Tarica explored the Drakefangs’ village as spring transitioned into summer and was impressed at their way of life. The orcs did not have as many natural resources as the elves but scraped up a living on what was available.

The climate was not as harsh as expected. After the orcs had invaded the Dark Kingdom, the Drakefangs settled further north than most of the other tribes. Compared to the arid deserts of the south, the temperature was moderate. She was closer to the Dark Kingdom when she stayed with Florena than she was in Deassala, but every night she still ate a dream fruit, hoping to avoid any nightmares during her sleep.

She was able to communicate primarily through Elfish. Tarica knew many orc dialects and could speak them and even translate for Eliseo when Sinker was not around but most orcs knew Elfish or Common so she only needed to translate for Eliseo in the presence of orc children. There was a reason Elfish was the language most races resorted to in diplomatic negotiations. Humanity developed its own common tongue but it evolved with every generation. Common had been conceived with the purpose of being simple to learn, it grew more complex as new words from various cultures were incorporated into it. Even the dwarven language changed, however slowly, across the centuries, Elfish was the sole stable language.

Sinker’s wife and their daughter never called him Sinker so Eliseo started to call him by his proper name, Zarku, in public and in Sinker’s home which Eliseo and Tarica stayed in. Sinker still preferred for them to call him by his nickname, having Eliseo refrain from that seemed too impersonal. The human and elf had stayed in the daughter’s room for a night before the Tinker’s erected an extension.

The days would have lengthened to their peak in her homeland but Florena’s forest would have convinced her winter never came if she had forgotten the course of time.

While in Ushua, frost was beginning to be forgotten for the warm days of summer, in northern Deasala they were now going through their wet season with frequent rain. The Drakefangs had continued to enjoy nature’s bounty trade and other means through what had been a dry spring.

The orcs and goblins diverted the waters of a nearby river by digging a channel for their fisheries and farms. There were some wild plants in the area that consisted of tall grasses, gnarled trees, and prickly shrubs. Tarica planted some of the herbs Florena had given her, but the conditions were not suitable for most vegetation. Tarica needed to refill her pouch of dream fruit, but she knew plants grown in such a harsh environment would only give her nightmares. The differences in the secluded forests and the open plains were drastic. There was little shelter from the sun, so she gradually became more accustomed to its rays, and her skin darkened.

In the northern side where she was, summer was the growing season while at the furthest south she might have found them in the in the middle of their growing season as winter in that region was their wettest season, the grains they grew could survive snow and extended cold in places that knew such chill.

A majority of the life there appeared to be reptilian with mammals being a rare sight. This was the land dragons were said to have come from. The apex predator of a land of giants.

Stranger large beast laid further south near the center, contained to Deassala by the steep cliffs and deep waters between it and Ushua, and restricted by temperatures. Ushua was uninhabitable for them in most cases, the larger animals required a certain food chain from their native ecosystem. There were creatures akin to both plant and ancient gigantic reptiles that served as the bottom of the food chain if that gave any hint of grand and bizarre the continent could become.

Orc tribes were nations onto themselves. They could be hundreds of families interconnected. Large orc tribes like the Drake Fangs easily numbered in the tens of thousands though usually scattered. There were tens of millions of orcs in Deassala. Elves were outnumbered by orcs beyond ten to one. The only population that could hope to surpass orcs would be humans in the hundreds of millions but their numbers waxed and waned with the times.

A majority of Occidtir's militant power was focused inward. The times human nations from Occidtir tried to invade were often cut short by a rival region taking the opportunity to attack or seceed from an alliance enforced by whoever had enough militant might to spare in a foreign war.

It was difficult for outsiders to track the population of dwarves as the majority of them lived underground but modest estimates put them to similar numbers to elves though slightly larger.

The village was quite a distance from the Vault. The faraway Vault sat aloof on its own mountain. During war times, it was a munitions factory, but now it was a storehouse. For safety purposes, the tribe constructed new devices at the edge of the village. Then they would transfer the inventions to the Vault if the trials were successful.

Dust and gears were not compatible. It seemed they focused on maintaining key machinery for certain tasks while relying on traditional methods where complex gearwork would fare poorly against the elements. The Drakefangs had harvesting equipment but there were no engines involved in their function, just rotating blades that hooked onto crops as they were pushed or pulled across the soil.

With the coarse sand on one end of the scale and humidity that would prove unkind to untreated metals in other locations, it seemed the machinery was quite restricted in where it could be fully deployed and utilized.

She watched as busy goblins conducted experiments and did her best not to interfere in their inscrutable activities. It was Tarica’s nature to watch others from afar, and her centuries-old habits were put to good use.

