“This is no game,” Haern whispered, his body an inch behind Harruq’s. The half-orc startled, then blushed red with anger and embarrassment.

“You said you’d be waiting for me out here,” he said.

“Do you always expect people to be where they say they will?”

“Only those not trying to kill me,” he grumbled.

Haern approached the forest, pulling his hood lower on his face. “The most deadly are the ones you think wish you no harm,” he whispered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harruq said, motioning with his two swords. “Aren’t you all smart. So we going to fight or what?”

The assassin’s hands emerged from within his cloaks, his sabers drawn and ready.

“Have you ever been beaten before?” he asked.

“Of course not. Would I still be alive if I had?”

Haern’s saber was on his throat before he could move.

“Yes,” the assassin whispered, his breath warm on the half-orc’s ear. “Because I have beaten you, yet you still live.”

He turned away, blatantly putting his back to the furious half-orc. Harruq’s temper flared. Roaring, he charged. Condemnation and Salvation hungered in his hands. Haern waited until the half-orc was almost to him before leaping into the air, high above Harruq’s head. His knees curled to his chest as he looped around. When he landed, both his sabers stabbed forward, jabbing into armor without penetrating.

“Your hatred gives you strength, but it renders you stupid,” he whispered from underneath his hood. An elbow shot back, trying to smash the assassin’s nose. It caught air instead. Haern ducked underneath, spun on his feet, and froze, his sabers once again resting on Harruq’s throat.