Haakon spread his arms, twirling his axe in one hand.

  “Come on, then!” He taunted.

  Matthias slid forward, extending his sword, waving the point back and forth as he edged closer to his opponent. Committing too quickly had often left him open when he’d fought the water replicas. He would not make the same mistake with Haakon; the warrior was much more dangerous than Siegfried and Petric.

  “Come on!” Haakon shouted. “I’m riiiight here! Guess you don’t have as much spine as I thought you did! Come on, boy! What’s it gonna take?”

  Matthias watched the big man silently.

  “Your family’s no better than dung diggers!” Haakon’s bearded face sneered. “Your brother’s a brainless Beast that needs to be locked away, and your mother’s a helpless piece of filth who’s so weak she can’t even defend her own children. Even you can’t say your father’s not better off with his new family!”

  Again, Matthias did not move. ‘Way of Stone. Way of Stone. Way of stone,’ he repeated the mantra to calm himself.

  The last time his brother had been referred to as a Beast, he’d lost himself, but since then he’d spent months communing with his own soul in quiet meditation. He’d survived lightning and a fall that should have shattered his body.

  He faced the ugly words with calm, simply meeting Haakon’s gaze, opening his mind to the man’s movements.

  “Come on!” Haakon shouted. “Come at me! Face The Strongest!”

  ‘All you are is enhanced, and everything you do will more readily fulfil your intent,’ Matthias thought, remembering One with Truth and Nature. ‘It all depends on intent.’

  “Strongest?” he scoffed. “Strongest mouth maybe. You see your son over there? He’s afraid. Guess he really does take after his father; that weakness in you? It runs even deeper in him.”

  His words were intended to provoke.

  Haakon’s smile faded.

  “So that’s how it’ll be.” The big man’s laugh became a harsh grating sound.

  Then he catapulted forward, raising his axe high, face contorted in a snarl.

  Matthias also came forward, holding the man’s gaze.

  Haakon’s axe came down like a falling tree as Matthias brought his weapons up, crossing them above his head. Wood crashed on metal as he caught the blow, the impact reverberating through his bones. His arms shook from the force…but his body held.

  Haakon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

  Matthias’ foot snapped out, driving a boot into the plate armour covering Haakon’s left thigh, the impact cracked through the air with a metallic clang.

  Haakon spoke not a word; his axe blurred, haft whipping up, catching Matthias on the side of his chest, a cough rasped from the boy’s throat—his ribs screaming—he stumbled back.

  Haakon laughed then. “Let’s see how well your chainmail holds up against my axe!”

  He came at Matthias like a charging bull, sweeping his weapon from side to side in blurring arcs. The air screamed with each swing; the power could have smashed chainmail and turned meat to a bloody smear.

  Matthias quickly backed out of reach, breathing his way through the pain in his ribs.

  The big, grinning man followed, chuckling all the while. “This is more like you! Running away! Run, run, run frightened rabbit!”

  “That’s right, get him father!” Kari cheered above the crowd.

  Haakon licked his lips, lunging forward, his axe swinging for Matthias’ face.

  The boy ducked; air parted finger-widths from his head, but Haakon twisted the haft of his longaxe, aiming to cave in his opponent’s skull. Matthias grimaced, turning, catching the blow on his side.

  The haft struck his shoulder. He growled, pain blasting through him. Twisting away, he drove another well-placed kick on the plate over Haakon’s thigh.

  Another tremendous clang struck the air.

  “What are you doing?” the big man, his voice scornful, swung his axe downward.

  Matthias threw himself to the side, rolling, sweeping an arm out, clipping Haakon’s thigh armour with his warhammer.

  He tried scrambling away, but Haakon’s foot shot up, the armoured boot connecting with the young greatfolk’s belly.

  “Matthie!” Dagma’s scream cut the air.

  The crowd gasped.

  Matthias flew through the fighting pit—skidding along the stones—barely managing to catch himself and roll to his feet. His stomach felt the blow, contracting like it had been crushed, his lungs nearly deflating.