Tarica was disappointed that she did not find any hobgoblins in the Drakefangs’ territory. Many years had passed since the last time she saw one. Long ago, when she spotted the individual, she was not able to get close. It could have been a small orc, but the person was too thin for that to be likely. If not for the reports she heard, she would have never known about the hobgoblins’ existence. Even from a distance, she was confident she could distinguish an orc from a hobgoblin when she saw one. The broad shoulders of any orc, even a starving one, were imposing. The mysterious creature she had spied back then was undoubtedly a hobgoblin.

She understood hobgoblins lived in clans, separate from normal goblins, so she did not expect to find one living among the Tinkerers. Being large in stature made them less dependent on the orcs and the dangerous inventions of the Tinkerers. For such reasons, the hobgoblins could live in isolation, having few connections with their smaller cousins.

The goblins she met came up to her knees because they slouched forward. Hobgoblins were supposed to be twice as tall and strong as warriors. One day, Tarica would have liked to interact with one civilly since it seemed the last few months were ones of strange encounters.

Tarica enjoyed her time of new discoveries and learning. After meeting kavuidens, goblins, orcs, and a human, the thought of running into a hobgoblin did not seem farfetched. Then all she would need to encounter was a dwarf, the plant-kin of Occidtir, and by some miracle a dragon to have peacefully conversed with the remaining races she was aware of outside her duty as an assassin.

One day, she saw a goblin lift a giant gun so large that an orc should have carried it. The goblin widened his stance, bent his knees, and aimed at the center of a target. The ground shook with a mighty boom, and foul-smelling smoke drifted above the test site. The target blasted apart with a flash of fire, and the goblin rocketed in the opposite direction, leaving a trail of smoke behind him.

Tarica’s people usually avoided gunpowder. They employed an oil that stuck to surfaces and burned intensely but usually not with explosive force. The closest to such an effect would be a trick that translated to “heavy dust,” a fine powder that was harmless when piled on the ground like flour and wood dust but when spread thick in the air, caught violently ablaze.

Even from a distance, Tarica had to cover her nose and mouth. The reek of sulfur assaulted her senses, made her cough and her eyes water. Though nauseated from the stench, Tarica was more concerned about the goblin who was launched backwards.

She watched Lucky scamper over to check on the goblin with eyes bulged out in fright. The engineer raised his fists, stuck both thumbs up in the air, and yelled, “He sprained a wrist and scraped his back, but he’ll be just fine!” He glanced at the smoldering remains of the target and continued, “That went much better than last time.” Tarica shuddered to imagine what had happened last time.

Deciding it was time for new scenery, Tarica walked over to a cleared section used as a training ground. The instructor stood by, watching a group of orcs and goblins who punched and kicked the air with all their might. Every now and then, he would shout instructions in their language, and they would change their maneuvers. Their methods reminded her of her own training. Dark Elves spent their many years cultivating combat techniques, the orcs and goblins were not as aggressive or as agile. They were just doing what they were told, going through the motions. Though somewhat coordinated and firmly devoted, the orcs and goblins lacked something.

After she studied their techniques a bit longer, Tarica became anxious. Not able to remain quiet any longer, she blurted, “That will not work against Dark Elves if that be what you are preparing to face.”

The instructor, not appreciating the criticism, turned towards her and glared back with disapproval. “These are the same tactics we’ve used for hundreds of years. They have always served their purpose.”

“Perhaps, but you can do better. Remember that more than eight hundred years have passed since you last fought the Chosen Ones. This time, you would encounter other regiments with different tactics. The Chosen Ones were disbanded a long time ago. Since then, you have fought a few border skirmishes and survived the occasional crusade, but you have not faced the fury of Ordelas’s army. This time, you will not be confronted with the same enemy.”

“That just means they will send an army that is less prepared than the last time. We pushed back Vernigen and his Chosen Ones. Wasn’t he the best warrior you ever had?”

Tarica paused, surrounded by goblins and orcs of varying intelligences, it did not take long for people to make the same guess Sinker did and the rumors spread. Rather than keep it a secret, Rugash after receiving confirmation from Simker circulated the knowledge of her homeland so it would be acknowledged but she still be known as a dignitary from Florena to avoid suspicion of her being an imposter.

This was still the first time someone addressed directly for what she was. She was thankful that the orc did not call her a filthy Dark Elf. It was a subtle kindness she took for granted until he brought up Vernigen.

“True. Vernigen was our best warrior, but he is not our best commander. What will happen if you face Odlig? I have heard that his regiment is mentioned with high esteem in your stories and folklore. Correct? You were lucky that he was on the defensive the last time. On the offensive, Odlig is calculating—an excellent strategist.”

