“When I ask you something, I want a real answer, not some cocky bullshit,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you understand me? Now have you ever been beaten?”

“Yeah,” Harruq said, his hate still churning like a trapped fire. “Just once, to an elf.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t know! He had the strangest weapon I ever saw. It was a bow with blades along every which way.”

Haern stepped back, his sabers vanishing beneath his cloaks once more.

“Dieredon? You fought Dieredon and lived?”

Harruq shrugged. “Guess I have.”

A soft chuckle escaped the assassin. “You have fought one of the very best there is, half-orc. Your swords never came close, did they?”

“He ambushed me,” the half-orc countered. “Wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Of course he ambushed you,” Haern whispered, slowly shifting his body left and right, his cloaks swaying. “An intelligent fighter doesn’t give his opponent a fair chance. You think it fair you have the muscles of an ox while your other foes are mere mortals?” His movements picked up speed. Haern’s cloaks whipped back and forth through the air.

“What the abyss is your problem?” Harruq shouted.

“You!”

Haern leapt, his body rotating at blinding speed. Cloaks whipped up and down. Harruq brought up his swords to block but had no clue where the assassin’s sabers were. Instinctively, he crossed them and braced his legs. One saber slid over the top, nicking his chin. When the mass of gray landed, the other saber cut upward, separating the two swords. The first, still high in the air, sliced straight back down, between the small opening the other had created, then thrust forward, unblocked.

Harruq stood there, swords shaking in his hands, as the tip pressed against his throat. A drop of blood trickled down his neck.