The sword completed its descent, meeting not flesh but wood with a crack that echoed across the square. One of the elderly defenders, a woman who looked like she'd been assembled from stubborn leather and a permanent disapproving gaze, had shoved the others aside and raised a cart plank at the last moment.

  The Bormecian paused, head tilting with what might have been approval. Then he twisted his wrist, sent the plank spinning away, and placed his free hand on the woman's shoulder. She crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.

  "Brave," he said in a Bormecian accent, standing over her unconscious form. He studied her for a moment, sword point resting on the ground. "In Bormecia, such courage could make you a Barbarian."

  The elderly defenders began to relax slightly, thinking perhaps this foreign fighter had some honor after all. One even started forward to help their fallen companion.

  The Bormecian sighed and shook his head. "Courage isn't all."

  The sword rose and completed its descent, carving through the elderly woman before anyone could process the movement. She fell in two directions at once, her bravery rewarded with steel. The other defenders scrambled back, terror replacing courage.

  The Bormecian paused again, considering the corpse with the detached interest of someone examining their handiwork. Then he kicked the body aside and advanced on the remaining elderly.

  "Stop!" Reyn finally closed the distance, Good Deeds ringing against his blade. The impact jarred up her arms, every muscle protesting yesterday's overwork.

  "Another one," he said in Bormecian, sounding tired. "Haven't seen another in a long time."

  They circled each other while the battle raged around them. Reyn studied him, trying to understand. He moved like a Bormecian but off-beat, like a familiar dance performed to different music.

  "My name is Reyn Caleran," she said, testing with a thrust he deflected casually. "Who are you? Why are you with these people?"

  "Why?" He returned the test with a lateral cut that Reyn barely turned aside. "It's what needs doing."

  "Stealing, killing, extortion? I get killing, but..."

  His expression flickered, something moving behind his eyes like storm clouds. He gestured at the scattered bodies. "I do what's necessary, Pilgrim."

  Their blades met again, and Reyn felt the difference immediately. His style definitely was Bormecian, with years of pollution. Where their training emphasized controlled brutality, his movements had been pared down to violence and power. Little care, less restraint.

  "The merchants grind the poor to dust," he said, driving her back with combinations that would have been beautiful if they weren't trying to kill her. "They hoard food during famines. Medicine during plagues."

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  Reyn gave ground, her legs already protesting. Each parry came a fraction later than the last. "These people aren't merchants. The Temples of Healing have nothing to do with any of whatever it is you are talking about. Your people are the problem here, if you'll excuse my bluntness."

  "Temples?" He paused mid-strike, genuine confusion crossing his features. "We don't... What are you...?" His face contorted as if fighting an internal argument. Then it hardened again. "Bah! Same system."

  Around them, the battle had evolved into dozens of smaller conflicts. Corelei's voice rose above the chaos: "Second group, shift left! Fill that gap!"

  The survivor sprinted past, somehow having acquired a sword. "Twenty-three still standing!" he shouted gleefully. "Maybe thirty-two!"

  "What in the hells are you doing?" a Crimson Hand soldier asked as he tried to grab him.

  The survivor spun with surprising dexterity, clouted the man with his sword's pommel, and continued running. "Less now!"

  But Reyn was slowing. The other Bormecian had shifted from testing to teaching, each exchange demonstrating how much her exhaustion cost her. He flowed where she staggered, anticipated where she reacted.

  "You fought yesterday," he said, hooking Good Deeds with his crossguard. A twist, a pull, and her beloved sword went spinning across cobblestones. "Full Frenzy by the look of you. I should've known from the reports. Foolish child. The cost always comes due. Don't they teach that anymore, Pilgrim?"

  Reyn's hand found her second sword, the star-filled blade singing as it cleared leather. He glanced at it without concern.

  Guiding Star? Reyn thought, then decided this wasn't the time to decide a name.

  "Pretty. Won't help."

  She pressed forward, the unfamiliar blade moving in patterns that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than training. Instinct. Feel. The small amount of Rage she managed to muster. For a moment, just a moment, she had him backing up.

  Then her foot caught on debris from someone's destroyed cart. The stumble lasted less than a heartbeat, but it was enough. His pommel took her in the temple.

  The world tilted. Cobblestones rushed up.

  Through blurring vision, she saw the battlefield had shifted. The Crimson Hand's numbers had dwindled significantly. Bodies lay scattered, some moving, many not. The survivors had pulled back, shields locked, professionals recognizing when a situation had gone bad.

  "They're pulling back!" Corelei's voice carried disbelief and growing triumph. "Hold positions! Don't chase!"

  The other Bormecian looked down at Reyn, then at his depleted forces. For a moment, something almost like regret crossed his features. Then it was gone.

  "WITHDRAW!" he commanded. "Organized withdrawal!"

  Reyn tried to stand. The world spun enthusiastically, and she found herself studying clouds instead. Pretty clouds. Very spinny.

  She tried again, managed two steps before her legs gave up entirely. The cobblestones were suddenly very close again.the

  "Stop!" Venn's face appeared above her, medical bag already open. "You can barely breathe!"

  Through gaps in the buildings, Reyn watched the Crimson Hand retreat in good order. They carried their wounded, maintained formation, moved like the semi-professionals they were. No panic. No rout. Just tactical withdrawal from an objective that had proven too costly.

  The other Bormecian paused at the square's edge, looking back. His eyes found Reyn's across the distance. His sword rose in what might have been salute or warning. Then he was gone.

  "Twelve got away!" The survivor announced proudly, appearing in Reyn's field of vision upside down. "Or wait, was it twenty-one? Hard to keep count when people move around."

  "You did it," Venn said, hands glowing faintly as she checked for serious injury. "We held them off."

  "Why was he here?" Reyn mumbled. A Bormecian leading bandits. It didn't make sense. He clearly was a Barbarian, even though his fighting-style had other influences as well. Based on his looks, it was quite some time since he left Bormecia.

  "What?"

  But Reyn's thoughts were already scattering. He was strong. If she hadn't been exhausted by the Frenzy...

  "Ifs and buts doesn't change anything," Reyn mumbled.

  "Rest," Venn said firmly.

  Rest sounded good. Reyn let her eyes close, distantly aware of Corelei organizing the aftermath with the same control she'd managed the defense. The town had held. The Crimson Hand had retreated.

  It would take some time before they returned, if they ever would. The town was safe, for now.

  The star-filled blade slipped from nerveless fingers as exhaustion finally claimed its due. Around her, Rivier began to realize it had won a battle that would be remembered, somewhat optimistically, as the Mid-day War.

  Though as the survivor would later insist, it had actually lasted forty-seven minutes.