Bystanders around them looked anxious and began to grumble, one to another. Tarica smiled, remembering her former master and the training he had given her. So it was true, though Odlig never bragged about it. He really had left a lifelong impression on the orcs and goblins. It was remarkable, since Odlig had never personally set foot on the soil of Deassala during the Great War. Knowing Tarica had won the consent of their audience, the trainer scowled, “Okay, what would you do?”

Tarica stepped forward and braced herself in battle position, preparing to block, strike, or dodge any punch thrown her way. “I am different from you. What serves me well, may not suit you. You must find your own way. I have undergone...a little more than basic training.” Hoping to sound modest, she kept her previous accomplishments to herself. “Think of me as a target. Graze me, and you will have achieved your goal.”

She picked up a large stick and handed it to the orc. He refused her challenge. “It’s not fair for me to fight against you while you’re unarmed.”

“The Dark Elves will not share your sentiment.” Playing along, she picked up two branches and balanced them in her grasp. “Come at me with everything you have.”

He waited for just a moment. Then he charged, shouting an unintelligible war cry. She ducked under his blow with ease, grabbed one of his arms, and lifted his body over her own. Once she harnessed his body’s momentum, Tarica threw him down. The orc landed face first on the ground, and he did not move a muscle.

In dismay, Tarica winced when she saw his sprawled body lying there. Never meaning to hurt him, Tarica prayed silently as she bent down and placed two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. Time came to a crawl, and a lifetime seemed to pass in front of her before she found a heartbeat. The orc moaned and turned over with a thump. Tarica, thankful he was still alive, sighed in relief when she looked at the only evidence the scuffle had left behind. A smudge of dirt covered the orc’s face.

“You should not charge me like that. In combat, you would have been killed before you ever touched me!” she cautioned.

The orc smiled, amused by her concern. “We’re tougher than you think.” He exhaled a raspy breath and coughed up dust. “Something like that ain’t going to keep me down.”

Tarica, impressed with his perseverance, challenged, “Do you want to try again?”

He nodded with a grunt and stood up. He swiped wildly at her a few times, but Tarica dodged and tripped him once again. “You did better. Now, you need to look for my weaknesses.” She offered him her hand before she asked, “Do you mind if I give you some advice?”

Until then, she preferred to keep her combat experience and skills behind her, but now she almost enjoyed herself, since no one was hurt. She decided to make an exception and share her expertise with the group. After exchanging several blows, which ended in her favor, she helped the group improve a practice dummy. She showed them where the weak points in the Dark Elves’ armor were located, pointing out exposed areas where plates did not overlap.

At the end of the day, Rugash sauntered by and saw Tarica interacting with the orcs and goblins. He nodded towards the assembly and laughed. “You have been busy, Tarica.” He pointed at the sweaty recruits with his hand. “I worried that my tribe would not be prepared if the Dark Elves invaded.” His eyes darted to the instructor and back to Tarica. “I see you met my son, Orbash.”

Tarica gasped; she should have seen the resemblance. Orbash was not as tall as the older orc, but he had wide shoulders that suggested he would rival his sire’s height if given time. “I am so sorry,” she apologized as she bowed her head.

Rugash chuckled, waving her worries away. “Don’t ask for forgiveness. If that fight was for real, you could have ended his life. What you taught him may save his life one day.”

Orbash walked toward Tarica and stood beside her. “All my life, I have trained for a decent fight. I have been riling to fight like that for a mighty long time.”

Rugash eyed Orbash with skepticism. “My son, please don’t wish for war.”

Tarica placed her hands on Orbash’s shoulder. “I will teach you how to fight Dark Elves...if you will allow it.”

Orbash looked at her as if confused. “Of course, I will allow it. Perhaps, one day, I will best you. Just don’t complain when I do.” She had held back during practice to keep from snapping his neck whenever he tumbled, so Tarica doubted that would happen. She had hundreds of years of training, not mentioning the fact that Orbash was still young, even according to orcs.

***

“Kírous said Ordelas would die,” Malniza stated, his every word was punctuated by one or more metallic clangs as he stabbed his sword, Raven’s Talon, towards his opponent.

“And you took that to heart?” inquired Odlig, his sentence ending with a gasp as he steered yet another sword strike away only to roll to the side as Malniza’s armored foot came for his head.

Odlig was stronger than him, when using both hands he could block or parry Malniza’s sword strikes with little strain and with little need to deflect or redirect a blow, even so the Undying did such when it would minimize exertion. Odlig conserved his energy until he could make a meaningful attack, he could read the vector of Malniza’s attack and often moved to block in anticipation while the Honorbound was just beginning to move.

