The wind snapped at him. The air was filled with a steady noise that was hard to define. It throbbed like a heartbeat, but that was impossible. No heart that large existed in the world to provide it. Theo closed his eyes; breathing in the scent of Dietrich’s cooling blood. He wanted it to focus him, to fuel the hate he needed, but every time he took in that awful smell, it conjured up Dietrich’s face. This was how it was supposed to be done in the old days, after the Elves and their justice had vanished. Motives and words and oaths, traditions the Elves thought they’d stamped out of the minotaur clans returned. Theo’s grandfather had done this. His great, great uncle had as well. They had sought vengeance, and they had needed their hate to carry them through to its grim end. This was how it had to be.

Theo took in another breath. Death filled his lungs, and he wretched, unable to take it any more.

Pain hit them then, as he breathed in too deeply and too fast. His chest burned where Rahm’s arrow had so nearly killed him. The agony of the wound in his flesh spread to his cracked ribs, seared his insides until the young bull’s only concern was trying to take in air without screaming. Theo let out a curse, and the scent of tears mixed with the blood of his friend.

I have to do this. I have to do this. Dietrich was so good and kind. Oh God, it hurts so much…

Theo tried to calm himself. He had to find his centre, but even breathing as slowly as he could, the minotaur nearly choked on the dust that swirled all about him. He knelt down, clutching at his ribs with one arm and the ground with the other hand, and gritting his teeth. When the worst of the burning had passed, he took a little dirt and used it to clean the blood from his nose. Dietrich had never approved of the ways of Theo’s clan, and now that the young bull had been forced to wait and remember, he realised that he had never had much use for them either. It was why he agreed to follow the sad, pale man in the first place. The world beyond the mountains had been vast and different, and the task he would have to fulfil seemed lucrative and easy. Witches were only tales that mother cows told to naughty calves. It was frightening to consider just how utterly Volkard had laid waste to his naiveté.

Theo finally forced himself back to his feet. His left arm remained curled protectively across his chest. His breastplate proved irreparable in the wake of the glancing blow of Rahm’s arrow and there had been no time to have a replacement made. All that protected his bandaged and stitched torso now was a cheap piece of leather armour. Theo doubted it would deflect even a man’s fist effectively, let alone another bull’s. He would have to rely on his reflexes and the dust to guard him. The problem was that that very dust was guarding Rahm right now as well. Theo took a careful breath and resumed walking.

The dirt ditch he had paused in was uneven and his booted feet sunk into the freshly churned earth now and again. Here and there Theo saw shapes half buried in the ground that he knew had to be some of the people killed by Volkard’s magic. He thought of the brave men who had followed the duke of Horwitz out here. Had any survived? Even the Ashen had not been spared by their prophet. What kind of mind could so callously slaughter so many people? Theo lingered too long here. Should he go along the line and check for survivors that might be trapped but trying to escape the ground? Dietrich would understand, Theo told himself. Dietrich had no family. But these people…

Stop it.

Theo sighed, turning his attention back to the swirling chaos that left him all but blind. These people were beyond help, and any that had somehow survived were keeping very quiet until this matter was settled. Theo looked all about him, trying to find some hint of a landmark he could use, but the dust had grown so thick in the air that he could barely see a couple of feet in front of him. This should have fallen from the air and settled by now. Theo understood why it would not.

What am I doing here?

He tried to banish the thought, but it entrenched itself and could not be moved. He was not fit for this. This death and violence and hate were alien to him, things he’d never wanted to see—or do. He had followed Dietrich because he wanted to see the world, and see if there was a place for people like him. Theo had wanted to help people. He had tracked down criminals, brigands, thieves, and madmen, but when he had found them, he had always brought in alive. The King’s justice had taken it from there. He had never taken a life until a few days ago at the abandoned house in the woods. Now, his hands were filthy with the blood of people he had slain. They dripped with his late master’s gore. He had trouble facings those facts. If he found and killed Rahm, could he live with that? He had sworn to avenge those people he had found slaughtered at the farm. He had promised Kurt that he would find his boy. By the blood oath he had taken, he had sworn to kill the brute that had murdered his master. Did none of that mean anything? Was he just a coward, looking for any excuse not finish what he had started? Theo could not think of an answer, and that troubled him.

