Eidrak led the way, pushing through throngs of Durgh en route to the Khan. The massive warriors glanced at Micah and his party bemusedly, but let them pass with little more than some off-handed curious comments.

A cheer went up from the mob of soldiers as a warbeast, easily as tall as the walls of Westmarch itself thumped toward the citadel, stopping about five hundred paces short. Two Durgh rolled a boulder up to the monster, and its handler, a man clad in black armor cracked a whip at the creature’s feet.

It leaned down, cradling the rock in both hands before spinning in a circle, boulder clutched to its chest, and releasing the massive stone sphere toward the tower. Micah watched it trace an arc through the air before crashing into the fortress’ reinforced stone wall.

“Siege weaponry?” Micah asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Of course!” Eidrak chuckled back, leading their group toward a circle of eight massive Durgh, each of them wielding a halberd. “Why waste time and valuable wood on crafting a catapult? The damn things are unwieldy and hard to maneuver through tunnels. A proper siege warbeast requires a day of rituals and twenty captives. Its hearts will give out after a couple of days, but we’ll be through those flimsy stone walls long before then.”

Two of the large Durghs, each a head taller than Eidrak, stepped forward crossing their weapons in front of the party. The male Durgh glared sternly down at their guide, while the female eyed up the party of humans and animals warily.

“Eidrak,” the male Durgh nodded, his voice gruff. “The Khan is busy now. Why do you have prisoners? You should know that Tass’dur means death or the ritual pits. It's not that hard a concept.”

“Well this little guy.” Micah rolled his eyes as Eidrak had to visibly restrain himself from reaching back and ruffling Micah’s hair. “Has invoked Bulthar. He claims that the body he’s been carrying around is the mastermind behind the Rokdur massacre, and that he wants to challenge the Khan for the right to stop the invasion.”

The female Durgh’s face twitched, the barest hint of a smile flickering across it before returning to its usual expressionless appearance.

“This isn’t some sort of idiotic excuse to play for time is it?” The male asked with a stern frown. “Krosst won’t be pleased if this is some sort of prank.”

“Feel free to keep attacking Westmarch if you don’t believe me,” Micah chimed in. “I suspect most of the soldiers used on the Rokdur are stationed there, and this was never about the citadel anyway.”

“What is this?” The guard addressed Eidrak, hooking a thumb toward Micah, “and why are you letting it speak?”

“This.” Micah staggered under Eidrak’s massive hand as it clapped down on the shoulder that didn’t carry Martin. “This is a Micah. Either he has avenged the honor of clan Rokdur, and he’s about to die at the hands of the Khan in a noble but foolhardy challenge, or he’s lying.”

“And he’s about to die at the hands of the Khan in a significantly less pleasant fashion.” The female Durgh finished for him. “Specifically with more viscera and screaming.”

“Charming.” Micah smiled at her. “Now how do we go about verifying that the asshole over my shoulder started this entire mess? I put him into a coma with a spell, and didn’t think the implications through. Apparently his biological processes still function just fine while unconscious because I’m pretty sure he just pissed down my back.”

Jo shuffled away from him hurriedly, while the female Durgh struggled once again to keep a straight face. Eidrak just guffawed.

“It’ll be a shame when you die human,” their guide chuckled, shaking his head. “If you succeed at the Rite of Bulthar and decide to back out of challenging the Khan, let me know. I’d be happy to fight beside you once this is all over.”

“Enough of this love fest.” The male guard shook his head crossly. “ With Bulthar invoked, we unfortunately can’t kill these pests out of hand. I’ll get the Khan and Monloff. They’ll be able to make proper sense of this Micah’s claim.”

They waited for almost ten minutes under the gaze of the female Durgh. In that time, she never spoke, let alone offered her name. Despite her silence, Micah felt a good deal more comfortable around her than the male guard. She might not be personable, but at least she wasn’t actively looking for a reason to be offended like the male soldier.

The dull thud of rocks pounding against Westmarch’s walls echoed across the plains, audible over the growing din of Durgh beginning to cluster around their party. Most of the warriors were still at the front, surrounding and besieging the fortress, but more and more of them began to cluster around the small party of humans and animals.

The thump of a drum jolted Micah from his observation. It rocked through the clearing, powered by some sort of sonic magic that caused his very bones to vibrate. Instantly, the commotion around them stilled, the Durgh respectfully stepping back and forming a ring around Micah and his companions.

