Kevlin awoke with a start and tried to figure out what had awakened him. Clouds covered the stars and the only light came from the eastern sky that hinted at the approaching dawn.

Something moved in the grass nearby. The embers of the campfire around which Antigonus and the others of his party camped offered little light. Dathan, Kevlin’s employer, had been less than pleased when he brought the refugees to the secluded clearing. Worse, the horses Dathan's men had found earlier belonged to Antigonus’ company, and he hadn't concealed his disappointment at losing the valuable mounts. The two groups had settled on opposite ends of the clearing to pass a tense night.

Kevlin flicked off the blanket and slipped a hand to the hilt of his sword. He had slept fully dressed, willing to endure the discomfort in order to respond quickly to any threat.

A shadow moved, and Kevlin’s hand tightened around the hilt. He’d posted two of Dathan’s guards to keep watch, so why hadn’t they sounded the alarm?

“Haisyl, is that you?” Ceren called from her position near Antigonus, across the fire from Kevlin.

“Yes, milady.” Haisyl's form became clear as she approached.

“What were you doing?”

“Just visiting the privy.” Haisyl giggled and settled back onto her blankets.

Kevlin sighed. With a little luck, he might catch a little more sleep.

Luck was not with him.

Before he could close his eyes, a spiraling tail of white fire arced up into the air from the western end of the clearing closest to the road. It plummeted back to the ground on the far side, leaving a trail of clear flame burning in the air.

Kevlin sprang to his feet, sword in hand, and shouted, “Awake! To arms!”

Terach surged off his blanket, pala in hand. He too had slept fully dressed and armored. Ceren responded almost as quickly, but Haisyl shrieked and cowered in her blankets.

“What is that?” Terach pointed at the spiraling arc of fire.

“An early warning signal I set,” Kevlin said. “Someone or something just tripped it.” He’d hesitated to use the valuable photophor, but it might have just paid off.

Across the clearing, Dathan’s men scrambled to respond to Kevlin’s shout and Dathan called, “What is the meaning of this?”

Kevlin scanned the darkness for a threat. For a dozen heartbeats they waited, hardly breathing.

“Maybe it was an animal,” Ceren said finally.

An agonized scream sounded from the lower end of the clearing, then cut off abruptly. A couple of seconds later, one of Dathan's guards, a greasy-haired, skinny fellow named Nyx, dashed to Dathan’s campfire, shouting incoherently. He collapsed at Dathan’s feet, his bloody face panic-stricken.

“They killed Lugs,” Nyx wailed.

The shouting of many voices rolled out of the darkness and across the clearing from three sides. With the voices began a rhythmic metallic banging sound, like the flats of swords being struck together.

“Mercenaries,” Kevlin decided. Piran’s men must have found them. “Come on, let’s join Dathan.”

As he turned to lift Antigonus, a wall of fire erupted out of the ground and split the clearing between the two groups. It rose fully a dozen feet and seemed to snap hungrily at the empty air. The tall grass carpeting the clearing ignited all along the edges of the wall of fire, but the flames did not spread. Smoke tickled Kevlin’s nose and the crackling of the flames seemed unusually loud in the pre-dawn stillness.

“What’s happening?” Ceren cried as Haisyl screamed again.

“Rhea,” Kevlin guessed.

They were in trouble.

“Ceren, wake him up,” Terach ordered.

She dropped to the ground beside Antigonus and started shaking him and calling his name, but his eyes remained closed.

Kevlin scanned the clearing for Rhea. Why didn’t she just burn them all with that fire? She could have killed them already.

Maybe that lightning bolt earlier had addled her brain, or maybe she still struggled against her mysterious master’s command. Whatever the reason, if they could keep her distracted until Antigonus awoke, the old sentinel could surely deal with her.

The clanging of the mercenaries on the far side of the wall of fire stopped. Through the pulsing flames, Kevlin could dimly make out the shapes of a dozen men converging on Dathan’s fire from three sides.

