The strike force ate breakfast under a chill gray sky. They might be elite soldiers, but they didn’t cook much better than the mercenaries Kevlin had commanded.

As they finished tying their gear onto the backs of their mounts, Drystan approached Kevlin. "How about a little exercise?"

"Exercise?"

"Aye, I’d like to cross blades with you before we go into battle together.”

“Me too,” Jerrik said. “No brother of mine’s going to embarrass us tomorrow. Besides, nothing like a good fight in the morning to get the blood pumping.”

Kevlin followed the two of them away from the camp to the open end of the clearing. Jerrik settled against a nearby tree while Kevlin faced Drystan.

“Leave him standing,” Jerrik called to Drystan. “I want a round too.”

The rest of the company gathered around, already betting heatedly. Not surprisingly, Kevlin was given long odds, but not to win. The men were betting on how many seconds he’d last.

Drystan can’t be that good.

Drystan raised his spear, and Kevlin attacked with his sword. Drystan easily deflected the blow and returned with a blinding counterattack that had Kevlin backpedaling to avoid being struck in the first seconds of the match.

Maybe he is.

Kevlin circled and attacked again. Again, his Einarri brother easily blocked and swiped the butt end of the spear lightly across Kevlin’s ribs to mark a point.

Kevlin fought hard, but Drystan danced just out of reach, like a wraith, always a step ahead. Every time he thought he had worked out a sequence that could reach the lanky warrior, a surprise spin or unexpected twist of the spear left him stumbling on the defensive.

Drystan paused each time to explain what Kevlin had done wrong, what opening he’d left unguarded, or how his balance or the placement of his feet had been incorrect. The breadth of Drystan’s knowledge was astounding.

As they dueled, Kevlin thought back to his fight with Dhanjal. Immediately, a drum beat in his soul, reverberating through his body.

Oh no.

Horns blared a fanfare that set his limbs quivering.

He tried to push the song away and, while distracted, caught a heavy blow from Drystan on his leather-armored chest.

“Sorry about that,” Drystan said with an easy smile. “I thought you’d see that one coming."

You are weak, a soft but powerful voice spoke inside his mind. Serve me and fail no more.

Kevlin lunged, trying to ignore the voice by renewing the contest. Drystan flowed back into the fight without hesitation, striking Kevlin again within seconds.

The drums returned, stronger than before, and with their insistent beat came the mocking voice.

Failed again. Always failing.

Images flashed through Kevlin’s mind with the blaring of Savas’ horns: Terach, with Dhanjal’s scimitar protruding from his back, while his blood burned; Antigonus, lying helpless in the inn while Kevlin dove through the window to escape. . .

Drystan paused and leaned on his spear. “You need to watch your stance,” he began.

Kevlin wasn’t listening. Rage at his failures burned, and the song of Savas intensified. The drums rumbled through his soul, magnified by his anger, and a wave of sound only he could hear overwhelmed all thought.

Behold victory, the voice declared, and a fighting form flashed into his mind, punctuated by the next beat of the cadence.

He couldn’t resist.

Leaping forward, he slashed at Drystan’s face.

The lanky captain barely managed to dodge the blow. The crowd of soldiers booed, but Kevlin heard nothing but the beating of drums as he slipped under the spell of Savas’ song.

His sword slashed, each blow punctuated by blaring horns, and his feet danced in time with the drums. The two of them battled across the clearing, weapons flashing in the early morning light and filling the air with the sound of the struggle.

Drystan never slowed, and after a minute, Jerrik leaped into the fray, swinging the flat of his huge axe at Kevlin’s chest. Kevlin, fully immersed in the Song, laughed as his body twisted around the blow. He struck Jerrik across his armored torso.

Jerrik dropped the axe and grabbed Kevlin’s arms, holding him in a viselike grip. “That’s enough.”

The song intensified, and a new sound joined the melody. Some kind of stringed instrument burst into the song in a striking counterpoint to the original beat. Energy shivered down Kevlin’s spine and he ran straight up Jerrik’s torso and slammed his boots into the big man’s head, then thrust himself back and away.

Jerrik lost his grip. He grabbed his axe and bellowed, “Ukko’s Beard! I said that’s enough, Kevlin.”

Kevlin landed back on his feet, but Drystan stepped between them, spear at the ready, “Kevlin, what’s going on?”

Victory, the voice called, and the cadence swelled into a battle dirge that swept Kevlin into a new form. Without a word, he attacked.

Drystan blocked the initial strike but Kevlin flowed around Drystan’s spear and slammed a fist into the tall warrior’s jaw, knocking him back. Kevlin’s sword whistled in for the kill.

