CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

The following day passed without incident.

Caius and Sereth continued deeper into the northern forest, following the trail given to them by the tribe. The forest remained dense, but the path was well traveled, marked by old footprints and occasional wooden posts carved with tribal symbols.

By late afternoon, they reached another clearing.

Several dozen warriors were waiting there. They stood along the edge of the open ground, watching silently as Caius and Sereth approached. Their weapons varied from spears and axes to bows and heavy clubs. Some wore furs and leather, while others carried scars and painted markings across their faces and bodies.

This was only one of the many tribes scattered throughout the northern forests.

At the far end of the clearing sat an elderly man upon a wooden seat. His hair was gray, and his weathered face carried the unmistakable authority of a chief. Beside him stood the warrior chosen to represent the tribe in the second duel.

The warrior stepped forward. He was tall and heavily built, his skin covered in blue war paint. Two twin handaxes rested in his hands, each one shorter than a normal battleaxe and designed to be wielded together with deadly precision.

Caius studied him carefully as Sereth stopped several paces behind.

The warrior raised both axes. Caius drew his two short swords, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms for a moment to loosen his muscles before settling into his stance.

The blue-painted warrior lowered his body, his axes moving into a downward stance with the blades angled toward the ground. ”Let’s see if a pampered dog from the southern stone huts knows how to bleed, or if you’ll run back to your paved streets crying for your nurses.”

Caius recognized the posture. His father had taught him to study an opponent’s stance before the fight began, but now he could look deeper.

Caius activated Inner Sight, and the physical world faded. The warrior’s body became secondary as the flow of mana beneath his skin revealed itself.

Caius saw the warrior’s mana core first: a dense blue sphere pulsing steadily, sending energy through his pathways. The mana traveled through his chest and shoulders before dividing between his arms.

Then Caius noticed something else. The flow did not stop there; it continued downward, traveling through the warrior’s legs and gathering around his feet.

He is preparing his movement.

Caius understood immediately. The warrior was not simply holding a downward stance; he was preparing his entire body to explode forward.

The warrior moved. He was fast, far faster than the first barbarian Caius had fought. Both axes came forward almost simultaneously, one cutting downward while the other swept toward Caius’s side.

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Caius blocked the first strike, and as the second axe immediately followed, he parried it away and shifted his footing.

The warrior pressed forward in a relentless sequence of chops and slashes. Every time Caius deflected one weapon, the other was already coming toward him from another angle.

Caius used the Flow Step. His body became lighter as he shifted around the attacks, meeting each strike with one of his short swords. Steel rang throughout the clearing as the two warriors moved across the open ground, while the watching tribesmen remained silent.

The blue-painted warrior attacked again, and Caius blocked. Another strike followed, and Caius parried. The warrior changed direction, and Caius moved with him.

Then Caius saw it: a pattern.

The warrior always shifted his left foot before committing his second axe. It was subtle, almost invisible, but Inner Sight showed Caius the change in mana flow before the physical movement occurred.

The next time the warrior attacked, Caius waited. The blue mana gathered in the warrior’s leg, and his left foot shifted.

There.

Caius activated the Flow Step and surged forward. His right sword moved in a straight thrust toward the warrior’s chest.

The barbarian reacted quickly, bringing one axe across his body to block. But Caius had already anticipated it. His other sword was already moving, passing around the axe to stop directly before the warrior’s eye.

The warrior blinked. Caius held the blade a fraction of an inch from his pupil.

For a moment, neither moved. Then Caius lowered his sword, and the warrior slowly exhaled, a bead of sweat running down the side of his painted face.

Had this been a real battle, the blade would already have entered his brain.

The warrior lowered his axes and looked at Caius for several seconds before speaking. ”Rokan.”

Caius sheathed both swords. ”Caius Macrae, son of Cullum Macrae.”

The old man sitting at the far end of the clearing suddenly stood. The movement was slow, but the change in his expression was unmistakable. It was not shock; it was pure anger.

The surrounding warriors looked toward their chief as his eyes locked onto Caius.

”Your father,” the old man said, his voice low. ”Your father shed our blood here.”

Caius remained still.

”He killed many of our warriors,” the chief continued, his hand tightening around the armrest of his wooden seat. ”Years ago, Cullum Macrae walked these lands and left bodies behind him.”

Caius met the old man’s gaze without fear. ”I am his son.”

The chief stared at him. ”Where is your father?”

Caius’s expression hardened. ”He is dead.”

The clearing became dead silent.

”And I am walking the path of revenge,” Caius added quietly.

The words spread through the gathered warriors, and several exchanged dark glances. The second duel had suddenly become something far more complicated than a simple test of passage.

Sereth remained silent in the background.

The chief looked at Caius for a long moment. Rokan, too young and unblooded when Cullum had passed through the forest years ago, lowered his axes and stepped back. He knew the name only from the elders and the surviving veterans, his own memory limited to the terrifying sight of the southern commander passing through their borders when he was just a child.

The giant barbarian who had first stopped them at the edge of the forest finally spoke. ”This is no longer a simple duel of passage.” He looked toward Caius, his voice firm and cold. ”The last three will be different. They will be duels of death.”

Caius’s eyes narrowed as the warrior continued. ”You have been warned. Prepare yourself.”

The tribesmen began to shift around the clearing, their expressions far more lethal than before.

Caius looked down at the rawhide bracelet around his wrist where the first white bead rested. Soon, another would be added. But the next three would not simply test whether he could pass through their lands; they would test whether he could survive them.