Actually there was something a bit more insidious to his maneuvers, Odlig knew the gaps in his own defenses and knew where Malniza would strike before the Honorbound himself did. Fortunately, even if he had an idea where, he could not be certain as to how Malniza would strike, Malniza could kick as well, the tip of his boots sharpened to a knifepoint and Odlig still needed to dodge Malniza’s knee or heel as a wise person would not willingly remain behind a bucking horse.

They both wore thin white ceramic masks, fitted not to obscure their vision. The masks only extended from their nose to forehead. Malniza had a red circle painted onto the center of his chest plate while Odlig had to attach a piece of vellum with that same sigil onto his chainmail.

Their people mastered plate before chainmail and rarely delved into improving chainmail. What Odlig wore was of his own creation, not rings per se as much as hollow interlocking teeth that silently slid to adjust to his movement without hindering him and still protecting him from most if not all conventional stabs or slashes. It was a somewhat popular design even outside the Undying but most frontline warriors preferred the protection of plate.

His armor was lighter, perhaps half as heavy if not less as Malniza’s own already thinned plating. Elven craftselfship was particularly light for their durability, the heavy plate of his fellow Honor Guard might only burden them as much as the medium armor distributed among humans would. Their work weighed certainly less than that of dwarves who had the natural robustness to arm themselves in the heaviest of equipment.

“It troubled me…” Malniza admitted as he reversed his grip and tried to slash at Odlig’s mask before trading hands to make another thrust. “It still troubles me.”

That moment of contemplation proved ample distraction as his opponent traced a crescent towards Malniza’s chest. Malniza relented and backed away. Odlig preferred slashes over Malniza’s tendency to make straight thrusts.

Odlig’s red sword, Bloodfang, was shaped similarly to a leaf, a somewhat narrow base with it curving gently outwards towards the middle before narrowing and eddying at the tip. This allowed it to be used for thrusts while having close to the same power in its swing as an executioner’s sword. It was just short enough for him to wield it as easily with one hand as he could with two.

A detail few survived to notice was the entire surface was “rough,” if left to run along something the edge would act similarly to a saw and the flat side like a grindstone. It could gradually cut through other weapons using that sawlike quality, the only reason Raven’s Talon was safe was due to its maker being Ordelas. The pommel and cross-guard ended with small spikes like teeth which could puncture or slash. Odlig designed his weapon to be deadly no matter how and where it made contact.

Rather than press the advantage, Odlig let him be, lowering his weapon for a moment. “I once asked Kírous to explain the nature of prophecies. Pay no heed to them.”

Malniza froze and waited for Odlig to raise his weapon so they could resume as if their battle never stopped. Malniza appreciated Odlig giving him a moment to accept his counsel. The two needed to test their skills one last time but they also needed to speak with each other. In spite of their long lives, their remaining time was short so it needed to be spent well. Odlig could fight just as well while talking but Malniza still found it difficult, his mind split between conversation and their conflict.

It was now a question of what to believe in, Kírous’s words or Odlig’s. It only to took him a moment to choose Odlig. Malniza may not understand the arcane but Odlig was studious even in arts he did not practice.

They spoke as if they were alone but they most certainly were not. They were not in Malniza’s quarters, they were in an open training ground, neutral territory for the both of them. Their domain was a large empty circle drawn in the dirt. For them, the world was only that circle.

Around them were two onlookers. If the two wanted to spar in earnest, they needed a third party, usually a Shadow Legionaire or a ranger but such arrangements had to be made long in advance. They used to have Vernigen, who enjoyed such spectacles and every now and then Scéadu requested to observe for the sake of inspiration. Calling a fellow warrior just to supervise was something they preferred to avoid but in more peaceful years, they secured time with Vernigen’s eldest child.

The chief logistics officer of the Honorbound, Ryean, served as Malniza’s witness while Odlig brought his cupbearer. Malniza tried to avoid ranks in the Honorbound but merits were inevitably recognized and word would spread. Ryean while no higher than anyone else in principle was recognized as their chief logistics officer through the testimony of his years of reliability. Malniza did not have a mind for supplies, resources, and similar matters so it was elves like Rean that kept the Honorbound alive when deployed.

Ryean, like most Honorbound, wore the uniform of his former regiment, in his case the black and white of the Shadow’s Legion though his attire was notably simplistic in comparison to the normally stylized designs worn by those that served Scéadu. The only decoration that remained was the former sigil of a scorpion that had been transformed into that of a dragon. The claws and most of the legs had been combined together into massive wings and the tail transitioned to a head.

Malniza and Ryean had been acquainted since before the formation of the Honorbound. Ryean had been accused of sympathizing with the enemy for integrating the enemy’s symbolism into his work. This would later become a common practice but at the time, it was worth investigating.

