Krag laughed. "Oh, the arrogance of the Dijolians! If we reject your terms and your offer of single combat, what can they do but continue to fall under our blades?"

Javo arched his brow. "Some of you have fallen already. Eventually, they will kill you all."

Krag gazed up at the approaching dark clouds. "Not today, Sir Javo. And we fear not dying. My ancestors worshiped Death. He is still worshipped in Bruk."

"He?" Javo asked.

Krag nodded. "Death is a god of Bruk. Sailors practice from a young age at keeping Death fed. And we know one day he will claim us, too. We are born for it."

Javo reflected on this silently for a moment: a nation that worshipped death. They believed death was not an action, an event or a tragedy; but a being.

Cemarites believed in the great Aod--at least most of them once did. More and more of them were dabbling with the deities of other nations. Still, Aod was the only god Javo had worshipped. Aod was a giver of life and so many other things. Javo sometimes had the impression other races had split him into many gods--one for sunshine; one for storms; one for the sea; one for love; one for fertility; one for the forest, one for the desert...and so on.

What sort of men worshipped death?

“What are the terms of the single combat?" Krag asked.

"Your champion dies, and your comrades leave the field," Javo said.

"And if our champion wins?"

Javo wasn't so arrogant as to imagine defeat impossible. The Black Lancers were not unbeaten because they took enemies lightly. Still, answering the question felt like conceding weakness.

"Should your champion prevail, the army of Dijol will turn about and march back across the border."

Krag stroked his furry chin for a moment. "I will consult with my comrades. But know that I will not be bribed to abandon my post."

Javo frowned. Accepting Tral's terms was the most pragmatic option, and warriors of Bruk were pragmatic, to be certain. "That is the only choice which guarantees you may fight another day."

Those black eyes searched Javo's face for a moment. "Would you abandon your post to the enemy for gold?"

Javo flinched. "Of course not." He almost said, "But I'm not from Bruk." He bit his tongue, instead.

"None but the Black Lancers have honor, then?" Krag asked, then scoffed. He flipped up the great axe to grip it just below the head in one massive paw, turned and gathered his fellow Brukites around him. They conversed in their harsh, guttural language for a time, Krag's deep voice dominating the discussion.

When their council adjourned, Krag returned to face Javo. "I am our champion, and will meet you in single combat."

The rain fell a little faster now, but the heavy deluge had not yet resumed. At Javo's back were General Tral, some of his staff, and his Imperial Guard detachment.

Javo strapped on his shield, and chose his halberd for the combat. The sword was his favorite weapon, but not as expendable as the halberd. Krag's armor was crude, but thick. That and his gigantic shield would dull, if not damage, Javo's finely edged blade. Like the sword, his halberd could both hack and thrust; but the halberd was

heavier--therefore better for splitting plate.

Krag stepped over the pile of corpses and the two warriors advanced toward each other, shields hiding most of their heads and torsos. They stopped just beyond weapon's length from each other. Javo's disadvantage was plain for all to see. Though a head taller than most men, he appeared to be a child, standing so close to the Brukite.

Krag could reach Javo well before Javo could reach Krag. Speed would have to make up the difference. The axe was not designed for thrusting, and so that should increase Javo's speed advantage.

Javo sidestepped toward Krag's shielded side. This was a basic defensive tactic--moving away from the enemy's weapon. Playing defense invited one's enemy to take the offense. Their mission to defend the pass notwithstanding, warriors of Bruk were renowned for their aggressive temperament, and prowess on the offensive. Javo knew this, wanting to give the giant overwhelming incentive to initiate a slow, clumsy attack. When he did so, he would open himself up for a fatal lightning strike to one of his weak spots.

Krag sidestepped in the opposite direction.

The two circled each other.

Seemingly out of carelessness, Javo lowered his shield slightly, and extended his arm out so that less of his body was protected.

When Krag finally did take his swing, it was every bit as ponderous as what Javo expected.

Javo sprang forward inside the arc of the falling axe, sinking to a crouch upon landing, from which he could lunge and thrust upward into the belly.

The impact happened so fast, Javo had no time to wonder at how he'd been deceived. Krag abandoned his affected slowness and rammed Javo with his shield at full speed.

Javo had never been hit with such force in his life, and would have gone down even if Krag hadn't flipped his axe head sideways behind him, hooked his ankles and yanked his legs out from under him.

The cliff and canyon echoed the crash of steel on stone as Javo sprawled on the ground. His helmet now misaligned, he used his shield rim to open his visor. He saw the axe dropping down toward him with incredible force.

Muscles like coiled springs overcame the weight of his armor as Javo flipped his body out of the path of the fearsome weapon. Sparks flew upward as the axe cleaved cleanly through Javo's pelvic skirting and smashed a chunk of rock out of the ground.

Javo scrambled to his feet and backed away. He still had halberd and shield. His armor was damaged, but not enough to hamper movement. And he was not wounded.

He had underestimated the giant. Krag was crafty, and much faster than seemed likely. Javo's body still reverberated with the terrific shock of that shield ram. His ears rang. His fingers tingled. His wind was driven from him. He remembered his training, and got his breathing under control. Fear could be harnessed and put to good use in a fight, but the anger he felt toward himself was only a hindrance.

They circled each other.