Jerrik deflected it, then stepped close and grabbed at Kevlin again. Kevlin rolled away and slashed Jerrik’s armored torso once more.

The two captains faced him together and he fought them both, all thought surrendered to the song of Savas, all action dictated by it. The three whirled around each other, weapons clashing together in a wonderful din that reinforced the song in Kevlin’s soul. It built toward a crescendo where Kevlin would stand victorious over his enemies.

The song drove Kevlin’s body far beyond its natural limits, but even as it propelled him to heights of skill greater even than when he had faced Dhanjal, his swordbrothers met his every stroke.

The two captains used vastly different styles. Drystan fought with a grace and speed unmatched by anyone Kevlin had ever seen. Jerrik kept his huge axe whirling in front of him in a constant blur. Despite every form dictated by the song, Kevlin could not touch them.

After a moment, Drystan unexpectedly took a step back and lowered his spear.

Kevlin lunged for the kill, but their eyes met, and he felt Drystan’s thoughts. A single word slipped through the clamoring song

Brother.

Kevlin stumbled. Jerrik halted beside Drystan and lowered his axe. Kevlin felt Jerrik’s thought just as he had Drystan’s.

Brother.

Serve me, the voice commanded, and the next beat pounded through his soul with fresh intensity. Destroy them.

He raised his sword, but it wavered.

Surrender to me, and all victory will be yours.

A new image burned into Kevlin’s mind, so startling that he staggered back. In a flash, Savas revealed what he wanted: Tia Khoa.

In that second, Savas showed him how to reach Tia Khoa’s power and surrender it.

Victory everlasting.

Drums beat, horns blared, and strings pulled at him. He wouldn’t have to worry any more. Savas would take care of everything.

Brother.

That single word punched through the image, shattering it, and holding back the insistent power of the cadence. Kevlin’s mind surfaced and he stumbled away, fighting to regain control.

He looked up, and became aware of two women standing nearby. One was auburn-haired and olive-skinned, with brilliant emerald eyes. The other was slightly taller, with dark hair framing creamy white skin, and eyes like pools of midnight.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

A memory crept into his mind, undimmed by the beating of drums. His lips tingled from the memory of a sweet kiss, of soft lips pressed against his own. He blinked, and in that moment awakened fully from the nightmare of Savas’ control.

I will not serve you! Kevlin shouted the thought, and pushed the song away. His sword slipped from his fingers.

He willed wobbly legs forward toward Ceren and Indira, who he finally recognized. The two women held their ground. Ceren grasped the hilt of her sword as if on the verge of drawing it.

“Thank you,” he said to her.

“What are you talking about, you leech-brained fool?” Ceren exclaimed. “You’re making an idiot of yourself.”

He threw an arm around each woman and pulled them close.

Ceren punched him in the stomach, but yelped when her fist struck armor. “Let me go,” she hissed.

He kissed her on the cheek, then kissed Indira in like manner before releasing them.

“Are you all right?” Indira asked, laying one hand on his shoulder.

“I am now.”

Ceren snorted.

He turned away from them to face Drystan and Jerrik, who had approached behind him. Drystan had picked up the discarded sword, but the two stood at the ready.

“Brothers, I’m sorry about that,” Kevlin said.

“What got into you?” Jerrik demanded.

Harafin pushed past them, his expression hard and eyes flashing with power. “You have some explaining to do, young man.” To Gabral, he said, "Colonel, dismiss your men.”

Gabral gave the order and all the other soldiers drifted slowly toward their mounts, talking amongst themselves. The colonel crossed his arms and watched Kevlin with a disapproving frown. In a moment, only he, Harafin, Leander, and Kevlin’s two swordbrothers remained.

“Now,” Harafin said, peering at Kevlin like a hawk considering a potential kill, “explain your connection to Savas.”

“You knew?”

“I saw. When a god grants their influence, their power surrounds the stalwart and is visible to sentinels as particular forms of light. You glowed with the unique hues of Savas, yet you are no Blade Stalwart.”

“No, I’m not.” Kevlin felt so exhausted he could barely stand. He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t explain it. It started when I faced Dhanjal.”

“This is unusual,” Leander said.

“I tried to ask Antigonus about it, but we didn’t have much time, and all he would say was that I should be cautious.”

“You should have heeded his advice.”

“You think I wanted this to happen? I tried, but I couldn’t stop it. He just took over.”

Harafin frowned. “Tell me everything this time.”

Kevlin told them about the fight with Dhanjal, and how the voice and cadence had overwhelmed him. Then he described how it had taken control again while dueling Drystan and Jerrik.”