He, being a Shadow Legionnaire at the time, was investigated by the Honor Guard and found acceptable. Ryean never fully reintegrated with the Shadow Legionnaires after that and eagerly accepted a place in the newly born Honorbound.

Malniza did not know Ryean to create art with any particular frequency since the incident. He was an elf with varying interests, spending some centuries pursuing an idea then moving on to another, with the field he showed most promise in being cartography. If Ryean’s former commander, Scéadu, had the option Scéadu would be an artist first and a soldier second, Ryean was a soldier and everything else seemed to be simple hobbies rather than any consideration in a career choice.

Malniza and Odlig were actually playing by the rules Scéadu’s forces exercised under. There were a few former members of the Shadow’s Legion in the Honorbound and the Undying themselves occasionally practiced it but it seemed more fair to fight under less familiar conventions than their own.

Scéadu invented this method. The participants wore masks and had sigils over their hearts. If the masks were damaged or removed, the participant would be treated as dead, the same applied if the sigils on their chests were defaced. There was usually more to it, one member of each team representing a key target or a certain number within each team had to serve only as archers or spotters but Malniza and Odlig kept it simple to simulate a battle to the death.

Malniza’s own exercises were more brutal, to first blood at the least and submission at the most.

Odlig returned to the same stance he was in before the pause and swung with his sword as if to behead him while at the same time making a sweeping kick at Malniza’s legs.

Malniza leapt through the narrow gap and rolled forwards towards Odlig. He then lunged towards Odlig as if he himself become a spear, his weapon the speartip.

He was almost rewarded for his efforts with Odlig’s cross-guard through his head. He lowered himself and sped past Odlig. Odlig turned with him, never once showing his back.

“What else did you two speak of?” Odlig inquired as he kicked towards the still lowered Honorbound.

Malniza jumped to his feet and flipped to avoid the strike. “We spoke of Vernigen,” he said in midair. For a key moment, his red cape obscured his vision as it traced his path.

“Did he have an opinion as to-” Odlig stabbed towards his vulnerable chest as Malniza neared the completion of his arc. “Where Vernigen should be?”

He could not see the blade coming but he could feel Odlig’s intent. He went silent as he placed Raven’s Talon over his heart. The next thing he saw was the enemy blade plunge past the fluttering red. Bloodfang’s sword tip met the beak of the raven that served as the Honorbound’s crossguard. “No,” Malniza replied as the cape fell back behind him..

Malniza landed on his feet and pushed forward with his whole body, shoving Odlig’s sword away. He made several stabs while the Undying was still off guard though Odlig narrowly danced around them.

“If you mean to resume our discussion regarding Vernigen’s placement,” Malniza presumed. “I still believe he should be where the battle is fiercest.”

The mask hid how Odlig’s eyes narrowed but Malniza could sense it. The Undying did not hide it in his expression as his lips drew taut like a stressed bowstring.

“Where the battles are most heavily fought is not necessarily where the war is most important,” Odlig tried to sound logical while his voice suggested anything other than logic motivated the fierce strike he made for Malniza’s hip.

“It is-“ Malniza began as he sidestepped. However, Odlig’s initial strike was a feint as he carried the slash through with only his left hand, the blade’s path rose as it curved to dart for Malniza’s mask.

Could it still be called a feint if it could have bisected Malniza at the waist? Any “feint” Odlig performed could just as easily be a fatal strike. At the same time, Odlig planted his feet and clinched his right fist as he drew it to his side. He was the one that taught Tarica many of her martial arts. It did not look like a rending strike and Malniza doubted Odlig could pierce a chest plate with a punch. However, he did not need to, he just needed to damage the sigil and even if they were fighting normally, Malniza would not risk a direct blow from the commander of the Undying. Odlig understood how concussive force travelled, if the martial artist struck where he intended it would undoubtedly at the very least hurt.

With the sword approaching from his right and a punch ready to come from his left, Malniza’s range of movement was limited. He ducked as he sidestepped to the right, trying to outrace the punch rather than back away as he moved past the sword’s swing.

Odlig predicted Malniza’s dodge or more likely led him into it. Odlig threw his blade in the air and turned his body, the palm of his recently freed hand slammed against his prepared fist like a hammer driving in a nail as his right elbow bucked like a battering ram.

Odlig directed his blow towards the direction Malniza was heading rather than where he originally was. Malniza turned so at least his chest would not get hit. Odlig’s elbow struck Malniza’s left side to the sound of cracking as Malniza sensed at least two of his ribs fracture or break. The Honorbound’s plate was not even dented, it was as if the metal itself was what struck him, fortunately, he had a thin layer of leather for additional protection and that served as cushioning.

