‘You don’t know the meaning of mercy,’ Arlen said. ‘If you truly cared about the First War, you would stop this meaningless grandstanding. Don’t you understand? We are drawing the mind demons. They don’t fear armies. They fear other minds, and will keep coming till we’re dead. In the meantime, all our peoples suffer for it.’

‘This is why we must unify now,’ Jardir said.

Arlen gritted his teeth and came back in, his anger redoubled. Their weapons were a blur as they leapt, twisted, and tumbled, clashing together and throwing each other back. Jardir came in with a blurring series of thrusts and spins of his weapon, and Arlen parried them all, realizing at the last moment they were all a feint as Jardir kicked high at his spear shaft, his sandalled foot blasting through the warded wood like a cornstalk.

Arlen stumbled back, keeping both his feet and the broken halves of the weapon, but in that instant his guard slipped slightly, and Jardir thrust. The Spear of Kaji sank into his abdomen, and Arlen screamed.

It wasn’t the cut. Arlen had been stabbed before, and it was a pain he could ignore in the heat of battle. This was something far more. The wards on the speartip activated, burning at the wound as they Drew his magic, sharpening the blade and adding to the impact. The shock ran through his whole body, an agony beyond comparison, like having his very soul sucked away.

Jardir’s own eyes bulged as he felt the drain, and in that instant he, too, dropped his guard. Arlen struck him hard across the face with the butt end of his sundered spear, sending his foe stumbling away and breaking the killing Draw.

Arlen dropped one of the spear halves to clutch at the wound, his hand coming away bright with blood. There were cries of anguish and triumph from the bystanders, but he ignored them, desperately trying to focus his remaining strength to heal the wound. It continued to burn, unable to heal fully, but the flow of blood slowed as it crusted.

That’s gonna scar, Arlen knew.

He glanced at the setting sun, wishing it would sink faster. He gave up all hope of humiliating his foe, focused now on simply surviving the next three-quarters of an hour.

Jardir hit the ground hard, but rolled right to his feet, more stunned than harmed. His cheekbone and jaw had fractured with the blow, but he had been so suffused with power when the Par’chin struck, the damage healed almost instantly.

He looked at the Par’chin, and Abban’s words came back to him. He is the man I remember, and he is not.

Indeed, the Par’chin had a whole new fighting style now, a blend of sharusahk and something else entirely. He was even faster and stronger than Jardir, but more than that, he fought as if accustomed to the advantage, while Jardir was still learning to apply it fully.

But it was only a matter of time until he could analyse the style and bring his rival down. He thought he had done so on the last pass, but he had been unprepared for the way the Spear of Kaji came alive with the thrust, as charged with magic as when he had thrust it into the alagai prince.

Was the Par’chin an agent of Nie? It seemed impossible. Unthinkable. But what other explanation could there be?

He Drew hard on the magic filling the spear, attacking with renewed fury.

Arlen dodged and leapt, ducked and twisted, doing everything in his power to avoid the deadly speartip. Giving up all thought of offence made it easier, but it was a sign of desperation that all assembled could see. Jardir was the better fighter, and tireless, now using Arlen’s own strength against him. He dominated the battle, and everyone around them held their breath, waiting for the killing blow.

But then the sun slipped below the horizon at last, and the rules changed. He could see Jardir’s crown and spear glowing fiercely, but he Drew on the ambient magic rising all around them, and felt his own strength returning as well.

The next time Jardir thrust, the Spear of Kaji passed through him as if Jardir had stabbed a cloud of smoke. It still burned at him, wards brightening as they pulled at his magic, but it was worth the pain as Arlen stepped into the blow, punching Jardir hard in the throat. He solidified fully with his arm hooked around the shaft of the Spear of Kaji and ducked with a twist, pulling the powerful weapon from Jardir’s grasp and flipping him onto his back.

Jardir kicked back up to his feet in an instant, whirling to face the Par’chin, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

‘You may have gained the spear for a moment, Par’chin, but you will not keep it,’ he promised.

‘Keep it?’ the Par’chin asked, looking at the weapon with disdain. ‘Don’t even want it any more. World’s better off without it.’ Then he did the unthinkable.

He turned and threw the Spear of Kaji over the edge of the cliff.

Jayan cried out, breaking ranks to run down the mountain path in search of it. The Par’chin turned, drawing heat and impact wards in the air that blasted the cliff face, sending a shower of stones to block his path.

‘No one leaves until this is finished!’ he thundered.

‘Very well, servant of Nie,’ Jardir said. ‘Let us finish it.’ He concentrated, extending the protective field of his crown as he charged, meaning to use its power to drive the son of Jeph over the edge into the abyss where he belonged.

But the magic of the crown, which he had thought could repel all alagai, had no effect on the Par’chin, and they grappled instead. Jardir took an immediate advantage, working into a strong hold, but again the Par’chin collapsed into smoke, escaping to re-form an instant later, landing heavy blows.

‘I am no servant of Nie,’ the Par’chin said, ‘simply because I have learned to use stolen magic more effectively than you and your bone-throwing dama’ting.’

Jardir snarled as he got his feet under him and came back in, blocking the lightning-fast kicks and punches as he returned his own probing strikes. Some of these the Par’chin parried, and others he avoided by dematerializing.

It seemed an impossible advantage, but there was a reason why Jardir had never lost a battle in his adult life. He memorized the patterns of the Par’chin’s shifts, and the next time he solidified, expecting an easy return strike, Jardir was ready, dodging aside and punching him hard in the stomach. He followed it with a knee to the throat as the man doubled over, and slammed his open palms into his ears, making his head ring and his thoughts scatter.

‘It seems you cannot use your magic at all when your mind is reeling,’ Jardir said, head-butting the Par’chin in the nose. Blood spattered his face, but Jardir pressed the attack, putting his hands around the greenlander’s throat.

Steel fingers clasped his own throat as the Par’chin surged back at him. ‘Don’t need it,’ he said, pushing Jardir back a few steps and leaping, pitching them both off the cliff after the spear.

‘World’s better off without us, too,’ he said as they fell.

Arlen felt cold wind on his face, clearing his thoughts as he and Jardir continued to grapple, twisting to try to dominate even as the wind howled in their ears.

Jardir proved the more skilled in the struggle, managing to put himself on top as ground rushed to meet them. It seemed pointless – the fall would kill them both, whoever was on top, but Arlen could see in his aura that Jardir didn’t care. Arlen would die a split second before him, and that would be enough.

Arlen stopped struggling, embracing the fall. Jardir’s aura lit with victory, but then Arlen dematerialized, and Jardir struck the ground with a bone-shattering crunch.