Brandt expected the move. He lowered himself, and her blade passed over his head.
Then he stood up quickly and smashed his forehead into her nose.
The blow caught her by surprise and she staggered back two paces.
To her credit, she recovered quickly, but Brandt was too fast. The point of his sword rested at her throat. She froze. Brandt remembered Ren’s advice and moved the tip of his sword away.
Brandt looked over to Merek, who grinned from ear to ear. He clapped once and the woman disengaged. She stepped back into line, doing nothing to staunch the flow of blood from her nose.
“Impressive.” Merek looked at his assembled warriors, noting the various affirmations he received. “We will join you on your journey to the elders and add our voices to your own.”
Behind Brandt, Weylen spoke. “We would be honored.”
With that, Merek turned and walked back to his people.
The tension between the two groups vanished as though they had always been allies. Merek’s warriors slung their bows over their shoulders and Weylen’s war party returned from their vantage points to the trail. Not a single Falari seemed concerned that just a few moments ago the forces had been ready to fight.
Brandt frowned.
What had he just done?
Merek’s war party joined their own as easily as if the whole episode had been planned. Brandt held onto his questions. The path was now crowded and he figured his wondering could continue until they made camp that night. Then he could take Ren or Weylen aside.
They hiked through the mountains for the rest of the day without incident. They moved quickly and quietly, and by the end of the day Brandt’s legs and lungs demanded rest.
They came to a clearing as the sun dipped below the mountain peaks and began making camp. Ren found Brandt before Brandt could seek the warrior out. “Come,” he said.
They left camp, climbing higher up a short cliff that overlooked the clearing. Brandt’s body protested the additional effort, but he refused to complain.
They reached the top, where Brandt was surprised to find the woman he’d dueled with earlier. She had started a small fire and roasted a fresh killed hare over it.
If not for Ren’s presence, Brandt’s suspicions would have had him reaching for his sword. But Ren appeared at ease.
“Brandt, this is Leana,” Ren said.
“You fought well today,” Leana said. “If the rumors of your skill hadn’t already spread, I might no longer be Senki.”
“Senki?” Brandt asked, looking to Ren for guidance.
“A title. It has no direct translation into imperial. Perhaps the closest would be ‘last arrow.’ It is the title given to the most skilled warrior in a clan. I am Weylen’s Senki, and Leana is Merek’s. You’ve now bested both of us.”
Brandt let that information sink in.
“You look confused,” Ren said.
Brandt shook his head. “I guess I assumed the warleader was the most skilled warrior.”
“What sense does that make?” Ren asked. “A warleader must possess a deep understanding of strategy and navigate his war party’s own interests. They must keep their mind focused on goals too distant for most to worry about. A Senki must only be the best with bow and sword.”
“In our land,” Brandt answered, “it is often tradition for those who fight well to be given command.”
“But command of a war party and command of a bow are very different skills.”
Brandt thought of the commanders he’d served under in his time, of the commander they’d met in the fort at the border. He thought of his own doomed command. Even after all these years, the deaths of his wolfblades remained a wound that refused to heal. “Perhaps there is wisdom in your way,” he admitted.
The three warriors sat around the small fire while watching over the campground. Up here, there was no formality. Ren and Leana seemed acquainted, but they spoke imperial for Brandt.
Ren pulled out a flask, took a long pull, and handed it to Brandt.
Brandt didn’t drink often anymore. But a flask had rarely looked more inviting. He took a long sip.
And almost spit it out.
The blend was stronger than anything he’d put down his throat before. It burned, and he coughed as he passed it over to Leana, who drank without reaction.
Ren laughed. “Good, yes?”
Brandt just coughed again and nodded. But when Ren offered him another pull, he didn’t refuse.
It wasn’t just the taste that was strong, either. Granted, he’d been walking all day and hadn’t had much to eat, but before long he felt a lightness in his soul that hadn’t been there in some time.
Before long they were swapping stories. Through the tales of his new friends, Brandt learned more about life in Falar. Both Ren and Leana had been shaped by lives of continual fighting. If they weren’t on the border with the empire they were out patrolling their own lands, a practice that sounded far less safe than an imperial guard patrolling the walls of a town. Attacks from neighboring clans were as common as summer storms.
In time, the flask was empty and the rabbit eaten. Their conversation turned to more serious matters.
Brandt directed his question at Ren. “What happened this morning?”
“You were being judged.”
“Why me?”
“Because you are Regar’s Senki.”
“Shouldn’t Regar have been tested?”
Leana answered that question. “Regar’s purpose is known. His true test will come before the elders. Merek wanted to know what kind of warrior Regar had in his service.”
“Why?” Brandt asked.
“Because a warleader is judged by the skill and actions of his warriors, and a Senki most of all,” Leana answered.
“So if I lost, Merek would have fought?”
Ren shook his head. “You don’t understand. Winning or losing was only part of it. Merek wanted to see how you fight. You could have killed Leana without consequence, just as she could have killed you. You could have raged, either in victory or defeat. It was your character he most sought to learn, not your skill. Even if you’d won, but not impressed him, he might have left or blocked our
