Amiri jumped off the makeshift barricade erected from bags and boxes. She'd called out her challenge against Armag the Twice-Born, but the chieftain was taking his sweet time dragging his shredded ass back from the battlefield, and striking a heroic pose on a pile of crates was becoming tedious.

  She looked over her allies. A handful of men and women dared join her openly, with probably a lot more uncertain ones out there. Most importantly, she had two clerics by her side: Dugath, whose face had regained its original shape by now, and his disciple named Gwart. That meant Amiri could enter the duel wearing some valuable buffs. Gone were the days when she'd taken pride in rawdogging her foes. This time she would need every last drop of strength, speed and stamina she could muster. Even if Armag was an impostor, he seemed to be a dangerous opponent, willing and able to give her a run for her gold. And that was without considering the possibility that he was the real thing, the greatest chief of the Tiger Lords ever, born again to this world. For the sake of her own peace of mind, Amiri refused to think about that.

  Even more importantly, she had Nilak. That meant she also had her tribe's grudging support, after punching Chieftain Akaia so badly that he'd lost his will to intervene (and a couple of teeth to boot). And as she'd suspected, nobody knew the first thing about what had transpired between her and Rodgar's bunch in the snowy mountains. It was best to keep it that way.

  She wondered if she should clean Ginormous of the Sister's remains, but she rejected the idea. Hopefully the blade would soon get even dirtier, anyway. Instead, she stood and imbibed the spells that enhanced her qualities as a warrior. Now she would show them all what she was made of. The fate of the battle, her tribe, her country, her friends, her allies rested on her shoulders, and she carried it all with confidence. She'd defeated loads of First World monsters during the Bloom, some of them single-handedly, and proved her mettle against Vordakai's zombie cyclopes multiple times. Armag couldn't be that much worse.

  Suddenly, the middle of the barricade flew inwards as a result of a powerful kick. As the dust and debris subsided, Armag the Twice-Born's silhouette delineated itself wading through the clutter, tossing aside pieces of wood and leaking bags.

  "What's going on here?" he roared.

  It was a spectacular entry, indeed. Amiri grabbed Ginormous in a two-handed grip and rose to the challenge.

  "Apparently, your people has had enough of your fey witches and your suicidal campaign against Brevoy! You are unfit to lead the Tiger Lords!"

  "Really?" The big man grinned, looking forward to his next skull-bashing exercise for today. "And who says that?"

  "Amiri of Nightvale, the first female warrior of the Six Bears!" The title was a little bit jumbled, but it was comprehensive enough to account for Amiri's peculiar status.

  "Oh. Nice. I like that. Where was that scoundrel Akaia hiding you so far?"

  Chuckles came from all around, making Amiri realise that a circle of spectators was forming around them, quicker than she'd expected.

  "Armag was told you wanted a duel, bear girl. Is that right?"

  "Correct. You've done enough harm already. It's time to stop you."

  "Good. Armag hopes you'll be better fun than... what was her name again?"

  Distracted, the chieftain scratched the back of his head, frowning, his thoughts chasing after a mental note blowing in the winds of madness. He looked back over his shoulder, likely searching for a Sister to ask her for a reminder. Amiri decided to give him a little time, so that the audience could appreciate the absurdity of the situation as well, all the while wondering if the owner of the elusive name was one of her friends. She didn't envy the other woman who had been made short work of. Yet, her patience ran out before Armag deigned to pay her any heed again. The buffs she'd been given would not last forever, after all.

  "Hello?"

  "What? Ah, yes. Duel. Sure."

  As if on cue, the two opponents let out their best earth-shaking battle roar and charged, crashing into each other in the middle of the oval space left open by the audience.

  It had been a great idea to accept those buffs. Even so, Amiri struggled to keep up. She found herself on the defensive, dodging, ducking, sidestepping, her ripostes slashing the air, and quickly tiring herself out. If the rage didn't kick in very soon, this would end badly for her.

  Worse, something was circling them in the air.

  At first, Amiri thought she was being pelted with a particularly big piece of turd, but the thing's movements were more controlled, and its stink was different, too. It reminded her of a giant fly, the size of a human head. She did her best to ignore it, well aware that even the smallest inattention could cost her a limb. But then, as she managed to gain a little distance from Armag and catch half a breath, she saw the thing fly straight into her opponent's face.

  "Kragg smash!"

  Armag's hand shot out and grabbed the thing by its tentacles – which, on a closer look, turned out to be lumps of long, tangled hair. The thing, a severed human head, wriggled in his grasp, still seeking to attack his face.

  "Kragg? Where's your body, mate? What kind of witchcraft is this?"

  Whatever the deal with that flying head was, it created a much-needed distraction, and Amiri was quick to make use of it. She took a deep breath, bit back her next battlecry to add an element of surprise, and charged, aiming a slash at the big fellow's ribs. Armag parried effortlessly, holding his two-hander in his left, with a force that almost ripped Ginormous out of Amiri's hands. She staggered back. It looked like Armag intended to use the restless, gory head as an off-hand weapon, and Amiri was not keen on meeting it face-first.