Odlig made sure to push Malniza away so the Honorbound could not catch the airborne sword. Odlig reached up with both hands while lashing out with a kick to keep Malniza at a distance just long enough for the hilt to fall into his open palms.

Malniza still tried to close the distance before the Undying could be reunited with his weapon. He could move faster than a sword could fall but Odlig, as always, calculated it. The weapon was practically already in his hands the moment he reached for it.

And Malniza after circumventing the kick meant to ward him away was met with a downward slash from Odlig. Blades clashed and Odlig parried Malniza’s blade to the Honorbound’s right, exposing Malniza’s injured left side.

“It is what Vernigen would want,” Malniza strained before he pulled his head back from a slash that would have cleaved his mask in two.

“What one wants is not always what one needs and he is not here to speak for himself.” It was now Odlig performing the onslaught. Malniza moved to evade but Odlig followed, forcing Malniza to parry again and again. Odlig kept pressing at his injured side before Malniza had time to heal. Each blow strategically aimed and powerful as if pushing Malniza’s sword further away with each strike, with Malniza’s speed the only reason why the next strike did not slip past his defenses through his injured side like a serpent slithering through a crack in a doorway.

Malniza crouched and leaped backwards as he reached for his belt. “We both fought alongside him. But I am the one that served under him,” Malniza reminded as he unbuckled his sheath.

“Then consider this,” Odlig offered as he brought down another attack. Malniza intercepted it with his freed sheath. “Any highly contested area would in turn be heavily reinforced. What is worth considering are the places we can not be certain of resistance but might still expect it. He could be in a relief force to accompany or follow the vanguard.”

“Where would you recommend?” Malniza asked as he held back Odlig’s sword with his sheath in one hand and stabbed with his sword.

Odlig grunted as he turned his weapon enough to barely ward the strike away from his face with his pommel. “I can tell you where he should not be.”

If Malniza crossed his sword and sheath together, there was little he could not block from Odlig, maybe even catch red blade between the two, though attacking and dodging remained Malniza’s primary response.

Now that he was dual wielding, Malniza pressed forward and Odlig was forced into a completely defensive stance, lowering himself so there was less for Malniza to target and the Undying could strike upwards if he saw an opening.

And Malniza did leave an opening. He was so used to his agility that the slightest hinderance on his injured side made a difference and Odlig slashed vertically, almost claiming Malniza’s hand as he drew his arm back for another stab.

“We can not be certain he can differentiate us from Light Elves in the chaos of battle,” Odlig postulated. “If any of us wore silver and they remained in ivory, how do we know he might not mistake friend for foe?”

Odlig was being cordial in his choice of scenarios. With the champion’s aggressive nature, it would be a near certainty that such an occurrence would happen. However, anyone possessing a modicum of wisdom knew not to place themselves between the champion and his quarry. Malniza feared more that in the initial moments of combat, Vernigen might not recognize their enemies and relax his guard, impossible as that might seem. There would be no glory in such an end.

Malniza raised a leg. He brought his foot past his own shoulder. “So not Malendar’s realm?” He sent it down like an axe.

Odlig easily dodged such an obvious move. Malniza's kick left an impact on the ground where his weighted heel hit it like a sledgehammer. The Honorbound preferred to use that kick as a finishing blow, though he rarely was able to use it against an experienced foe that was not at a disadvantage.

Rather than continue the fight, Odlig grabbed onto his mask. “Please, if we must deploy him, let us send him somewhere else.” He tore the mask off so they could look each other in the eyes.

Malniza lowered his weapons, sheathed his sword then did the same. “I will speak with Ordelas,” Malniza promised as he let his mask drop to the floor.

The Honorbound returned the sheath to its proper place and wiped the sigil from his chest. “Should we continue this?” Malniza asked.

“We need to use this opportunity,” Odlig commented before ripping the vellum from his chainmail. Odlig aligned his blade parallel with his shoulders as he took it with both hands.

"One last strike?"

"One last strike," Malniza confirmed as he unsheathed his blade and drew the hilt to himself so it nestled close to his heart.

“First blood?” Odlig asked. They had become so steeped in ritual that there were little questions to be asked.

“First blood,” Malniza agreed. He resisted the urge to press a hand against his still throbbing side. The dull ache told him of a blossoming bruise though his body would soon subsume it. His concern was on his ribs which he felt his torso tighten around that side like a knot. Elven bodies naturally fixed damaged bones, the surrounding tissue constricting around the whole structure like a living cast until they were made whole.

They were being aggravated while he was moving about but now that he was still, he could already feel the ache fading. They were hopefully just fractured, that would be mended quickly, so quickly that Malniza would need to rush this final moment to still find this match fair. Otherwise, Odlig would have afforded him time to recover when this final strike should be like a continuation of their match and the battlefield would not wait for one to shrug off their injury.

