“I shall celebrate when all of Thanet kneels in servitude to our glorious God-Incarnate, and not a moment before.”

He strode for the mansion exit, preferring no other soldiers see his disappointment. Soma wasn’t wrong, after all. To capture so many wealthy and connected members of the resistance was a tremendous victory… it just wasn’t the victory he wanted. Once outside, he stomped his feet to work a bit of warmth back into his limbs. The chaos of the raid now dimmed, he scanned the outer grounds, wondering if somehow, despite their hundreds of soldiers forming an impenetrable net, they had missed something.

And then he saw him.

“Running late, aren’t you?” Magus shouted.

The Vagrant knelt on the highest point of the nearby rooftop, his body crouched low and hulking like some ancient carved statue. Moonlight shone off the silver crown wrapped about his skull mask. A faint wind teased the edges of his hood. His hands were on the hilts of his swords, but he had not drawn them, not yet.

“You missed your party!” Magus gestured toward the mansion’s front door. “Come down and join them. It’s not right that they have all the fun without you.”

Even with his face hidden, Magus could sense the raw hatred pouring from the Vagrant. The enigmatic killer slowly stood, his head lowered. The hood covered the upper half of his mask. The swords slowly slid free of their sheaths as his arms shifted into a battle stance. Magus’s grin grew.

“That’s right,” Magus said. He hefted his shield, trusting its massive weight to keep him safe. Twice now the Vagrant had matched blades with him and then fled. He feared no third. “We fight alone, I promise. You and me, right here in the cold street. An honorable duel for the fate of Vallessau. The moonlight can witness your execution. Is that not a fair offer?”

The Vagrant’s stare lingered. Was this it? Would the maddening wraith finally settle matters one-on-one?

A woman joined the Vagrant’s side, her face masked with a black cloth bearing the skull of a roaring panther. Magus recognized her from Gordian’s death, the Ax of Lahareed, as she was known. She put a hand on the Vagrant’s shoulder and said something Magus could not hear. The Vagrant looked away from her and nodded. Without another word, the two retreated, leaping from rooftop to rooftop as if it were another street accessible only to them. Magus did not give chase, nor order any of his men to do so, either. He let his words do the chasing.

“Thrice now you run from me! The people think you a god, yet I see nothing but a coward!”

He replaced his shield and turned. Weiss waited patiently beyond the doorway, a twitch of his lips and tremble of his shoulders revealing his nervousness at interrupting.