  Suddenly, she felt herself deeply inadequate. She'd trained and trained with Ginormous until she grew strong enough to wield it with relative ease, but Armag was still making a fool of her. He fought with a fierce creativity comparable only to Nok-Nok, but in a twenty times bigger edition, and this realisation filled Amiri with terror and shame. Which was good. The prospect of a humiliating defeat made her angry, and anger was just a tiny step away from rage. Once the makeshift morningstar knocked against her temple, making her reel and splashing rotten blood and undead ichor into her eyes, the familiar red haze alighted on her brain, setting all her muscles and nerves on fire. Now that the unkempt head was gone, the pieces of its skull crunching under her feet, she could fall back to her instinctive techniques, blow against blow. With rage fueling her, she could just about stand her ground.

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  Until some of the audience broke out screaming:

  "He's coming!"

  The noise barely made it to Amiri's brain. For a fracture of a second, her foe was distracted, tearing his gaze off her, and she leapt at the occasion to go on the offensive. It faintly registered with her that a white-blue ghostly figure, towering above the people and even Armag, was making its way through the rows of spectators, sweeping gawkers out of its way, its presence sending a physical chill up her sweaty spine.

  "Amiri!" it hissed, hooted, rattled. "There you are, at long last!"

  Amiri's head whipped round to steal a quick glance at the newcomer, and at the next moment, an elbow connected with her jaw. She staggered, shaking her head to dispel the dizziness.

  "Fuck off, I'm busy!" she snapped, spitting out a mouthful of blood and froth.

  But the ghost didn't fuck off. Quite on the contrary.

  "The sword!" it howled. "The sword you stole from me! Give it back!"

  "I'm using it right now, can't you see?"

  Even through the haze of rage, Amiri realised that something was off. The souls of the dead usually didn't return for the items adventurers looted off their corpses. What was going on, then? Unless... But no, Ginormous was a perfectly normal sword. Surprisingly high quality for the frost giant she'd found it beside, but otherwise just a regular sword, nice and sharp and, well, ginormous. No other sword would be able to block Armag's crazy flurry of –

  Clank.

  Amiri stared stupidly at her blade, suddenly a lot shorter and lighter than before, snapped in two at half its length. She didn't have much time to stare, though. She raised the mutilated weapon to block the next devastating slash from above, slipping away from beneath Armag's sword, only to see the rest of her blade break free from the hilt. Amiri backed away, deflated, the rage leaking out through the pores of her skin at an alarming speed.

  But something else was leaking, too: black smoke coming from all three pieces, braiding together into a vaguely human-like shape. A numbing jolt shot up Amiri's arm from the hilt, making her drop it and scramble farther away from the accursed thing. The only upside was that Armag forgot about her completely, absorbed in the strange sight, his bloodshot eyes glued to the smoke, his mouth agape.

  "NOOO! What have you done?!"

  Screaming its despair into the wide world, the ghostly giant dissipated into thin air, its remains forming into a shape similar to the black thing, but in white, its face dominated by a pair of eyes widened in horror. The black shape opened up a hungry-looking maw, full of sharp teeth and a snaking tongue, stretched out a pair of bulky arms towards the sky, relishing its freedom, and let out a resounding, evil cackle.

  A Defaced Sister elbowed her way through the crowd, the people being too astonished to let her pass. She looked at the twin shapes in befuddlement.

  "Fionn? Kean?" she asked. Were those the names of the two shapes? Did the Sister know them in person? Were those also fey?

  Had Amiri been running around with an evil fey thingumabob imprisoned in her sword all this time?

  The Sister asked another question, in a language that was neither Hallit nor Common. She probably wanted to know what those two were doing here, and Amiri couldn't help but agree. Too bad she didn't speak Sylvan.

  However, there was no conversation for her to miss out on. The black one braced up, breathing in, siphoning energy – to Amiri's horror, from the bystanders. Several people were clawing at their throats or clutching their chests, Nilak among them. Amiri had to act quickly. She had no sword anymore, and her fists probably wouldn't damage a wisp of braided smoke, but she was big enough for others to hide behind. She stepped in front of her ailing friend, blocking her out of the smoke thing's line of sight. A powerful force of suction hit her square in the chest, not as horrible as the soul siphon had been in Vordakai's river chamber, but still bad enough to leave her empty and feeble. Through swimming eyes, she saw the white thing jump at the black one, and the black one speed away like an inflated balloon released with its mouth untied, with its white sibling in tow.

  Armag was still unresponsive, and unless Amiri's eyes were playing tricks on her, he was trembling. Or was that just her wishful thinking? Watching a spirit break out from a ruined sword was scary enough, but no reason for a full mental collapse.

  A voice called out from behind her, one she identified as Orik.

  "Were those your friends, Sister, feeding on our very souls? Do you subsist on the same kind of food?"

  Other voices picked up the question, grumbling, shouting. The Sister sidled behind Armag's back and whispered something into his ear. The chieftain finally drew himself up to his full height, and roared:

  "Enough!" He pointed at Amiri. "Tie up that worthless scum, along with the rest! Armag must leave now. Needs to... find something important. Destiny calls!"

  Barely alive for exhaustion, Amiri had no choice but to let herself be half-heartedly tied to one of the poles, happy to be allowed to slump to the ground.

  "Did he just walk out on us?" grumbled one of her captors, fiddling with the rope behind her back.

  "He wasn't heading back to the battle, was he?" said another.

  "No. He got bored. Again."

  "I can relate to that. I, too, am fucking bored with his foolish games."

  "If he walked out, does that mean we can walk out, too? I wonder."

  Amiri lost track of the conversation. She faintly noted that someone started to play the vargan and sing. It had to be Nilak. The Six Bears were a bunch of obnoxious assholes, but hell, their songs were still the best.