Yates straightened, yanking his knife from Shyla’s leg. A hiss of pain escaped her lips. But when he pulled his sword free, she sucked in a deep breath. Without the blade in her leg, she was able to roll over and prop up on her elbows.

Rendor faced the captain. He too held a sword and a knife. His hard gaze promised no mercy. Her relief over his arrival was short-lived as worry for him dominated. No way was Rendor fully healed from being skewered by two swords even though it had been over sixty sun jumps ago. Also, as the captain of the guard, Yates was the best swordsman in Zirdai.

She wanted to tell him to leave, to save himself, but his posture radiated stubborn determination, which meant she’d have more luck convincing a stone statue than Rendor.

The two men stood in the middle of an intersection. Shyla hadn’t noticed before—probably due to running for her life—but it was one of the bigger ones with tunnels branching off in six different directions. Two druk lanterns illuminated the space and glinted off the blood pooling under her knee. She sat up and bent her injured leg. Lacing her fingers together, she pressed her hands to the wound to staunch the blood, pulling her thigh against her chest for added pressure.

“You’ve been replaced, Rendor. You’re weak. A traitor,” Yates said.

“And you’re not the true captain of the guard, Yates. You were appointed.” Rendor’s derision was clear. “All the guards know you never fought for your position so you’ll never be their captain. Not while I’m still alive.”

“I can fix that right now.” Yates lunged, stabbing his sword toward Rendor’s heart.

Their blades crossed with a loud clang as Rendor blocked the thrust. Yates stepped in close and jabbed with his knife. Rendor pivoted his hips. Shyla’s blood on the tip of Yates’ weapon left a streak of red on Rendor’s tunic. Then the fight began in earnest.

Both large and muscular, they were evenly matched and equally well trained. Yates was stronger, but Rendor was quicker. They fought with brutal, efficient strikes, not wasting energy, not even speaking. It was silent except for the ring of steel, the shuffle of boots, and the grunts of the men that echoed off the hard stone walls. No finesse touched their moves, just a mindless drive to get past the other’s defense and kill him.