Arteja squared off against the scarred man, her spear held at the ready. The villagers and riders formed a loose circle around them, watching in tense silence.
"Are you sure about this?" Corliss muttered from the sidelines.
Arteja didn't answer. She lunged forward, her spear darting toward the man's chest. He sidestepped smoothly, his sword flashing as he deflected her strike.
"Not bad," he said, a grin spreading across his scarred face. "But you'll have to do better than that."
Arteja didn't waste breath on a reply. She spun her spear, feinting high before sweeping low at his legs. The man leaped back, narrowly avoiding the strike, and countered with a quick slash aimed at her side.
Arteja twisted away, her movements fluid and precise, narrowly avoiding the blade as it hissed past her. The man pressed the attack, his sword a blur of silver as he aimed a flurry of strikes at her defenses. Arteja met each blow with a flick of her spear, the clash of steel echoing across the rocky plain.
The villagers watched in silence, their eyes wide as the two warriors moved like a deadly dance. Lirael leaned toward Corliss, whispering, "If this turns ugly, we'll need to step in."
"Not yet," Corliss murmured, though her hand rested uneasily on the hilt of her sword. "Arteja knows what she's doing."
The scarred man's grin widened as Arteja parried another blow. "You're good," he said, his tone almost playful. "But how long can you keep this up?"
Arteja didn't reply. Instead, she shifted her weight, using his momentum against him. With a sudden, powerful sweep, she drove her spear toward his legs again—not as a feint this time. The man barely had time to react, stumbling back as the spearhead grazed his thigh.
Blood spattered onto the dirt, and his grin faltered. "Well, that's new," he muttered, stepping back to reassess.
Arteja didn't give him the chance. She surged forward, her spear a blur of silver and black as she pressed the attack. He parried wildly, his earlier confidence shaken.
With a sharp twist of her wrist, Arteja disarmed him, sending his sword spinning to the ground. She brought the tip of her spear to his throat, her blue eyes cold behind her silver-black mask.
"Yield," she commanded, her voice low and steady.
The man raised his hands, breathing heavily. "I yield."
The tension in the air broke as Arteja lowered her spear. Lirael and Corliss exchanged relieved glances, and the villagers murmured among themselves.
"You fight like someone who's seen too many battles," the man said, rubbing his throat where the spear had nearly ended him.
Arteja didn't answer. She turned to the villagers and the riders. "If we're going to work together, we don't have time for games. You've proven your skill. Now, prove your loyalty."
The man nodded, picking up his sword. "Fair enough. My name's Dain. My people and I will follow your lead—for now."
Arteja didn't relax, but she gave a curt nod. "Then let's move. The fortress isn't far, and we'll need every hand to make it defensible."