  “Nice job, idiot!” Haakon stomped forward. His balance had shifted slightly. “Dunno how you managed to elevate yourself like you did: maybe witchcraft or Life Enforcement or even Divine Breath. But it don’t matter. Boys shouldn’t challenge men.”

  He charged, axe a tempest of crushing blows.

  Matthias jumped back. Haakon was fast and he needed do buy himself time, he let his eyes take in all of the big man’s movements. His intent was to learn his fighting pattern, just as he had with the water replicas.

  The crowd was gasping, some grimacing.

  Haakon was laughing.

  “Matthie! Matthie be careful!” Dagma was calling.

  All Matthias could focus on was the odd familiarity in Haakon’s moves. Where had he seen them before? They weren’t like Siegfried’s, they weren’t like Agustin’s or even Sur Friya’s…so then...

  It suddenly struck him: the water replicas.

  He moved like the water replicas Altaizar had created; their movements were fast, their blows strong and their bodies flexible…but they were mindless. They were all speed and power, but had no technique.

  All strength.

  Just like…

  “Oh, by the Ascended!” Matthias grinned viciously. “You’re the ‘strongest’! That’s it!”

  Haakon’s face twisted in confusion. “What in all the Ascendeds’ true names? It’s a little late for you to realise that, ain’t it!”

  Matthias stopped running.

  He stood in front of his bulky opponent.

  If he was right—

  Haakon swung…in exactly the same way the boy had expected he would.

  Matthias smiled, leaning back, letting the axe whizz by him, then he jumped forward.

  Another well-placed kick landed on Haakon’s thigh.

  The big man swung the haft of his weapon around—trying to crush his opponent’s head—but Matthias was ready this time.

  Bracing his body, he wheeled his sword at the haft even as it came at him.

  There was a crack.

  He blocked the axe, carving a deep gouge in the wood, and kicked Haakon’s thigh once, then twice, before leaping back. The big man grabbed his thigh, grimacing, then swung his axe down. Matthias darted around him, smashing his hammer into the man’s thigh again.

  ‘He’ll try to swing down on me again,’ he thought.

  Sure enough, the axe rose.

  Then fell.

  Matthias brought his weapons up.

  His sword slammed into the axe’s haft, cutting deep—the blade was hardened and sharpened by One with Truth and Nature.

  The axe slowed slightly…

  …and Matthias’ hammer slammed into the top of his own blade, forcing it into the shaft like a mason’s hammer driving a chisel through stone.

  Wood cracked and split.

  The axe head flew from its broken shaft.

  “What the...?” Haakon cried.

  Arms trembling from the impact, Matthias swung his sword toward Haakon’s face.

  Now, he was going to finish this.

  His blade closed on the man’s cheek…

  …suddenly stopping with a dull thud.

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  “Huh?” Matthias murmured, his eyes widening.

  The blade was quivering in one of Haakon’s gauntleted hands.

  Matthias watched as the hand transformed.

  The dark, dull grey of the gauntlet expanded, turning craggy. In less than a heartbeat, the gauntleted hand had swelled to twice its size, changing to rough stone. Rocky spikes burst from the craggy surface.

  Haakon’s grin turned predatory. “Told you you’d see what my gauntlets could do.”

  There was a shriek of metal as the stone hand snapped the blade in two.

  Gasping, Matthias jumped back, gripping his warhammer.

  Haakon’s other gauntlet transformed to another massive stone fist, crashing down where Matthias had crouched just a heartbeat earlier.

  Above, the crowd was screaming.

  Haakon leveled his arms at his stumbling opponent. “You asked for this.”

  There was a crack of stone snapping; spikes fired from Haakon’s gauntlets, hissing through the air.

  Matthias leapt to the side…yelling as a spike of stone pierced his shoulder.

  The impact sent him spinning, tumbling to the ground. He barely managed to leap up as more spikes struck the fighting pit’s floor—nearly skewering his head—he scrambled back, dodging and ducking the stony projectiles.

  He could feel wetness running down his shoulder: a spike had punctured his chainmail, its tip stabbing through his flesh. The spike was slowing him; the rock was heavy, cutting into him as he moved.

  “Oooooh, now it’s not so fun, is it?” Haakon fired more spikes from his fists.

