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T he fighting ring was so large, the entire Kidaran plaza could fit within and hardly touch the sides. It was a simple thing, a depression at the mesa’s centre, encircled with bales of dried grasses.

Already, men and women had staked their claim to this dubious seating, while the khans and their entourages sat one step behind, raised platforms of cut bamboo there for the royals to have full view of the proceedings.

By now, the stairs to the Blue Mesa’s top had been blocked, for there were so many people crowding it that it was becoming a hazard.

Jai didn’t mind. If he won, the more people to see his victory the better. If he lost... well, it wouldn’t matter much then, would it?

He sat at the arena’s edge, Kiran kneading his shoulders, Erica urging another gulp of water down his throat. The midday sun beat mercilessly on the makeshift arena, scorching rock and skin alike. The air carried the tang of sweat, steel, and anticipation.

‘Enough,’ Jai groaned, pawing at the water gourd, ‘else I’ll be caught short mid-battle.’

Erica ignored him and shoved the gourd under his nose.

‘Our strategy is to wear them out, take advantage of your condition,’ she snapped. ‘Won’t be much good if you’re gasping for water after an hour.’

Jai gave her a rueful smile and took another sip.

‘Make way!’ a voice called.

Jai turned to see Teji making his way through the crowds nearby. He could see the Tejinder banner, a copy of Jai’s father’s but with the Alkhara it depicted in deep black, rather than the silver sigil of Jai’s own house, and their colour was blood red. Strange choice, for a man who did not desire war.

And behind Teji, standing head and shoulders above the rest... was Zayn.

‘No,’ Kiran breathed. ‘It can’t be.’

Jai felt the blood drain from his face. His own stomach seized, and he sat back on his haunches, staring into the dark of the horizon.

‘He’s the best I’ve ever faced,’ Kiran whispered. ‘He’s... he’s a monster. The size of him...’

Zayn was indeed a monster. The man stood a foot taller than Jai, and perhaps twice that in width. The former Valor prince was a veritable mountain of muscle. Without mana... that muscle and height would count far more.

‘He knows how to fight with the mana lock,’ Kiran whispered. ‘It’s how he trained with the men before I bonded with my khiro and became a sparring partner. They didn’t stand a chance otherwise.’

Jai felt dizzy. The shock of Zayn, now grinning at him as he stretched in the bright sunlight, had thrown Jai for a loop.

‘You have watched him fight,’ Sindri said. ‘He has never seen you. Use it.’

Jai glanced at her, where she sat cross-legged nearby, her lips chewed to bleeding from nerves.

‘He favours the crane stance, with the high blade.’

‘What else?’ Kiran muttered, kneeling to tighten the laces of his boots.

‘He has an old wound in his left knee,’ Jai said. ‘Right, Sindri?’

‘I used to massage it every night,’ she whispered. ‘A donkey kicked it, when he was a boy. Our master almost sold him on, thought he’d make a poor groom. Hard days.’

Jai shook his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish it wasn’t this way.’

Sindri shrugged, though he could see the pain in her eyes.

‘The boy I knew is gone,’ she said. ‘The man you face...’

She trailed off and lowered her head.

‘Anything else?’ Kiran asked.

Jai closed his eyes. He was tired, for he’d only allowed himself a few hours’ sleep, wrapped in Winter’s embrace. It was hard to learn the new rhythms of his body without mana. To understand his speed, his strength. But in the last hour of his training, he felt something click into place.

‘He’s arrogant,’ Jai said. ‘Quick to anger, fast to react.’

‘Good,’ Kiran said. ‘Use that.’

Zayn wore no armour, as was customary for these duels. Only simple silken trousers, and a silver belt to keep them in place.

Indeed, Jai himself was bare-legged and chested, his skin oiled such that he would be hard to grip and grapple, his hands dusted in flour and salt, so he could manage the same. He wore a silken pair of shorts, voluminous in case they might tangle or slow a blade, and wide bottomed so as not to restrict his movements.

His hair was braided in a tight knot upon his head, and his beard braided into a dozen points, such that neither could be grabbed in battle. A trick from the Dansk, and done by Erica’s own hand.

He was as ready as he’d ever be. Now he took his blade, fresh sharpened by his blacksmith, its razor edge gleaming in the high midday sun.

Tenzin stomped out to the arena’s centre, his hands upon his hips, a lackey at his side. The lackey raised a mammoth tusk horn to his lip, and let out a short, loud blast that silenced the mesa within seconds of its sounding.

Jai watched as Zayn strode out of the crowd, his head high, blade slung flat over his shoulder like a club. Nazeem followed him.

‘Good luck,’ Erica whispered.

Jai felt the brush of her lips across his cheek, and her hand squeezing his so hard it hurt. Then his feet were moving of their own accord, sending him into the depths of the arena.

The walk felt like it took an age, and he found Feng hovering at his side. Finally, the whispers of a thousand onlookers stirring the air, he took his place opposite Zayn, Feng hurrying to Tenzin’s side.

Tenzin held out a silver coin, one Jai did not recognise – though the phoenix embossed on its side left him in no doubt of its origins.

‘The younger gets the toss. Choose.’

‘Heads,’ Feng said.

Tenzin flipped the coin, and showed it to Feng. The vizier pumped his fist, and flashed Jai a smile.

‘Go on,’ Tenzin said, proffering two vials of black liquid, each as large as a mug of ale.

Feng’s hand hovered for a moment, and picked one, while the other was offered to a glowering Nazeem.

The man’s face was inscrutable as he handed Zayn the bottle, but the big man’s own was full of rage. He downed the vial and cast it aside, in a tinkle of breaking glass.

‘Pick your position,’ Tenzin said.

Jai gulped down the bitter liquid, casting the vial aside too, and circled until his back was to the sun, where its continued trajectory would only serve to blind Zayn more.

Seeing what he’d done, Zayn let out a chuckle.

‘It will not matter, runt,’ he said. ‘That toss is all you’ll win today.’

Jai met his gaze, his opponent’s eyes bulging from their sockets. He was angry, and Jai knew that was a double-edged sword.

Already, Jai could feel the blackness spreading within him, his connection to Winter fading to but a whisper. It was just as well, for his dragon’s fears were compounding his own. He glanced above, and offered Winter a silent kiss. The dragon dipped her wings in response, two Caelite flying on their birds behind her, shadowing her in the sky. Should she try to intervene, they would fall upon her, and stop her from interrupting the sacred duel.

‘To the death, or surrender!’ Tenzin bellowed.

Feng hurried away, giving Jai a last quick hug before he departed.

‘You can do this,’ Feng said. ‘I believe it. Now you do the same.’

Then he was gone.

Seconds ticked by, Tenzin jogging back, his lackey at his side. Only when all but Jai and Zayn had cleared the arena did Tenzin turn, and nudge his companion.

The horn sounded once. Twice.

Silence.

Then a roar from Zayn, his blade raised high, feet thundering across the mesa. Jai stepped back, and braced for the blow.

It was on.