Dathan, surrounded by his remaining five guards, called out, “We surrender.”

Kevlin grunted in disgust and hoped Dathan’s cowardice would buy the fat merchant some time. More pressing was the question of how Piran’s men fell in with Rhea? Or were those even Piran’s men? Perhaps they were some other force she had secreted nearby. That seemed unlikely, but at this point he would believe anything.

“You don’t seem surprised to find a bunch of mercenaries attacking in the dead of night,” Terach said.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“No, they’re not entirely a surprise.”

“Why didn’t you warn us?”

“I thought we lost them.”

“What do they want?”

“I’ll tell you later.” If there is a later.

Kevlin breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Antigonus stirring. With the sentinel awake, they might just survive until sunrise.

“Kevlin,” Terach called, voice tense.

He turned and studied a figure that approached out of the darkness shrouding the lower end of the clearing. It was not Rhea, but a big man who approached with an easy, confident stride. He passed close to the wall of fire, which illuminated his dark face and set his coat of scaled armor alight like a thousand candles.

Kevlin’s heart sank. That was just not fair.

“Terach, beware. Ceren, stay close to Antigonus, and watch for Rhea.”

“What’s going on?” Ceren asked nervously.

Terach said, “Listen to him. Let Strength deal with this.”

“Who is it?” Her voice cracked with fear at the sight of the approaching armored man.

“A Blade Stalwart,” Kevlin stated.

He stared at the dark-skinned man and fought to control memories of desperate struggle. Fear chilled him. Why would Piran spend the vast sums needed to secure a Blade Stalwart only to unleash him on Dathan?

Blade Stalwarts were a totally different class of hired warrior. Disciples of Savas, they worshipped war, and lived for battle. Excellent tacticians and devastating warriors, they were sometimes hired to lead entire legions. Kevlin had never heard of one employed to resolve a dispute between a couple of merchants.

He could not beat this man.

In the past couple of years, the low profile security jobs that kept Kevlin inconspicuous had pitted him against little more than cutthroats and common thieves, most with no formal training. The sharp edge of his skills had dulled, but one could not face a Blade Stalwart with any weakness and hope to survive.

Memories he’d kept locked away for years swept into his mind, and for a moment Kevlin was again staring at a different Blade Stalwart. He'd been bound while the woman he loved prepared to slit his throat.

What a miserable memory.

Kevlin drove it away. If he lost focus, the Blade Stalwart would remove his head.

Beside him, Terach regarded the advancing Blade Stalwart with a mixture of concern and interest, but no sign of abject terror. Either he was confident, or just ignorant. Hopefully it was the former. As a captain of the elite imperial guard, Terach should be a master fighter. If they worked together, they might stand a chance.

About as much chance as standing atop the mainmast of his father's ship with an upraised sword during a thunderstorm.

“Did you know about this too?” Terach asked without looking at Kevlin.

“No.” If he had known about a Blade Stalwart, he would have started running hours ago.

“Then there’s more going on than we thought.”

The Blade Stalwart halted ten paces away and folded his arms across his armored chest. Kevlin fought an overwhelming urge to sheath his own sword and do the same. To his left, Terach’s sword slid home in its sheath with a click.

“Resist him,” Kevlin hissed.

“What?” Terach blinked rapidly as if struggling to focus his thoughts.

“Fighting a Blade Stalwart starts before you cross swords with him. Don’t let his influence control you.”

The Blade Stalwart watched them impassively.

Terach spared a glance at Kevlin. “I’ve never faced one of his order, but there’s no dishonor in being polite.”

“There is tonight. If he reaches full rapture, we’re dead.”

The risk was dire. Blade Stalwarts fully immersed in the trance-like state they sought during battle received powerful endowments from Savas that made them nearly unstoppable.

With a bloodset having already declared Savas’ willingness to favor chosen warriors, it would be even easier for the Blade Stalwart to reach that state. They could not allow him to perform the ritual opening ceremony before the fight began and slip into his religious trance, or he would slaughter them.