  Another pierced Matthias’ thigh.

  He grimaced in pain.

  “Matthie!” Dagma screamed.

  “Hold it together, Matthias! Way of Stone!” Sur Friya shouted.

  “You didn’t come this far only to be skewered now!” Altaizar’s voice snapped.

  “Yeees! Get him father!” Kari pumped his fist, smiling a wolf’s smile. “Take his hands! Take his hands!”

  “One pair of hands coming up!” Haakon laughed, advancing toward his quarry.

  He fired spikes around Matthias as he bore down on him, trying to block his routes of escape. Stone missiles whizzed by the young warrior’s ears. He could go neither left, nor right.

  So, he went forward.

  He dove toward his charging opponent as Haakon tried catching him in a bear hug, but the greatfolk slipped below his reach, rolling away. Matthias slammed his hammer into Haakon’s left thigh.

  The big man grunted, dragging his leg. “Stop that!”

  Rolling to his feet, the young warrior—spikes slicing the air around him—turned around. Both he and Haakon began to move…

  …suddenly, a new voice screamed above the din of the crowd.

  “Maaaaaatt!” came the familiar cry.

  Matthias and Haakon flinched.

  Both turned.

  Beggahasta Stonebreaker—clad in her full armour and gripping Tallis above her head—charged through the crowd like a raging bull moose. “Haakon, you cowardly filth! Leave my son alone!”

  “Mother?” Matthias cried in shock. She’d returned from her patrol at perhaps the worst possible time.

  “Mother?” Dagma looked across the fighting pit at the charging warrior.

  “Keep back, Beggahasta!” Eklund’s voice snapped out. He’d partly risen from his seat. “This is an honour duel initiated by your son! Interfere now, and I will wield the full power of the law against you!”

  The earl looked back down at the fight; his skeletal face twisted in a rictus grin. “But how lucky that you returned at this auspicious time! Nephyrean has led you back from the Wolfwood to see your son’s proper destiny fulfilled! Guards, stop her! Haakon, finish him!””

  “With pleasure!” Haakon surged forward.

  “Matt!” Beggahasta shouted, guards slamming in to her—first five, then ten, then twenty—yet she pushed through them like water.

  “Mother stop!” Matthias ducked Haakon’s attempt to grab him, scrambling away from the next volley of spikes. “Stay away!”

  “No! Get out of there! I will take your place!” Beggahasta shouted, pushing the guards aside. Some grasped at her bearskin cloak, but she pulled them along as though moving through air. She’d nearly reached the pit.

  “No, mother! I can handle this!” he shouted.

  “Don’t lie to your mother, boy!” Haakon sneered, firing more spikes.

  One cut across Matthias’ cheek, nearly skewering his ear. He batted another aside, making his warhammer ring.

  “Mother, I can take him!” he shouted, spotting Dagma, Sur Friya and Altaizar making their way toward her. “By my honour, let me do this! I won’t lose to someone who can’t fight!”

  The roar of the crowd grew louder.

  Kari jeered at him. “You’re babbling nonsense!”

  Matthias’ allies paused.

  Haakon’s face washed red. “What did you say to me, boy?”

  Matthias snarled, leaping out of his reach as the massive man grabbed at him again. Haakon was starting to slow.

  “You call yourself the strongest—well that’s laughable—but that’s about all you are! You’re strong! You’re fast!” Matthias mocked the ‘Strongest’. “But you’ve been the same way your whole life, haven’t you? Training in Life Enforcement made your natural gifts sharper, but you don’t have a shred of technique. I bet you’ve never trained properly! I’ve probably put in more work with my weapons than you ever have.”

  Haakon sneered. “When it comes naturally, you don’t need cheap tricks. I’m the Strongest!” He fired more spikes at Matthias.

  The young greatfolk ducked beneath the volley. “Dagma! Mother! Everyone! Witness this!”

  “Wait, Matt!” Beggahasta shouted.

  “Get him!!” Altaizar’s voice cut above the din.

  Matthias charged toward Haakon as the big man fired spikes. He batted one aside, caught another in his forearm, snarling his way through the pain.

