The fight could not end too soon. If Ushahin had any chance of claiming the Spear of Light, it would have to last awhile. From the corner of his eye, Tanaros could see that the Dreamspinner was not where he had been; where he was, he could not say. Only that it was necessary to delay.

It helped that his skills were rusty. Tanaros had a thousand years of practice behind him, but it had been centuries since he had engaged in single combat in the old Altorian fashion. Only a single sparring match with Speros, shortly after the Midlander’s arrival. He hoped the lad was well. It was a foul trick Vorax had played him, though Tanaros could not find it in his heart to fault the Staccian. Not now, while his grief was raw. After all, there had been merit in the bargain, and Haomane’s Allies would not harm the lad. Their sense of honor would not permit it. Other things, oh, yes! They saw the world as they wished to believe it and thereby justified all manner of ill deeds. But they would not kill a hostage out of hand.

There was a dour irony in it, Tanaros thought, studying his opponent. There was nothing but hatred and determination in Blaise Caveros’ face; and yet they looked alike, alike enough to be near kin. His son, if his son had been his, might have resembled this Man who sought his life. Quiet and determined, dark and capable.

But, no, his son, his wife’s child, had been born with red-gold hair and the stamp of the House of Altorus on his face. Speros of Haimhault, with his irrepressible gap-toothed grin and his stubborn desire to make Tanaros proud, was more a son than that babe had ever been to him.

Blaise feinted right, and Tanaros, distracted, was almost fooled. He stepped backward quickly, catching a glancing blow to the ribs. Even through his armor and the layers of padding beneath it, the impact made him grimace. Behind him, the Fjel rumbled.

“You grow slow, Kingslayer,” Blaise said. “Does the Sunderer’s power begin to fail you?”

Tanaros retreated another pace, regaining his breath and his concentration. Beneath the armor, his branded heart continued to beat, steady and remorseless, bound to Godslayer’s pulse. “Were you speaking to me?” he asked. “Forgive me, I was thinking of other matters.”

The Borderguardsman’s dark, familiar eyes narrowed; still, he was too patient to be baited. He pressed his attack cautiously Tanaros retreated before it, parrying with sword and buckler, trying to catch a glimpse of the Spear of Light. Was there a rippling disturbance in the air around it? Yes, he thought, perhaps.