“I am Dhanjal,” the Blade Stalwart announced in a surprisingly gentle voice. “To you who dare compete for Savas’ favor, I greet you as brothers.” He faced Terach. “Honor to you, son of Salawin. May the justice of your god never waver.”

Terach inclined his head. “And honor to your blades, son of the Eternal Storm.”

“Stop it,” Kevlin hissed.

Undeterred, the Blade Stalwart continued, “After you die, I will inter you deep in the earth, with hands and face clean for your journey to Salawin’s council.”

He turned to Kevlin but he paused and his eyes narrowed. “It is rare I cannot place an opponent. Will you make your heritage known?”

It wasn't the first time someone had struggled to figure out Kevlin's birth. It wasn’t that he looked all that different from a typical citizen of Meinarr. His chestnut hair hanging to the base of his neck was fairly common, as were his hazel eyes. But he’d traveled the Six Kingdoms, and each culture had left its mark.

Kevlin struggled to remain silent and bite back the flowery response that came to his lips under Dhanjal's influence, but was not entirely successful. “I was born in the hand of the Lady.”

The man’s influence was so strong!

Dhanjal nodded solemnly. “We are too far from the sea for burial in the Lady’s embrace, but I will wash your body with saltwater before laying you to rest.”

The man’s armor began glowing brighter, the light shifting slowly through various muted hues, an outward sign of his deepening reverie.

With a growl of defiance, Kevlin swallowed the words that came to mind and said instead, “When you die, I’ll bury you face down, stripped of armor, with your own broken blades thrust through your heart.”

“Cheapen not the contest of arms with harsh words and insults.”

“I’ll cut off your hands. You’ll grovel at Savas’ feet like a dog instead of feasting with his favored ones. Maybe he’ll let you wash dishes for eternity.”

The glow faded from the armored scales and the dark-skinned warrior dropped his hands to the hilts of his twin scimitars. His face flushed and his stony calm faded to a look of annoyance.

Good, Kevlin thought. Keep him unsettled.

The scale-clad warrior removed the close-fitting knit cap from his head.

Sherah’s Teeth! Kevlin hadn’t thought things could get worse.

At least a score of tattoos shone white against the dark skin of Dhanjal’s shaven head. The brands were images. A pala, a ship, a horse, and others, representing the heritage or chief skill of Dhanjal’s enemies defeated in battle. Kevlin had seen the head of only one other Blade Stalwart bared for battle, and that one's pate had displayed fewer than half the number of tattoos.

The man facing him was a senior stalwart, perhaps even a Fist-Forged High Captain. Kevlin had to rattle the man’s confidence or they were dead.

Dhanjal smiled, once more calm. “I will take your heart-skill and honor your memory through the eternal councils.”

“Kill him or die clean,” Kevlin said quietly to Terach, “or he’ll steal part of your soul. That’s what the tattoos mean.”

“I’ve heard they do that, but I thought the tale a lie.”

“It’s real. Every brand makes him stronger.”

Dhanjal stepped forward a single pace. “Tell me your name.”

Time to shake the man.

“I am Kevlin, and I’m going to kill you like I did Shaemal.”

Dhanjal’s eyes widened in surprise and his confidence cracked. “You.” He did not even seem to notice that he broke the formality of his own pre-battle ritual.

Unnerving the man was necessary, but Kevlin would have preferred not opening the door to questions the others would later want to ask. That chapter of his life was over, and he did not want to revisit it.

“Time to kill him.” Kevlin advanced before Dhanjal regained his composure.

Terach drew his pala and paced Kevlin a few steps to his left.

“I know you, Trueson of Savas,” Dhanjal snarled as he drew his heavy scimitars and rolled his shoulders.

“Enough,” Kevlin shouted to drown out Dhanjal’s words. The man seemed willing to talk forever.

Kevlin charged.

Dhanjal beckoned him on.

“Come. Let us dance the Song of Savas.”