A sound brought Theo out of his brooding, sharply distinct from the constant hum in the air. It took a moment for the young bull to gauge its direction. When he found it, a tense chill crept over him.

A figure, large and horned, emerged from the swirling dust. Theo did not have to wait to know its identity. He waited all the same though. His hands checked over his dusters. He had to fight to keep his cool as he tightened his grip on his armoured fighting gloves.

Rahm stopped perhaps ten paces away. He was almost slouching where he stood, his massive bow slung over his huge scarred shoulder. His face was disfigured, scarred horribly on the right side. The eye there was a strange colour that, in the dimness of the swirling dust storm, Theo could not identify. The sneer on the other bull’s face, at least, was obvious. He held a thick, brutal looking rod in his right hand. It might once have been part of a wrought iron gate.

“Looking for me, boy?”

Theo felt his skin crawl as the other bull spoke. Something was not right here. A nagging notion in the back of his head urged flight, but Theo’s limbs feel into a loose boxing stance anyway. The sneer on Rahm’s face grew sharper, violently evil.

“Yes,” the young bull answered, at last.

“Well, here I am. Now what?”

A chill ran down Theo’s spine at the look on his enemy’s face. He did not want to look at it, and could not fathom why. “Were you looking for me?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Rahm nodded.

“How did you find me? How could you find anything in this?”

“You burn.”

Theo lowered his guard a little, confused. “What?”

Rahm raised his right hand. Sneering still, he extended a finger from around the rod he held, and gently tapped the side of his head, next to his strange, discoloured eye.

“You burn,” he repeated. “Like a lighthouse in the fog. Your hate. Your sadness. They burn.”

Theo blinked, and his stomach tightened. He felt his will faltering. “I…I don’t understand.”

“I don’t care,” Rahm answered. “I just know I’m going to enjoy watching that fire in you die.”

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Theo remembered his hate. He raised his guard, and found his centre.

“Come on, then!” He roared.

Rahm advanced slowly, rod stretched out before him, as if he held a rapier in his hand. His free hand he kept open, ready. Theo advanced with deliberate care, watching every inch of his opponent, looking for the tell of his first attack. When Rahm charged, Theo was ready.

He saw the attack, a brutal downward strike aimed at his head, but Rahm’s speed surprised him. He shifted back a step, turning the blow aside with his armoured left forearm. Too late he realized he’d dodged the wrong way as Rahm loomed over him, his smile evil and triumphant.

Shit!

Theo cursed, swerved and leapt back, instinct and training taking over. Rahm’s huge fist swept past his belly as the young bull circled his opponent. It struck Theo just then how much larger Rahm was than he. Theo suppressed a grim smile: Konrad had been larger, and no less full of hate.

Theo dropped low, snapped out a jab with his right fist, aiming for Rahm’s kidney, but the beast’s speed surprised him yet again. His opponent turned, catching Theo’s barbed gauntlet with the meat of his left forearm. Rahm hissed as barbs carved into him, his mouth frothing as he swung with his rod again. Theo deflected the blow with his left, moving with the blow’s momentum and tried to kick out Rahm’s ankle. The larger the bull danced back from it. They circled.

I can do this, the young bull realised suddenly. I can beat him! He had been quietly dreading this moment, imagining how easily he’d be impaled by Rahm’s massive arrows, or torn apart by his bare hands. The wind here must have been why Rahm decided to try and slay him face to face, but he had not known, and Theo had forgotten, the kind of opponent the archer would be facing. This had been a mistake of Rahm’s, and even now, after such a brief exchange, the realisation seemed to be dawning on the brute. His courage faltered. Theo’s surged.

