Morgan and Issa were noticed almost immediately by the Shadeni riders. Several of them peeled off from around the wagons and came toward the two of them. Morgan remained calm, making sure that he didn't go too fast or make threatening movements; he wanted to give this situation a chance to resolve without him having to kill a bunch of people or die. He definitely didn't want to die. He glanced at Issa as the four riders approached, kicking dust up in their haste. She was sitting calmly on Gopp's back, rising easily in the stirrups as he stepped, keeping her ride nice and smooth. When the four Shadeni were only twenty-five yards or so away, Morgan pulled on his reins and sat waiting. Issa did the same.

"Hello," Morgan called as the Shadeni pulled up a dozen feet away. The Shadeni ignored him and looked at Issa.

"What do you want here, cousin? You and your outlander should ride on." The one who spoke was taller than the others, had three black lines either painted or tattooed across his face, and brandished a long, polished white spear.

"Well met, Ban-tok," Issa said, bowing slightly at the waist.

"You presume much, naming me Ban-tok, but you are correct; I lead here. This herd is our prey, though, and I will ask you again to take your outlander and leave us to our business."

"This outlander is my mate, and his name is Morgan Hall. Please address him with respect. He wishes to speak to you, Ban-tok." Morgan felt heat rise at the back of his neck as Issa introduced him as her mate, but he managed to keep a straight face. He nodded to the tall Shadeni.

"Greetings, um, Ban-tok." He stumbled a little on the honorific and mentally chided himself for not talking to Issa before riding down the hill so impulsively; he supposed it would have been nice to learn a bit more about these people.

"Yes, large-one. What business do you have here? We are rather busy."

"My name is Morgan, and I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm not someone who can stand idly by and watch some people be robbed."

"What?" The Shadeni Ban-tok, which Morgan imagined meant chief or leader, practically guffawed. "These are the Spinelands - the only law here is might. Those hoofed-ones should have thought of this before they drove their herd through our lands."

"Their crime, then, is that they trespassed upon your lands?" Morgan grabbed on to the only angle he could see at the moment.

"Yes, they are on our lands, with a herd of holbyis that could feed and clothe our clan."

"Is it right to take everything they own because of a simple trespass? Where is the honor in destroying the lives of those weaker than you?"

"You would challenge my honor?" The Ban-tok bristled, sitting up straighter and drawing his lips back to reveal even more sharp teeth than an Ardeni and sporting very pronounced canines.

"I ask a simple question. Is it honorable to take from the weak?"

"Of course; there is no value in weakness. Strength must be fostered, and weakness cut away - it is the way of the Spinelands." The large Shadeni brandished his spear in the air as he spoke, and his three followers cheered their agreement with his words. Issa hissed between her teeth, clearly frustrated with the circular conversation.

"Ban-tok, where I come from, it is honorable to protect the weak and help them gain strength. You can see how my code conflicts with your goals."

"You wish to make an enemy of the Spinelands Tribe?" the Ban-tok growled.

"Is there no way to settle this without us becoming enemies? Could we not negotiate a compromise?"

"I have a solution," Issa said before the Ban-tok could answer Morgan's question. Both men looked at her; the Shadeni jostled in their saddles in agitation. "Ban-tok, why not duel Morgan? Just a test of skill, not a death dance. If he wins, you can show honor to his strength by sparing these Cadwalli and their property."

"And if I win?"

"Then you can take our mounts, and we'll spread word of your skill among our clans."

"Hmm, a test of skill?" He looked Morgan up and down again. "Very well." He turned to his three followers and barked some commands in a language or series of signals that his System language integration didn't translate. They rode off, whooping and swinging their weapons around, yelling to their comrades that were still circling the Cadwalli wagon group. "Cousin, talk to your mate, and be sure he knows the dance." After speaking, the Ban-tok rode away up the dusty valley a short way and dismounted.

"Issa, what did you get me into?" Morgan asked quietly, a half-smile on his face.

"A test of skill is different from a full duel; you can only use your weapon skills, and you can't strike to kill or maim. If you do kill or maim him, you'll be dishonored and marked as such - Shadeni from his tribe and any affiliated tribes or allies will hunt you."

"Oh, so, I have to be careful not to cut off his limbs or kill him. With a razor-sharp sword?" Morgan grunted and frowned.

"They'll respect your strength, and things will go a lot more smoothly after you beat him." Issa shrugged. "You can beat him, Morgan. I doubt a Shadeni Ban-tok living out in the wilderness has anything like your sword forms. Just don't use your other spells - sword skills only."

"Oh, fine. Let's do this." Morgan rode Munch forward and dismounted near the tall, red man. He was stretching, flexing with his spear behind his back, and held out in various positions that Morgan recognized from his own time using the spear. More than half the Shadeni had broken off from the circled wagons and were now circling the two combatants. Issa sat atop her roladii at the circle's edge, a faint smile on her face, watching Morgan. Morgan sighed again and pulled his sword from his ring, and whipped it into a few short cuts through the air, finishing up with a flourish. He squared off with the Shadeni leader. "Could I get your name, Ban-tok? I'd like to know the name of one who so honorable agrees to this test of skill."

"I am Tarnig; learn it well." He held his spear vertically in front of him and performed a half-bow to Morgan. Morgan nodded, similarly grabbed his sword, and bowed in the same way to Tarnig. Tarnig charged or appeared to, but he stopped halfway and unleashed a series of rapid thrusts and feints at Morgan's chest. Morgan backstepped smoothly, his sword in a middle guard position, easily batting aside the thrusts. Tarnig grunted and dove to the side, rolling over one shoulder and leaping up to try to thrust at Morgan's exposed flank.

