, pushing her rosy cheeks up. It was a smile that should be worshipped, James thought. “Tales will be told for many a day, the time that Rolan Madsi’alyen Val’drien fought a Voarn warrior and lost.” She lowered her voice a little, but still loud enough for Rolan to hear. “And I will enjoy telling it every time.”

A faint smirk spread across Evan’s pale face, and the tension around his eyes lessened.

Behind the captivating woman, James once again saw the man dressed in black, and the sickly grin that was still on his face. James shook with frustration at that damned man. Next to him stood the red-haired storyteller who told of his undeclared loot earlier. James hated them all.

Rolan was on his feet now, regarding them with thin eyes. Blood seeped from between the fingers on his chest, though he didn’t appear to be in much pain. The riflemen had lowered their guns, having had no command to fire.

“One more thing,” James said aloud, finding strength within him. “You might want to know, Rolan, that some of your men have been holding out on you.”

The gang leader turned fully to James. A silence fell over the group.

“Before you got here,” James went on, “that big fella there was talking about a stash he’s kept from you. That he got from those Victory City folk you spoke of earlier.”

“That right?” Rolan’s breath quickened. He turned to the storyteller, whose face had frozen. The dark woman giggled softly.

“My bet is that he ain’t the only one, either,” James said. “I’d be inclined to suggest you check up on some of the other guys. Who knows what you may find. Particularly from that one.” He pointed to the man in black, who was no longer grinning. “Troy, wasn’t it? I’m betting you’ll find some interesting things in his personal stash.”

The man in black spat a curse and charged toward James with fire in his eyes. A hand flashed before James could react, and his attacker was knocked to the ground with a bloody nose. Sam rubbed his fist, a satisfied look on his face.

Rolan stepped closer. “Looks like you have my thanks. I’ll see to him. And the rest,” he added the last part louder, glaring at his gang. When he regarded Evan, a small grin played across his face. This time the smile carried the weight of acceptance, or respect, which reflected in his eyes. James thought the Canarrian gang leader looked somewhat like a decent person when he smiled like that.

“This ain’t over, hero,” the man in black called out to James, his voice shrill from the hand over his nose. “A rotten curse on you and yours. I’ll find you—”

“Let the day die, Troy,” Rolan spat back. “You’re done with.”

James gave the man in black a hard look, relishing his turmoil, and knew he wasn’t worth any more words.

“Let’s go,” Sam said, nodding behind them and waving them on.

James turned with his companions and left the trench. It felt good to gain one over the man in black, but it was even better to finally leave them all. The bald woman gave him the slightest of nods with a knowing look in her golden eyes. James tried to ignore the look and sheepishly turned away, before he could get lost in her gaze.

Further away from the abandoned building site, Evan fell to his knees, shaking all over. And cried.

James could do nothing but put an arm over the weeping Voarn.