The Oak rushed forward. His ancestors roared when they charged their foes, but Theo had learned in the ring how unnerving silence could be to his opponents. Rahm tried to thrust with the rod, aiming for Theo’s centre of mass. Theo knocked it aside, dodging to the outside of Rahm’s guard and put as much power as he could into a left hook that smashed into the bigger male’s bare side. Rahm let out a noise somewhere between a roar and a whimper as the blow sent him staggering sideways and away from the Oak. Theo followed after. Rahm swung at him with the rod in a frenzied attempt to force some distance between them. Theo checked the weapon again, this time with both arms, and was in a position to cripple his opponent. His right hand seized Rahm’s wrist for just an instant, but it was enough to afford Theo the opportunity to drive his barbed left fist into Rahm’s elbow. Theo wanted to hear the joint snap, hear Rahm shriek as the limb bent in ways God and nature had never intended, but Rahm denied him the satisfaction. The other bull reacted just in time, pulling out of Theo’s grip before the joint was destroyed, but he could not save himself entirely from the blow. The huge male’s arm spasmed and bled. The rod clattered to the ground. Rahm screamed and started to fall back.

Theo charged after. Rahm tried to grab him, opening his throat up for a kill shot. Theo stepped to the side once more. His opponent now favoured his left arm and left side and Theo would press that advantage. A feint with his right opened Rahm up to an uppercut from his left that caught the flank once more, this time pulverising the left kidney the bull had managed to defend earlier. Rahm nearly toppled. He seemed barely able to keep his feet as he clutched his battered side with one trembling, bleeding arm as he spun and tried to put his other arm between himself and Theo. Even so, he was vulnerable. Theo could have killed him any way he had pleased. He slashed Rahm’s lower back as he kept behind him. Then he allowed Rahm to catch up to him in his frantic whirl, but only so that he could cut a gash across his enemy’s chest in much the same place the archer had wounded him.

“What’s the matter?” the young bull heard himself ask then, in a way he could never have imagined speaking before. “Is something wrong, Rahm? Is this not going how you’d planned?”

Rahm let out a roar, leaping forward, his massive arms stretching out to grab the smaller bull and possibly wringing his neck. But now he was bleeding, tried and injured. Theo was ready. He slipped under attack, and Rahm’s throat was right there. Theo sliced up his belly. He kicked out one of Rahm’s ankles and spun out from under the bull as he crumpled to the ground.

Rahm groaned as he tried to push himself back up onto his knees at least, but all he got for his efforts was Theo’s boot slamming into the side of his face. The kick sent him sprawling back down onto the soft, corpse cold dirt.

Theo’s whole body was trembling. He was panting, but could not feel tired. A feeling of conquest unlike any he had felt before in the ring, or outside of it, had him then. He stalked and stood over his defeated enemy.

“Am I still burning?” he asked Rahm, as he kicked him in the side. “Am I?”

The larger bull could only cough and moan. Rolling onto his side, he clutched at his bare, bleeding torso, his massive chest heaving, his eyes shut as he tried to deal with the pain.

Theo regarded him with a rapidly growing disgust and contempt. To think he had been so afraid of this monster. Awful thoughts tempted the young bull, then. Dietrich was gone, the latest of so many people to have died thanks to this murderer and his friends. The others had died quickly, granted a mercy they had denied their victims. Here lay Rahm the archer, one of their chiefs defeated, and utterly at Theo’s mercy.

I could take my time, came the thought, unbidden into Theo’s head. Dump his weapons and cut him out of his clothes. Plenty of ruins to drag him to and hide him. I could hobble him and cut him up, leave him to die. Make him pay for Dietrich. Dietrich…

As quickly as the thoughts of vengeance had entered Theo’s head, thoughts of his fallen master occupied them, too. Slow death was the clan way. Theo had seen it first hand, on two males that had been caught in each other’s’ arms when he was still a calf. Dietrich had saved him from that place and its barbaric ways. Theo knew his teacher would never forgive him if he carried out his gruesome fantasy. Rahm lay before him helpless and defeated. The fight was over.