  “Coming to meet your death, are you, boy?” Haakon spat.

  His fist swung at Matthias, who weaved around it then kicked Haakon’s thigh.

  Another swing from a rocky fist.

  Matthias ducked, kicking Haakon’s thigh harder. Metal clanged.

  Haakon reached for him, but Matthias slipped away, smashing his hammer into those armoured arms, batting them aside.

  His foot came up again, striking that left thigh.

  Matthias’ eyes flicked down; both bulky fighters cast shadows beneath their forms, shrouding the ground at their feet.

  The younger warrior stepped back, circling, turning his back to the sun.

  His shadow fell across Haakon’s feet.

  Snarling, the big man took a step forward, leveling his fists, preparing to fire more spikes.

  His left leg came up.

  Matthias tensed, he could see it shaking.

  It came down.

  Haakon’s snarl evaporated.

  Howling in pain, he stumbled forward; kick after kick had targeted his thigh—delivering repeated impacts to the same spot through his armour, and with Matthias’ intent to deliver pain and contusions, and remembering One with Truth and Nature—a toll had been taken.

  Haakon’s leg had gone numb, he was swaying, losing balance.

  He was trying to catch himself…but Matthias’ shadow still hung over his legs. As subtle as a black serpent in the darkness, the tendril peeked from the young greatfolk’s shadow…

  …catching Haakon’s left foot like an uneven stone.

  The gigantic warrior cried out, toppling over, unbalanced by his two heavy, rocklike fists.

  Matthias pounced.

  Haakon’s head came down.

  Matthias’ knee came up.

  There was a crunch, and the big man’s head snapped back.

  “Wait! Father!” Kari screamed.

  Haakon had fallen, struggling to regain balance—catching himself with both hands—but Matthias’ knee had dazed him, slowing him further. The big warrior was down on his hands and knees, frozen for a moment.

  Matthias looked into the stands, meeting Kari’s gaze as he raised his warhammer.

  His tormenter blanched.

  Matthias swung the weapon down.

  It cracked against Haakon’s chainmail-wrapped elbow, driven by all of Matthias’ strength. Though Haakon’s body was enhanced by life enforcement…

  …Divine Breath burned in Matthias’ soul.

  The crack was dull, like wet wood breaking.

  Haakon screamed, his arm twisting at a sickening angle as he fell on his side, trying to roll away.

  Matthias raised his hammer once more. “You turned your hands to stone. That was your great plan: so, tell me, what’s my family name, fool?”

  The hammer came down on Haakon’s knee. Another wet crack.

  Haakon’s roar of pain covered the arena, soon cut off by a kick to his face. As the crowd screamed and hollered, the big man was sent sprawling on his back. Matthias pounced again, his hammer rising and falling.

  Joints crunched.

  Limbs twisted.

  Yet, Haakon still tried to reach for him—driven by inhuman vitality—spitting at him. “Damn you, you whel—”

  The hammer relieved him of his teeth.

  The crowd roared. Some gaped.

  Haakon’s head whipped to the side. He slowly turned to glare up at Matthias, the young greatfolk pinned his head down with a foot to the forehead, and drove his warhammer into that ugly bearing. Bone crunched—the skulls of most mortal men would have shattered by now—but Haakon kept fighting, flailing, cursing.

  The weapon struck his face with increasingly wet impacts.

  His cursing soon turned to cries of pain.

  Then yelps of agony.

  Then shrieks of terror.

  “What are you doing, Haakon?” Eklund rose from his seat. “Do not let this happen! I command you to get up!”

  “Faaaather! No! No! Stop!” Kari was screaming. “Stop it! Stop! Stop! Stop! You’re killing him!” he pleaded.

  Matthias met his gaze, then loudly asked him a single question. “Did you stop at the cliff?”

  Kari’s words died on his lips, his jaw trembling.

  Matthias raised his hammer a final time.

  When it landed, the sound it made was less of a crunch and more of a splash.

  Haakon began gasping, his body trembling.

  He went still, chest weakly rising and falling.

  His limbs were twisted, joints destroyed. His sneering face now a ruin.