Malniza held out his free right hand, palm up. Without any other prompting, a coin was thrown into his open hand. It came from Odlig’s cupbearer. Malniza then cast it into the air and resumed his position. Not a single person watched the coin, only listened.

Malniza darted forward as soon as the sound reached his ears. He aimed for the center of Odlig's chest with all the speed and power to kill.

Odlig, as expected, parried it but Malniza led the deflection to his left and got under Odlig's right arm and pushed the blade up towards the Undying’s shoulder.

Odlig placed his sword above and pushed down and away while Bloodfang's tip approached Malniza's heart. The Honorbound twisted his torso, avoiding the strike.

He felt something telling him to get away but he needed to finish while he had the opportunity. He only had one strike.

Crimson filled the air as Raven’s Talon bit into Odlig’s underarm. The masterwork sword pierced through the mail as the tip of the narrow blade caught a link and forced its way through and broke the link with otherwise impossible sharpness. The next instant, Odlig’s right arm was severed from his shoulder as Malniza brought the blade further up.

But Odlig still had his left arm and a few moments past before Malniza felt a strange sensation in his left leg just as all feeling above his knee vanished. Then he fell forward as he lost his balance.

Malniza hopped on his right foot to regain his balance as he struggled to stand. A warm sensation crept over his hip. His damaged ribs were no longer his greatest concern. He did not need to look down to know he lost a leg, Bloodfang dug between between the plates where Malniza’s poleyn that protected his knee tapered to meet the cuisse over his thigh.

Odlig let go of his weapon and grabbed onto Malniza’s shoulder and helped him stay balanced as they both lowered to sit down cross legged or as close as Malniza could with his current condition.

The shock was starting to wear off and the pain around his hip was setting in. It was strange a quick removal of a limb could hurt less than if that limb was wounded, but familiarity turned it into a bearable ache. He simply stopped feeling his leg.

Around them, the two onlookers were discussing something. “My commander drew first blood,” Ryean insisted. “The condition was to the first blood.”

“My commander lost an arm but could still fight. I doubt yours can raise himself to stand,” the Undying countered.

The two soldiers argued between each other while their commanders simply regarded each other.

“Another draw?” Malniza offered.

Odlig gave a small grin. “Another draw.”

Their soldiers remained ignorant of the compromise for a moment but grudgingly called for the match to be a draw. They both seemed keen in the opinion their own commander had won. Rean likely only accepted the draw because it would not damage Malniza’s reputation.

“The one that never lost to the same person twice?” Malniza mused to himself as he slid his leg over to himself. “That is quite a misnomer. Does such gossip forget all the times you have bested me in matches such as this? The day we reunited after I served my sentence comes to mind. You defeated me quite soundly.”

When the two met after the Great War was over, Odlig was initially unhappy with his fellow commander. Malniza had been rightfully accused of abandoning his post and those entrusted to him so he could surrender himself to their foes. Worse still, Malniza spent his years idle while Odlig at least studied and secretly trained.

“It is the only way our people can accept you as anything less than invincible,” Odlig proposed as he picked up his arm. “You are our greatest warrior. They must believe you to be unrivaled- We can discuss further in a moment. Let us reattach our limbs while the wounds are still fresh.”

Malniza nodded. Once a wound was closed, they would have to reopen it to reattach their limbs. It was an unpleasant experience and one that should be avoided if possible.

Fortunately, they gave each other clean cuts. Malniza adjusted his hip and lined it with his leg while Odlig held his own arm in place as if forcing a puzzle piece to fit.

Malniza gritted his teeth and gasped as shocking pain shot through his stump and down his reunited leg. It hurt even more to heal then the injury itself as nerves lit back to life, telling him the procedure was successful. It itched and burned as muscle and veins uncoiled and sewed back together as if someone was pushing everything back into place.

The bone usually hurt the most as the rest of his body constricted around the breakage to force the marrow back into alignment. Bone also took the longest to heal. If one lost even something as insignificant as a finger, it was worth retrieving than to grow back, anything else like flayed skin, a ruptured eye, as long as it was not something immediately important could be left behind.

Odlig went through a similar process and closed his eyes for a moment. They did not risk moving just yet so they talked some more.

“These matches can not be counted as victories or defeats,” Odlig returned to their conversation. “The first, second, and third time we crossed blades, you emerged the victor. Whenever there were stakes involved, you won.”

“You could defeat me now if we dueled again in earnest,” Malniza claimed.

Odlig looked to him. “What would the stakes be?” Odlig let go of his arm and started massaging above the elbow.