Theo took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He found his centre in the darkness, and the constant humming of the dust storm. He opened his eyes. Rahm still lay on his side, his breathing shallow but steady, his own eyes barely open.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Theo said then, with real effort. He undid his bladed gauntlets, and pulled a thick set of steel manacles from a heavy pouch on his belt. “I’m going to take you back to Gozer to be tried. If the King decides to hang you, well, that’s his business. I will not sully myself with your murder, Rahm. It would be murder, Rahm. You were far too fucking easy to beat to make it anything else.”

This last part, which Theo could not help but say, was spoken as he was leaning down over his fallen enemy. He was reaching out to grab the larger bull’s bare shoulder, intending to roll Rahm only his belly and shackle his arms behind him, but no sooner had Theo touched him than the brute reacted, and his speed caught Theo off guard for a third time.

The beast’s arm snapped out like a snake waiting for its chance. It found Theo’s wrist, squeezed and twisted the outstretched arm. Theo gasped and tried to squirm out of the other male’s grip but Rahm was too quick and too strong. He rolled, dragging the young bull on top of him. The other arm moved then. Theo caught a half second glance of the open palm, filled with dirt and dust that then filled his eyes. Agony overtook him. He cried out, blind and terrified. He had no idea what was happening. He tried lashing out with his feet and his free hand, but then there was another shift and he felt Rahm’s fist smashing into his crotch.

Theo screamed, his body contorting. The grip at his wrist loosened just a fraction. The adrenaline had not faded yet, and so Theo was able to pull and twist, slipping out of the other bull’s grasp before anything else could be done. He was rolling then, along the rough ditch littered with bits of dead, howling in agony, blind and afraid. Any second he expected to feel Rahm’s hands at his throat, crushing the life out of him, but those thoughts quickly faded, unlike the pain.

When exactly Theo stopped his blind retreat, he could not possibly have guessed. Eventually, even the terror of death could not push him any further. He rolled to a stop in a panting, agonised mess. He rubbed at his eyes as the tears flowed freely, curled up in a ball as the agony from the blow to his genitals continued to throb.

Finally, Theo was able to rub enough of the dust from his eyes to see something of his surroundings. He looked about weakly, waiting for the huge figure of Rahm to emerge from the swirling chaos as he had done so before. Nothing happened. It soon dawned on the young bull that his enemy was not interested in finishing this just then.

He got away. I let him get away.

The thought lingered. Theo did nothing to drive it off. He could have been more careful. He could have slain his enemy, but had wanted to see him bleed. He should have won, and avenged his master, but his overconfidence had done him in. If he had not done such terrible damage to Rahm, Theo realised that he would very likely be dead by now.

“Bastard!” he tried to yell. He wound up coughing fitfully, grinding his teeth at the discomfort the reaction brought to his ribs, which now flared up again that his body was still, and the rush of fear and combat had ended.

“You better run from me, Rahm!” he yelled out. He dragged himself up onto his knees, and swayed precariously on them as clutched his throbbing chest and looked around. No dark figures in the dust storm threatened him. No arrows tore through the driving wind to cut him down. Theo let out a growl of fury. He could have won!

“You keep running, you fucking coward! I’ll find you! You hear me, Rahm? I’ll find you!”

The wind picked up its humming. Theo struck the ground with his fist, tearing at the soft soil beneath him. He drove his hand into it, felt it crumble between his fingers as he waited for the pain he felt all over his body to subside. The ground was soft. Rahm would have left tracks in the dirt as he fled. Perhaps if he were quick enough...

The ground shook violently before the young bull could finish his thought. A shock-wave tore through the air, knocking Theo back down onto his side. The pain made him shut his eyes. The darkness became red, and he thought for one second that the dust storm had been dispelled, and that the sun was out. It was not until he opened them again, half covering them with his hand did he understand that it was not the sun above that was the source of the growing, terrifying light.

Volkard!