“How’d you break out of it?” Jerrik asked.

“It was you and Drystan.”

Kevlin tried to explain how he had felt their thoughts and their connection as swordbrothers, and how that had interrupted the song long enough to break free of its domination. He left out the impact of remembering the kiss. They’d think he’d totally lost his mind.

Drystan turned to Harafin. “Is that why you told us to lower our weapons?”

“No. It looked like Kevlin was only partially under Savas’ control. I hoped that by removing the threat, his lust for battle would fade and he could break free.”

“You weren’t sure?” Jerrik asked.

“Not entirely.”

“That experiment could’ve killed me,” Drystan complained.

“But it did not. Thank you for trusting me.”

Drystan muttered something too low for Kevlin to hear.

“This is an unexpected turn of events,” Harafin declared.

“I’d say it’s more than that,” Colonel Gabral said. “He withheld information from us.”

“I didn’t think it was going to be a problem again,” Kevlin said.

“You endangered our company. As such, you should be executed,” Grabral declared.

“No,” Harafin said. “No one will be executed today.”

“I’m in command,” Gabral retorted. “Decisions of discipline are mine to make.”

Harafin leveled his steely gaze on the colonel, who backed up an uneasy step.

“Well, it is,” Gabral muttered.

“Generally, yes, but this case is unique, and I will overrule you if I must. As a member of the ruling council, I possess that authority.”

“We cannot have a steward in thrall to Savas,” Leander observed. “It would be disastrous.”

Kevlin bit back the urge to tell them what Savas had revealed to him. If they realized what Savas wanted, they’d kill him for sure. The images had begun to fade already, and Kevlin wasn’t even sure the revelation would have worked had he tried to follow Savas' instructions.

“No, we cannot,” Harafin agreed. “But he was named steward, and Tia Khoa has accepted him. We cannot take the stone from him now.”

“I don’t want to be in thrall to Savas,” Kevlin said with a suppressed shudder. He tried to forget the amazing memory of standing against both Jerrik and Drystan simultaneously. He had fought like a god under Savas’ control.

That wasn’t helpful.

“You are wise to feel that way,” Harafin said. “For should you give in to Savas, He could unleash unending war on the empire through you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You are Tia Khoa’s steward. Until a bearer again wields it, its power is associated with you. You haven’t offered your soul to Savas as a stalwart, yet nonetheless he has attempted to claim you. He has never done anything like that before.”

Leander said thoughtfully, “It is possible he seeks to access Tia Khoa’s power through Kevlin by making him his pawn.”

Harafin shook his head. “Kevlin is not actinopathic. He cannot surrender that power even if he wanted to.”

Kevlin should tell them. They just about had it figured out, but what would they do to him once they knew for sure?

Then he thought of something. “Wait a minute. I wasn’t steward when I fought Dhanjal.”

“No,” Harafin said, “but Savas may have suspected you would be.”

“So the gods do know the future,” Drystan said.

“I am afraid it’s not so simple.” Harafin glanced sharply at Drystan and Jerrik. “Kevlin felt your thoughts. Otherwise, he might not have escaped. Without the two of you. . .” His voice trailed off, and his eyes widened in surprise. For a moment he looked shocked.

“What is it?” Kevlin asked, suddenly very nervous.

“You three. . .”

Harafin’s voiced trailed off again and he glanced down at Kevlin’s hand. Kevlin turned it over, showing his palm. The small swordbrother scar gleamed white in the morning light.

“Life over death,” Harafin said in a whisper.

“What is it?” Kevlin asked again.

“It cannot be,” Harafin muttered to himself.

“Well, it might be. Why don’t you tell us?”

I don’t even know what we’re talking about!

Was there a school they attended to learn cryptic dialogue?

“I must think on this further,” Harafin said, and turned away.

“He’s been saying that a lot lately,” Jerrik remarked.

“How could I have been so wrong?” Harafin’s voice carried to them as he walked toward his horse, head bowed in thought.

“I wonder if he’s really as smart as everyone thinks,” Drystan said.

“You just worry about sticking that spear into makrasha,” Leander said. “Let Harafin worry about the weighty matters.”

“With pleasure.”

Leander turned to Kevlin. “Know this. With Savas, all will be decided the third time. You have rebuffed him twice, but if you surrender to him the third time, you will never escape his control. He will own your soul.”

“How do I stop him?”

“Stay close to your brothers,” Harafin said loudly from a dozen paces away.

Gabral said, “I will offer what aid I can.”

That was surprising. “Thanks,” Kevlin said.

