Rorelan looked at the sword with obvious surprise and consternation, finally bending down and picking it up. Its blade was covered with symbols, and the grip felt familiar in his hand. It was Rorelan's own sword.

He took a few steps forward, his boots thudding hollowly against the long, wide span rising up in front of him, but it was four more steps before he saw Miro, waiting expectantly for him on the bridge.

Tall and lean, Miro stood in the leather armour and green tabard of Altura's light infantry, having forgone the shiny suppleness of his armoursilk. Rather than a zenblade, he carried a bow in his hands, and on his back was a quiver of arrows. On his tabard was a new raj hada — the sword and flower of Altura decorated with a golden feather on either side.

Miro watched as Rorelan halted.

"You've picked up the sword, High Lord, which means you've accepted my challenge," Miro called across the gulf that separated them.

"Are you mad?" Rorelan demanded.

"Yours is the best single-activation sword our enchanters know how to make, would you agree?"

"I suppose so. What is the meaning of this?"

"I'm holding a bow, as you can see. Watching us are some people I've invited to observe this demonstration."

Rorelan looked out from the height of the Lord's Bridge, and saw hundreds of men in Alturan green step forward. There were even many wearing the brown of Halaran in their number.

"Don't worry, High Lord," Miro said. "They have orders that at the first sign of blood, they'll halt the duel. Battlefield surgeons are standing by, and Layla is a skilled Dunfolk healer."

"Duel?" Rorelan's eyes boggled. "I am no bladesinger, and I've accepted no duel."

"And I have none of the advantages of a bladesinger," Miro said. "I'm using a bow only for the second time in my life, and the first time was days ago, for minutes only. I'm lightly armoured, which is an advantage, but a sword like yours can cut through stone, so it isn't much of one. The arrows I carry use no lore; they are as they appear."

"I'm telling you. I have accepted no duel," Rorelan said.

"True, High Lord," Miro said. "Let us think of it then as a contest. Your weapon," he gestured to Rorelan's enchanted sword, "against mine. I've seen you in battle, High Lord, and I know you can fight. In fact, with your training you're more skilled than the legionnaires we're fighting. It's a fair contest, is it not?"

Miro withdrew an arrow from the quiver at his back and nocked it to the string.

Rorelan's eyes blazed, and without warning he spoke some words.

Miro pulled the arrow to his ear and hoped what he was doing would work. He'd intentionally provoked the High Lord to fight him — nothing else would convince the stubborn noble — and now he could well be in danger of his life.