“He has a reputation with a sword,” Ferrin warned.

“Let me have him,” Jasher begged.

“He accepted,” Conrad insisted.

“I did,” Galloran said. “Arm him.”

“I have his sword,” Ferrin said. Galloran nodded, and Ferrin reluctantly handed the weapon to Conrad.

“If I best you, I go free,” Conrad stipulated.

“Agreed,” Galloran said. “You lost a duel to Lord Jason. He left you with your life. I will show no such kindness.”

“I have won eleven mortal duels,” Conrad said. “The one I lost was a farce fought with billiard balls. I have heard tales of your prowess with a blade. In my experience, most tales grow with the telling.”

Rachel overheard Jason murmuring to Jasher. “Conrad hasn’t seen him fight.”

Galloran backed away into the street, and Conrad stepped toward him. Galloran drew his sword.

“A remarkable blade,” Conrad conceded.

“Begin?” Galloran asked.

“Begin.” Conrad edged forward, sword ready.

Their blades touched twice before Conrad was impaled. Galloran withdrew his sword and wiped it clean while Conrad expired in the road, a stain spreading across his white uniform. Rachel could not suppress a quick, involuntary laugh of relief. She heard beams collapsing inside the inn. Sparks gusted from some of the windows.

Then Galloran became very still. He slowly turned to look down the road. Rachel felt no premonition of her own, but the expression on Galloran’s face gave her chills. She followed his gaze. A figure was approaching, still a long distance away. A black silhouette bearing a shining sword in each hand. A living shadow defying the morning light. A torivor.

“This adversary has come for me,” Galloran said, his voice heavy and resigned. “I believe it followed me from Felrook. I did not know it had brought swords. Keep back. Unless you attack, it can only claim one victim like this. If I fall, proceed to the Temple of Mianamon with haste.”

They watched in silence as the torivor drew near. It did not hurry. The swords it carried matched Galloran’s perfectly, superbly crafted, chromium bright.

“We do not have to cross swords!” Galloran called throatily. “I have no quarrel with your kind. Depart in peace.”

The lurker showed no indication of having heard. The steady tread did not falter until the creature stopped ten paces from Galloran. The torivor tossed one of the swords. Galloran caught it by the hilt. He now held an identical sword in each hand.

“Very well,” Galloran said, perhaps answering words the others could not hear. Rachel could vaguely sense communication. She strained her mind to understand, but could catch nothing. She fingered the necklace the charm woman had given her, realizing that it must be causing interference.

Galloran waited placidly. The lurker stood still as well. Until it rushed forward with otherworldly speed and its sword scythed outward in a hissing arc. Galloran narrowly blocked the attack, and the next stroke, and the next.

The blades did not clash or clang as they connected—they chimed musically, beautifully, like a battle fought with expensive tuning forks. Rachel could almost feel the vibrations.

It did not take Rachel long to see that Galloran would lose this fight. The torivor was clearly quicker and stronger. Only by moving with flawless economy was Galloran able to deflect the relentless blows. Rachel suddenly understood where Galloran had learned to fight so efficiently. It was the only way he could have previously survived combat with an opponent such as this.

Rachel held her breath. Any moment Galloran would make a tiny mistake and lose his life. Even with two swords—one used primarily to protect himself, the other to attack—he was only barely staying ahead of the lurker. No thrust or slash from Galloran came close to touching the tenebrous surface of the torivor. The only question seemed to be how long Galloran would last.

The blades flashed in the sunlight. Heat radiated from the burning inn. Galloran slowly retreated, his breathing becoming labored. Any moment the torivor’s sword would slip past his defenses. Except it didn’t.

Rachel had never envisioned such virtuosity with a weapon. It was like watching a concert pianist play an impossible piece of music, fingers flying to strike mind-boggling patterns of notes and to pound sprawling chords. No, it was more than that. It was like watching that pianist play an impossible piece with dynamite strapped to his back, rigged to detonate if he touched a wrong note.

The frantic blur of motion was almost too quick to follow. Before Rachel could feel nervous about any particular blow, it had been blocked, a counterstroke had been parried, and the blades chimed on.

Galloran was no longer giving ground. The combatants slowly circled each other, swords ringing relentlessly. Galloran looked determined, his eyes fierce with concentration. The lurker fell into a pattern of swinging high, forcing Galloran to defend his head, then lashing out with a shadowy leg to kick Galloran in the side.

A blade blurred down and took the black leg off just below the knee. The severed portion disappeared with a brilliant flash. Whiteness gleamed from the stump, as if the torivor were bleeding light. The fight continued, with the torivor clearly wavering. A moment later, Galloran cast aside one of his swords.

Single sword against single sword, the blades met over and over. Perfectly balanced on its remaining leg, the torivor was now defending as often as attacking. Galloran’s face was red and perspiring. They seemed to be standing too close together. And then Galloran’s blade sliced through the torivor’s midsection, and the creature vanished with a blinding flash.

As Rachel blinked away the dazzling afterimage, she saw Galloran stagger back and drop to his knees. He bowed his head forward, hands on his thighs. Had he been wounded at the end? Had she missed it?

Nedwin hurried forward and helped Galloran to his feet.

“I’m not as young as I once was,” Galloran muttered, wiping a sleeve against his glossy forehead. “I am thankful that the fiend grew impatient and tried that kick.”

“That was unbelievable,” Ferrin mumbled humbly to no one in particular. “I’ve never … if I hadn’t seen …”

“I’ve lived a long time,” Jasher told him. “Nobody handles a sword like Galloran.”

“You mean to defy me,” Torvic said flatly, the comment unsolicited. The words did not belong to Torvic. Everyone looked his way. The displacer sat with his legs crossed, staring blandly.

Galloran faced Torvic, still panting. He was uninjured, but clearly exhausted. “You offered the eyes long ago. I finally came to claim them. I pledged no fealty.”