A short Durgh, smaller than Micah himself, stepped out from behind the female guard, a smile on his face and an ornate drum made of wood and skin strapped across his chest. He slapped its head, sending another head buzzing and tooth rattling wave of sound through the clearing.

“Make way!” The tiny Durgh shouted, capering to the side. “Make way for Krosst, Khan of the Southern Caverns! These humans have invoked the sacred rite of Bulthar. They seek to balance the deaths of the Rokdur. If their offering is sufficient, Tass’dur shall be revoked!”

The crowd around them rumbled dangerously.

The drummer slammed his fist down hard on his instrument, generating a wave of magically powered sound that made Micah’s eyes water. “SILENCE!” He shouted, practically jumping with anger. “If their offering is insufficient, their lives, honor and souls shall be forfeit, paid as tribute to honor the dead and balance the scales.”

“Wait,” Jo hissed into Micah’s ear, leaning close past the foul smelling Martin. “Micah, what the hell is this about forfeiting our souls?”

The small Durgh glared at Jo, but didn’t say anything. Instead, a massive but familiar man walked by him. Khan Krosst was just as massive as Micah remembered. Twice his height with muscles the size of Micah’s entire torso. Even halfway across the clearing, he could feel the palpable aura of power emanating from the warrior, the mark of a third specialization elite.

“Human.” Krosst held the hilt of his massive spiked flail in one hand, the head in another. As he said the word, he let the ball of the weapon drop. It slammed into the ground with enough force to leave a small crater.

“You have invoked the sacred rite of Bulthar.” The Khan crossed his arms in front of his bone cuirass, the flail in his hand a constant threat and reminder. “Present your offering.”

Micah took two steps forward, dumping Martin’s unconscious body into the center of the circle created by the surrounding army before he returned to his original position.

“By my own hand I have captured alive the architect of the Rokdur massacre and slain his assistant.” Micah bowed slightly, indicating Martin’s comatose form. “Others have participated in the raids, but they were just following orders. This man, Martin Osswain, a Royal Knight of Pereston is the one that broke the treaty between our peoples and forfeited his honor to kill the Rokdur innocent.”

The Khan stared down at Martin’s urine soaked and pajama clad form for a long moment. Micah’s breath caught in his throat. He’d done the ritual right, he knew it. From the angle of his bow, to the phrasing of his words. Everything had been copied straight from the book on Durgh customs he’d copied into the Folio while studying in the Royal Academy library.

“Was this man captured by guile and artifice, or fair combat?” Krosst looked up at Micah, his face impassive but menace in his voice.

Micah’s heart began hammering. Certain actions increased the value of an offering. The seniority of the figure offered or delivering them alive rather than dead were prime examples of factors that would boost a sacrifice’s value.

Others decreased an offering’s value. Capturing a target through trickery or poison could almost halve its value.

Given that Micah and his companions would have to make up any shortcoming between the dishonor of the Rokdur massacre and the honor gained by sacrificing Martin to the Durgh in blood, the Khan’s question wasn’t one that he truly wanted to answer.

Still. The odds that there was a truth seer monitoring this sort of formal occasion approached absolute certainty. It would be simpler and quicker to simply drink poison than to try and lie at this point.

“As fair of combat as I could manage under the circumstances,” Micah answered.

“Molnoff?” Krosst asked the diminutive drummer, never taking his eyes from Micah.

The small Durgh touched his hand to the head of his drum. Eyes closed and lips moving wordlessly for almost ten seconds.

“Truth,” Molnoff supplied, opening his eyes. “His beat rings ragged but true.”

Micah felt his muscles clench. The smaller Durgh stared at Micah impassively, the palm of his left hand on top of the drum, waiting for him to continue.

“A very human answer,” Krosst snorted. “You have managed to answer my question without truly saying anything. Explain human. Tell me how you captured this man, and tell me how you know that he is the architect of what happened in Rokdur cavern. No half truths. No obfuscations.”

“I request confidentiality.” Micah set down his spear and exposed his palms to the Khan. “I approach unarmed and without malice. I can answer your questions, but doing so involves words that must not be spread. May my honor shatter like brittle stone if I break my vow.”

Krosst’s head whipped to the side in alarm, staring at Molnoff. The musician yanked his hand back from his drum as if burned, trembling as he nodded.

The Khan nodded slowly, before responding. “Very well. You certainly seem to believe your words. Approach and I shall see if there is any merit to them.”

Micah walked toward Krosst, noting out of the corner of his eye that Molnoff was drawing nearer as well. Finally, barely a pace from the Khan, Micah stopped, craning his head upward to look at the massive Durgh.

