Za’tenga’s teeth were clenched. His fist wrapped around the hunting knife sheathed at his belt. The carbine was dry, clutched by the stock in his other hand like a club.

Kade took a step forwards in a very deliberate, silent challenge. The hot coals crunched underfoot. He gestured to the knife Za’tenga was obviously thinking about drawing.

‘Do you know where that knife was made, where it comes from?’ he asked calmly, then without waiting for an answer, he continued. ‘I shall tell you. It is Themian, from the City of Warrior Kings.’ Kade bowed his head just slightly and his eyes seemed to darken. ‘My city.’

Za’tenga pulled the knife a thumb width from its sheath, exposing the silver of the blade. It shone red against the flames as if already blooded.

In the end, Illion put out his hand and laid it on top of Za’tenga’s.

‘No, brother,’ he told him simply.

It took a few seconds, but Za’tenga let go.

Kade didn’t smile, satisfied he had convinced the other man to back down; he didn’t do anything until Za’tenga’s back was turned. Then he raised the shotguns.

‘I only need you, pathfinder…’

Illion flung his knife. He threw it as hard and fast as he could, spinning it tip over hilt in little blinding circles of fiery silver.

Kade saw it late, not predicting that the pathfinder had the guts to turn and fight him. He cried, twisting too slowly as the knife found the meat of his thigh and dug deep. A second later, the shotguns went off but Za’tenga had gone to ground and the blast only peppered air, not flesh.

‘Murdering bastard!’ Za’tenga was scrabbling to his feet, half slipping on ash and cinder. His wounded leg wasn’t helping. With blackened knuckles, he gripped his knife hilt and yanked it free… Then stopped. Two barrels from a conjoined combat shotgun were staring him in the eyes.

Illion was halfway to them when he saw the moment and froze. He held out his hand, so did Za’tenga.

‘Enough blood,’ said the pathfinder, his tone pleading. ‘Enough has been shed already. Why can’t we all live?’

Za’tenga put the knife down. He did it slowly, careful to show Kade the blade.

‘Only the strong will live,’ said the Themian, ‘the weak will perish against the anvil.’ He looked down at Za’tenga’s leg. ‘And you are weakened, my friend.’

Kade looked up. ‘I need only you, pathfinder.’