Malniza remained quiet. He had nothing to offer.

“The only thing that could drive us to fight each other now would be the king’s orders and the king would never instruct that,” Odlig assessed. “He expressly forbids us from ever fighting each other to the death.”

Ordelas some time ago saw what would happen if the two ever fought with murder festering in both of their hearts. The king claimed without doubt that they would both die.

“If we can not call these victories or defeats, I believe we can at least say it gives us a measure of how our skills have fared,” Malniza reasoned. “I found no flaws to judge you for but surely you have some wisdom for me regarding the matter.”

“I do but first I would still have you offer me advice of some sort,” Odlig replied. “Both of us were injured so both of this should learn from this.”

Malniza closed his eyes and relived their fight while Odlig slowly flexed his fingers. “If I must,” Malniza began. “I believe the style you chose today to be not the best in a battlefield. You know me. You know I believe it is best to attack. If you must defend you must wait for your opponent. You will not be facing just one person but many and they may outnumber us. You are through but I could kill multiple in the time you would require to kill one. Their numbers might prove your enemy.”

“I will consider that,” Odlig pondered. “As for you, if you have any weakness, Malniza, besides the obvious as you have never defeated me in a contest of raw strength unless it is leg strength we speak of in which case I do not mean to be impolite when I say you border on the monstrous in that regard. No, your weakness is that you are not a defensive fighter like me yet you are reactionary. Your body's survival instincts are powerful but your honor limits it. You do not give your all in combat even when your life is in peril. You did not use your sheath until you were at a disadvantage. You are only ever as great as you need to be, the only time you press your limits is if the king is in danger.

Your body moves on its own in response to threats so you are only as skilled and talented as your opponent forces you to be. If you had developed that trait rather than been given such a disposition, you would truly be invincible.”

Malniza bent his left knee. It obeyed him. “Thank you.” He was aware his honor could be the death of him but that was the very reason he needed honor. If he lived a life without honor, it would not be worth continuing.

Odlig raised himself to his feet. He looked down to Malniza. “Can you stand?”

Malniza put weight on his foot and tested it. “I believe so.”

“Then we should review how the war exercises ended.”

Malniza stood with a grimace. The breakage was not closed just yet, his leg was held together with skin and sinew. “Your Undying undoubtedly won most,” Malniza was willing to bet.

“Your Honorbound could surprise me,” Odlig said courteously.

Even in the more complex exercises, Malniza had at times outmaneuvered Odlig. Malniza had been around Odlig long enough to predict many of his choices.

The idea of overseeing the Undying, those that served Odlig made Malniza think of Tarica as one of Odlig’s students. Malniza should tell Odlig how his student had been found but had yet to return but if Ordelas wished for Odlig to know, the king would have told the commander.

“I would wish to have you with me as we march,” Malniza spoke of the future. “I am sorry that you will not be joining us. It would be reassuring to know I might have your support on the battlefield.”

“I would wish that as well…” Odlig breathed. “Though it is its own blessing. I am allowed to stay safe with my family and guarantee the safety of my home.”

Malniza could tell the order still troubled him.

“Odlig,” Malniza addressed, as he prayed Ordelas would soon tell the Undying what came of his student.

“Why be so formal now, Malniza?”

“You remember our lord would have you stay here because he trusts you correct?”

“He trusts us all, even Scéadu. Why speak of the topic?”

Malniza was ready to ask why he bothered to single Scéadu out but it would have been more a formality than any genuine question. He had to let it be for now. Still, he wished they would at least settle that difference in case they never saw each other again. Fortunately, Odlig would be safe and Scéadu proved surprisingly hardy like the scorpion he shared a title with.

“I wanted to be sure you knew before I left.”

Odlig scrutinized him. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

Malniza did not look away for a moment. “Yes.”

“Could it be a threat to our home?” Odlig questioned.

Malniza took a moment to think. “I do not know.”

Could Tarica be a threat? She certainly could but would she, a Dark Elf, ever betray the cause?

“Then you do not need to tell me,” Odlig reassured him.

Ordelas would either destroy everything he deemed wrong as before the Great War he delivered his thesis to the other elven rulers or he would destroy everything utterly. Malniza would prefer to see a world refined by Ordelas but Ordelas himself may not live to see that if he pressed forward with the latter. Malniza could not halt him, that duty fell to even deadlier hands. Did the assassins trust Ordelas as he did, would they give him the chance to halt or would they not risk him reducing the world to ash? Ordelas was their king. They chose him to lead them in the days when he was not consumed with hatred, as they ones that gave him power, it was their responsibility to stay with him. If they did not wish to carry on, they could leave and be crushed like everyone else would.