Morgan had to hide a smile as he, again, backed up and swung his sword almost lazily to slap the spear thrust away. He'd seen the move coming a mile away, and he began to wonder if Tarnig was trying to lull him into false confidence. Morgan decided to try pushing Tarnig's guard with some offense. He lunged forward and to the side, aiming a sideways slash where he knew Tarnig would jab his spear. As he'd predicted, Tarnig's spear rose and licked out toward his midriff, but his blade caught it halfway, knocking it aside. Morgan carried his swing through, performing a complete pivot and driving his sword around in a devastating spinning slash. Tarnig's eyes opened wide when he saw the blurred line of Morgan's black-silver blade arcing toward his neck.

Morgan had a momentary panic when he realized how exposed Tarnig was, and he had to use all his muscle control to pull back on his slash, tilting the blade down to just give Tarnig an inch-long gash along the top of his shoulder. Tarnig hissed in pain, back peddled, and again put his spear between himself and Morgan. His eyes were narrowed, calculating, and Morgan wondered just what was going on. So far, it felt like he was fighting a novice, not the leader of a nomadic group of warriors. Tarnig locked eyes with him for a moment and then tilted his head in a slight nod.

Morgan was just opening his mouth to say something when Tarnig's long, white spear began to hum. Morgan looked at it and saw that it was vibrating in the air where Tarnig held it leveled at his midriff. Alarm bells rang in Morgan's head, and he started to jump to the side. He'd bent his knees and began to leap when the air in front of Tarnig's spear erupted in a hazy burst of steam, and a hot blast of kinetic force slammed into Morgan's chest, lifting him off his feet and sending him flopping like a ragdoll through the air and along the dusty hard-packed ground.

Morgan felt the shock and the disorientation of flipping head over heels, then he felt the crunching impact of the ground. He didn't allow himself to lay still, gasping in pain; rather, he kept his roll going until his feet were under him, and he lept up, despite his aching bones and the blood running freely from his nose and ears and hastily scanned for Tarnig. He saw him charging over the dusty ground, his spear leveled, moving much more nimbly than he had at the start of their match. Morgan dropped into The Crane Forages, pushing Energy into his limbs, and he glided over the ground to meet his opponent.

Tarnig's grin grew wider when he saw Morgan coming so quickly, and he pulled his spear back, and Morgan could almost feel the Energy he was trying to imbue into his next strike. Morgan didn't intend to give him the chance to deliver it, so he used all the added grace of movement that his form afforded him, and he slid around the side of Tarnig, lifting his sword into a lighting thrust that slid through the meat of Tarnig's thigh. Tarnig tried to avoid him, dancing sideways, but Morgan was too fast, and he left a deep, long gash along Tarnig's hamstring. Blood sprayed over the dusty ground, and Tarnig cried out, stumbling.

Morgan capitalized on his enemy's stumble, moving into The Crane Flutters its Wings, aiming his flurry of strikes at his opponent's exposed flank. Morgan knew he had to pull his strikes, but with his heightened agility and dexterity, it wasn't that hard to aim precise slashes along Tarnig's shoulder and ribs, just giving him long, shallow gashes. Tarnig Scrambled away, trying to pull his spear into a blocking position, but he was limping and bleeding, and Morgan's swings were like a force of nature. Red splashes and droplets watered the dusty ground, and Tarnig cried out, "Yield."

His voice was muffled in Morgan’s ringing ears, but he could make out the word well enough, so he backed off, whipping his sword toward the ground to remove most of the blood from the blade. Then, he locked eyes with Tarnig and bowed. Tarnig, leaning over his knees, breathing heavily and bleeding from half a dozen painful gashes, grimaced, but stood straight and gave Morgan a bow. "Well fought, outlander. My Thunder Spear Style is strong, but your styles were stronger. I have much yet to learn."

"Your spear struck me like a charging roladii. Thank you for the lesson." Morgan smiled and stepped forward, offering his hand to Tarnig. Tarnig grinned and clasped his hand in a firm handshake.

"It did, didn't it? You went flying like a bull thunderak charged you!"

Morgan laughed, wiping blood from under his nose. "My ears will be ringing for a week." It was true; his ears were still painfully ringing, but he was glad to be able to make out the man’s words - superhuman vitality had its benefits.

"Well, enjoy your victory, Morgan. My band and I will hunt elsewhere. Deliver your good news to these herders." Tarnig started walking to the edge of the ring of onlookers who were still cheering and talking to each other excitedly about the match.

"Wait, Tarnig." Morgan reached out and caught his uninjured shoulder. "Your clan's lands are not that far from my own. Perhaps you'd be interested in trading?" Tarnig stopped walking and turned around, an eyebrow arched inquisitively.

"Oh? Where are your people?"

"We have begun building a town east of here, past the Gresh Woods."

"Hmm, so long as your people don't try to hunt in our lands, we shouldn't have a problem making trades. Perhaps I'll lead a band out there to visit. Will someone be there to speak for your people?"

"Yes, we have a council of leaders. Please ask to speak to them and say that Morgan sent you. So long as you don't approach in a threatening manner, you won't have trouble with the soldiers on the gates or walls."

"Very well, Morgan. Thank you for the dance of skill." Tarnig bowed once more and turned to his men, whistling loudly and making a circling motion in the air with his good arm. The Shadeni hooted and howled, and, once Tarnig was mounted and moving, they rode away up the curve of the dusty valley.

"I told you you'd be able to beat him," Issa said smugly from Gopp's back.