“I have been given a task by Ankros and Mursa,” he began, ignoring the surprised nod from Molnoff as the drummer confirmed his words. “In order to grow stronger, they have arrayed various challenges before me. One of those is your army.”

Micah took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing.

“My blessing allows me to travel back in time when certain conditions are met. I have relived the same five years three times now, sometimes defeating your raid only to lose everything, and sometimes losing in my struggle against you. Today will not be the first day I face you in battle Khan Krosst.”

The massive Durgh’s eyes widened, his fist clenching the handle of his flail so tightly that Micah could make out his individual tendons straining against his skin.

“Some months ago, Mursa contacted me directly to inform me that Luxos was interfering with her plan. He dispatched agents of his Church to instigate a conflict between our people before the appointed time. I came to investigate and found the massacre at Rokdur.”

“At that point.” Micah motioned at Westmarch behind him. “I infiltrated the nearest Pereston military base and found a Royal Knight and his Squire that I know from a previous life should have been stationed at the capital. There is no doubt in my mind that the only reason that they would be in such an out of the way outpost would be to spark needless conflict between our people.”

“I attacked both the knight and the squire on sight,” Micah nodded toward Martin’s body. “They were unprepared and that helped me overpower them, but both Martin and his squire had an opportunity to fight back. In fact, the battle with Martin lasted long enough that some senior officers in the Pereston army saw me capturing him and escaping.”

Silence hung in the air for a couple seconds after Micah finished speaking. Krosst turned meaningfully to Molnoff.

“His words are true as he understands them,” the diminutive Durgh tapped his fingers against the head of his drum, “The beat is steady and the notes are deep. I do not detect any attempt to deceive or lie.”

“So.” Krosst glared down at Micah. “Ankros has sent you to kill me. To turn my life and honor into a stepping stone on your toward glory.”

“Well,” Micah chuckled nervously. “He certainly sent me to try. I got the impression that it wouldn’t bother him all that much if I failed. In fact, it sounded like most of the people given trials like mine tended to end up dead.”

For the first time, the Khan smiled back.

“That certainly does sound like Ankros,” the big Durgh rumbled, a hint of a smile on his face. “I don’t envy the steps that have brought you here human, but you have been forward and honorable. I agree that your request for confidentiality is warranted.”

He stepped backward, motioning toward Molnoff. The smaller Durgh hit his drum once, sonic energy shaking everyone in the clearing.

“The human has satisfied the terms of Bulthar!” Krosst roared, raising one fist above his head. “The raid continues, but Tass’dur has been vacated. The innocent shall be allowed to retreat and warriors may die with honor.”

“I challenge you, Krosst, Khan of the Southern Caverns for the right to end the raid,” Micah replied formally, speaking as loudly as he could without shouting.

“You stand before me with some honor,” Krosst motioned toward Martin’s unconscious body. Even as Micah watched, the female Durgh from earlier stroad forward, picking the knight up in one fist and carrying him away from the clearing toward whatever grisly fate lay in store for him. “But you have not yet proven yourself.”

“Two challenges.” The Khan held up formed a ‘v’ with his extended index and pointer fingers. “Prove that you are worth my time by defeating two of my lieutenants and you may challenge me. That said, even if you win, the battle against this fortress is already joined. My men have tasted blood and they will not return to the Great Depths without tasting more. Slay me, and this tower will be the end of things.”

“Acceptable.” Micah nodded, not terribly surprised by Krosst’s conditions. “I hail from a nearby city, and the soldiers of this fortress acted with dishonor. I do not associate with them, and your men can do as they will.”

Micah noted a hint of appreciation in the Khan’s eyes, even as Drekt stepped forward from their party.

“As Micah Silver’s second,” the big man slammed a fist against his breastplate. “I accept the first challenge on his behalf.”

“And I accept the second,” Trevor echoed, walking forward to stand next to his boyfriend and plant his spear defiantly into the ground.

Looking back at the two of them, Micah couldn’t help but feel a smile grow on his face. From two reluctant kids, making mistake after mistake while Drekt watched on in bemused exasperation. Both of them had grown so much.

“Very well.” Krosst inclined his head toward Drekt and Trevor. “Taklit shall fight first, followed by Hadrass.”

Micah walked up to his brother and Drekt, putting a hand on both of their shoulders. He squeezed gently, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Then Micah continued past them, picking up his spear and taking position with the rest of the party. Now came the hard part. Watching impotently while others fought and bled on his behalf.