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“What is the meaning of this?” Orthorr called, stalking into the fray. For an older man, he was still very powerful, and people of both clans got out of his way. The other clan leader followed more sedately, as if it didn’t bother him in the slightest that one of his own attacked a tribute. Asshole.

Neither man answered Orthorr. It was Godr who explained. “He attacked the tribute in Feigrind’s own tent. I heard him screaming.” There was guilt on his face that was misplaced. It wasn’t his fault I was attacked. I slipped away unnoticed. I thought I would be safe in Feigrind’s tent. I was the one in the wrong. I had been since the day I arrived.

“I challenge him to drokagorn,” Feigrind growled, his eyes still locked on my attacker.

That was a word I didn’t recognize, but from the looks on everyone’s faces, it was serious. Everyone paled a little, and even the clan leader looked conflicted.

“Granted.” The visiting clan leader said it with a grin, like he enjoyed the drama of it all. Orthorr did not agree. He swung around, glaring at the man.

“You agree to this? With your own on the line?”

Feiskedr shrugged. “If he wants to forfeit his life for a well-used whore, that is his business.” He turned his smug gaze to Feigrind. “Drunn does not lie. I saw your tribute working in a brothel in a town in the south west. I heard he was very popular.” He turned his wicked grin my way. “I’d like a chance at him myself. Should Drunn win, the tribute comes with us.”

There were a lot of protests about that, more than I expected. I’d only been here a few days, and I’d caused a lot of trouble in that time, too. It was a little shocking how adamant they were that I not be given up. I glanced at Feigrind, but he had his back to me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking right now.

“Your warrior made the challenge,” Feiskedr said in a bored tone. “We are allowed to set terms. If he falls, the tribute comes with us. If you ignore the terms, we are at war. Is a whore worth going to war with us, Orthorr?”

A pained look slashed across Orthorr’s face, but eventually, he backed down. Apparently, I wasn’t worth that much.

I hated how much that hurt.

“So be it. However, win or lose, your clan will leave. Tonight. We do not welcome those who attack tributes into our borders. Those are my terms.”

Feiskedr shrugged. “Agreed. We have no interest in associating with a pathetic clan like yours.” He looked at me again, switching to the common tongue. “You will join us, whore. I don’t want you running off before Drunn wins.”

FEIGRIND

When one of the Fer’na warriors reached for Simon, I swung my sword, stopping just shy of his hand.

“Touch him and I will remove your hands.”

He backed off, and I grabbed Simon, tucking him behind me. His palm rested in the middle of my back as he peeked around me. He was no doubt confused and frightened after his attack. I wanted nothing more than to hold him and reassure him that he was safe under my protection. But I would not let the insult of the attack stand. I challenged the Fer’na who attacked him to a blood duel. It would end in his death. Or mine.

Uttin and Ethralk appeared behind me, covering my back and protecting Simon as we moved to the town center. I kept my eye on the Fer’na, especially the one who’d attacked Simon. He looked smug about what he’d done. But in the light of the fire, it was apparent he did not come out unscathed from his run-in with Simon. His chest was bleeding, and blood dripped from his hand as well. Simon was not going down without a fight. I was proud of him for that. And once he understood me, I would tell him as much.

The clans formed a circle, the Fer’na making up one half, and our clan making up the other. I’d wanted Simon to stay in the clan, but Orthorr took charge of him, pulling him out of the way and near the edge of our side of the circle. I didn’t like that, how close he was to the Fer’na. Even if I came out the victor, I didn’t trust them not to take him forcibly.

Just outside the circle, hovering beyond the light of the fire, I noticed Einar. He was watching it all, his eyes narrowed. When he looked at me, he dipped his chin once. I chose to believe that meant he would watch out for Simon, like he’d done in the woods. I had no other choice.

“A challenge has been made. The last man standing wins,” Orthorr called with a heavy tone of resignation. He would have argued against this if he could. He did not believe in solving our problems with violence. But I wouldn’t be deterred. Not after seeing the tears on Simon’s face.

“A blood duel for a whore. He better be worth it,” Feiskedr cackled.

He was worth it. Even if I breathed my last breath, he was worth it. Because he was mine to protect, and I’d defend him with my life.

“Begin!”

The bastard lunged the moment he was allowed, slashing out with his sword. It was sloppy and easily parried. I did not strike back. I waited, watching, as he slashed and hacked in a pathetic attempt to take me down with sheer force. It was a wonder the Fer’na were so feared if this was how they fought. There was no skill to it. Yet, no one seemed to notice from his side of the circle. They called out for blood, shouted for the man to hurt me, but gave no instruction to help him.

It took very little time to find my opening. He threw his weight into each lunge and had to correct his stance every time. I used it to my advantage. Sidestepping at the right moment,I sliced across his chest with my sword. He stumbled back in surprise.

“Cheating bastard,” he spat.

I merely raised my eyebrow. I would not give in to his taunts. I would only wait for my next opportunity. A good fighter was patient. He did not rush in blindly. And I would not risk Simon’s life reacting with anger in my heart. I relied on my skill alone.

He came at me again, though his stance was more tucked in to favor his injury. It gave me another opening, this time on his back. He cried out in surprise, stumbling again. A few more times we did this dance, where he came at me, and I hurt him for it. Until the calls from the Fer’na slowly died and my clan’s voices grew loud enough to drown them out. No calls for blood. Only steady, rhythmic grunts as the fight reached its inevitable end.

I heard Simon cry out in fury, his voice cutting through the quiet in my mind, drawing my focus. Feiskedr had used the distraction of the fight to sidle up to him, and he had a hand wrapped around Simon’s elbow. My distraction was enough to give my opponent time to strike, but I was thankfully quick enough to jump back to prevent the blow from being fatal. It hurt, and I bled because of it, but it would not kill me.