The short colonel raised a hand to Kevlin’s shoulder. “I swear this oath. Should you fall to Savas’ power, I will strike you down myself. With the Mace, I don’t care what power enslaves you. It’ll crush your skull just as easily.”

“I don’t need your oath.”

“It is already given, and I won’t hesitate to honor it.”

“I think that’s enough,” Leander said.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Gabral decided. “Let’s ride.”

Kevlin headed for his horse, ignoring the many sidelong glances from soldiers in the company. They must have thought him crazy. It would be better if it were that simple.

Nearby, Harafin said to Leander, “Ride with me, my old friend. I need your wisdom.”

Leander said, “Savas is a crafty one.”

“He has far more access to the prophecies than we, and may understand them better.”

“Let’s just get Antigonus back tomorrow,” Kevlin called over the back of his horse. He fought to suppress a shiver at how those old men spoke so familiarly of the gods and prophecies, things he wanted nothing to do with.

Harafin said grimly, “Yes, tomorrow will decide many things.”

Kevlin drew Jerrik and Drystan aside. “Look,” he began, “I’m sorry about that fight. I didn’t plan for that to happen. I just. . .”

The words trailed off. How could he explain it?

“It’s all right,” Drystan said. “Harafin always talks in riddles, so I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll try to help. Just try to warn us next time.”

“At least it was a good fight,” Jerrik said.

“Aye,” Drystan said. “Best I’ve had in years. And since Jerrik and I aren’t allowed to fight each other, you turned out to be the next best thing.”

“What does he have against you two fighting?”

“Common sense,” Gabral interrupted from where he stood by his horse.

"A wager then," replied Drystan, a sly look on his face. "We're both leading identical forces in identical maneuvers against the fort."

"Aye."

"Then, first man to the center of the courtyard inside the fort wins,” said Drystan.

"Just a minute," said Gabral. "I will not have you endangering your men to win a bet."

"Then how about this?" Jerrik said. "First to the middle, but with the fewest casualties."

When Gabral offered no argument, Drystan laughed loudly, "Done."

Word of the wager spread quickly, and the other soldiers began eagerly making their own side bets.

Kevlin went over to Gabral, who was working some kind of cream into his hair. “Why not let Jerrik and Drystan duel? You let them fight me.”

“I didn’t expect you’d be possessed by Savas, or I wouldn’t have allowed it. I can’t let those two loose on each other.”

“Why not?”

Gabral snorted and began carefully brushing his black hair, forming its naturally straight locks into waves. “You really have no idea who they are, do you?”

“I know Jerrik’s family. His brother was one of the best soldiers I ever met.”

“You’ve been adopted by two of the best fighters in the empire. When word gets out that you managed to unite them as brothers, it’ll create a stir, I promise you."

"Why?"

"Jerrik is the undisputed champion of Donarr. No one’s ever come close against him."

Kevlin shrugged. “And Drystan is. . .” His voice trailed off as he finally made the connection.

Gabral nodded when Kevlin’s eyes widened in realization. “Took you long enough.” He tucked the brush into a saddlebag and surveyed his shining hair in a small hand mirror.

“Drystan Aldacosia,” Kevlin muttered. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it."

Drystan was the great champion, winner of the last five imperial games. His fame had swept the empire after the last games, with many claiming he was the best fighter in imperial history.

Kevlin hadn’t paid much attention to the claims. While leading his mercenary troops, he had always had more important things to worry about than who won the imperial games. He considered the games less meaningful, less worthy than the very real battles he’d been fighting for years.

"So what’s the problem if Drystan’s the champion?"

"That’s the question. Is he really? Jerrik’s never been free to go to the games and face him.”

"Oh. That would be quite a fight.”

“Not on my watch,” Gabral said. “I can’t afford to have either of them killed or disabled. This troop was thrown together when Harafin received a message from Antigonus, and includes elite soldiers from three different kingdoms. Until we galloped out of the city, no one even realized they’d both be riding together under the same command."

Kevlin whistled softly. "Amazing."

"Aye."

Kevlin returned to his mount, his mind full. Becoming swordbrothers yesterday had been enough of a surprise without that added twist.

He’d stood alone against both of them. It was a good thing Savas wasn’t in the prize fighting business. He could rake in a lot of cash.

Kevlin thought back to the feeling of awesome power bestowed by Savas, but then forced the memory away. Better to stay in control. All he wanted was for the battle to be won tomorrow and his involvement with gods and talismans of power and stalwarts to end.

Still, it felt good to be part of a company again. Kevlin hadn’t realized how much he missed the feeling of riding with like-minded men, united in purpose and preparing for battle. Whatever came next, he was glad he had that opportunity.

“Move out,” Gabral ordered.