The curtains at either hand stirred. He was not surprised. He assailed Tain and four more of Tain’s men showed up, men whose names he knew, every one: killers, men with machai in their hands—able to kill the Ila, but bent instead on silencing an unpleasant, unwelcome voice.

And was Tain stronger for their backing? Marak looked his father in the eyes, and they both knew the truth.

“Give up,” Marak said. “The Haga won’t trust you. And I won’t. There is no bargaining.”

Tain drew his pistol, wanting to make him flinch: Marak knew the moment, knew the gesture, knew when his father had done that to other men, knew his father wanted, needed that moment of fear before he pulled the trigger.

Marak jumped for the wind-stretched side of the tent and the shot burned through his side and through the tent wall as he moved, letting loose a shriek of wind—and off that wall, he lunged not at the men who drew knives, but beyond them, through them, at Tain himself, and his gun.

A machai caught in his coat and raked his ribs. Another sliced across his back as he seized hold of his father’s left sleeve and wrestled for a grip on the trigger hand.

The gun went off. Went off twice and three times as they struggled for grip and balance: a man swung a machai at his back and he swung his father into the glancing blade as a fourth shot creased his shoulder. He grasped the gun in Tain’s hand and tried to force his finger into the trigger guard. Fifth shot: it hit something metal and fragile, and he would not turn his back to his father’s men, would not give up, no matter his father had one hand on his face, trying to get a thumb into his eye or a grip on his ear, trying to swing his back to his allies. They had fought a thousand mock fights; they had fought mock fights that turned real, fights he had to lose or have his father’s spite; but not this fight, not this one, not now.

They staggered together into an obstacle, a tent pole, and Tain tried to bash his hand off the gun, tried to break his finger in the process, and kneed him and brought a foot down on his instep, all of which he gave back with a blow to Tain’s head—where his father’s men were in this, what they waited for, he had no idea: he turned, jerked Tain around, looking for enemies in the process.