  Eklund cursed violently. “Stop! Stop! The contest has ended! Matthias Stonebreaker is the winner of both the duel and the wager!”

  “N-no!” Kari screamed.

  A hush fell over the pit.

  Then the crowd abruptly exploded.

  Eklund’s guards booed the young upstart, but most of the villagers—long tired of Haakon’s ways—cheered on Matthias with deafening volume. He looked down at his body.

  Cuts riddled his skin.

  Spikes impaled his shoulder, thigh and forearm.

  But he was there; alive.

  And in one piece.

  More than that.

  His enemies were not.

  He looked up at Dagma, who was looking at him all smiles and beaming with pride.

  Then at Sur Friya, who seemed frozen in shock.

  Then at Altaizar, who grinned a vicious, satisfied smile.

  Finally, at his mother; her expression was a mix of disbelief and joy…but the latter quickly overtook the former. She shook off the remaining guards, raising Tallis above her head.

  “Way of Stone! Way of Stone! Way of Stone!” she chanted, thrusting her sword above her in time with her cadence.

  After a moment, Dagma joined in. “Way of Stone! Way of Stone! Way of Stone!”

  Sur Friya added her voice a moment later.

  Even Altaizar joined in with a slightly embarrassed grin.

  The chant spread through much of the crowd, and Matthias bowed to them as the ladder was lowered into the fighting pit. He looked at Haakon, noticing his gauntlets had returned to their dull, metallic shade and he stooped down, prying them from his broken wrists.

  Marching to the ladder, he jumped onto the rungs, scaling them with ease and making his way through the crowd. A mix of reactions met him: some folk looked on him with rage, others with pride and cheer, and others…with fear.

  But there was one reaction he wanted to witness up close.

  Matthias turned, making his way to Kari.

  Kari, son of Haakon, stared down at the ruins of his father from the stands, seemingly paralysed where he was.

  “C-C-Can’t be…” he stammered. “It just can’t be. It can’t!”

  Yet it was.

  The boy he’d bullied all his life—two years his junior—had stepped into the fighting pit with his mighty father. A father who had taught Kari to be strong. A father who had taught Kari to take and crush anything that ever opposed him.

  A father who had never lost against an opponent in the fighting pits throughout the midlands and northlands…

  …yet the bullied boy had reduced that mighty warrior to a pile of mewling meat and broken bones.

  “This can’t be. It just can’t!” He tried to unsee what he’d just seen.

  But the images were seared into his mind.

  He tried calling on his anger, on his hatred, on his need for revenge, but he could not find them. All he could find was terror. All he wanted to do was run. So transfixed was he on that feeling that he didn’t notice the crowd parting until it was too late.

  His head turned; he screamed.

  Matthias Stonebreaker—covered in red—was walking toward him. No, he was gliding. Gliding like one of Amon Koth’s boatmen, coming to collect a dead soul for the after-world.

  Kari scrambled away until he hit the railing around the fighting pit.

  Matthias’ shadow—which seemed to be so utterly dark—fell on him, and the greatfolk towered over the once proud older warrior.

  “N-no!” Kari curled up. “D-don’t hurt me!”

  Matthias’ expression was death itself. Then he spoke: “Remember this, Kari. You’ll never again see a day that I can’t break you apart.”

  With that, he turned and glided away.

  Those words burrowed into Kari’s mind as he was left there on his knees, trembling and whimpering.

  Never again would he trouble his former victim.

  With grim spirits, Earl Eklund watched the young greatfolk, Matthias Stonebreaker, rejoin his family.

  One of his best warriors was ruined—perhaps permanently—and three young fighters had been broken. Even worse, the boy had somehow transformed.

  He had gone from being a liability to his mother, to…whatever it was he’d just displayed.

  “The boy’s becoming dangerous, he’s been spending far too much time with that mage,” he whispered, looking at Dagma Stonebreaker. Looking at a child who should have long borne her father’s surname of Dramagnus. “I don’t like this. I need to regain control; waiting for an opportunity isn’t going to work anymore.”

  His gaze turned in the direction of the tower of The Beast.

  The tower of the eldest of Beggahasta’s children.

  “I must close the vice.”

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