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have been older than eight or nine stepped into the square. The crowd whooped and cheered as the boy raised his weapon — not a sword, but a fire tong.
    Castor rolled his eyes. “No, no, no,” he said. “You’re lost, little boy. I am Castor . Do you hear me? You can’t fight me!”
    â€œI c-can,” the boy said.
    â€œWhat?” said Castor. “Speak up — they can’t hear you!”
    â€œY-yes, I can,” the boy stammered. The tong trembled in his hand, but he stood up straight to face Castor. “On Midsummer Eve, my father was killed and they took my brothers.”
    Midsummer Eve! That was several dawns ago — more than Tanner could remember. He exchanged a glance with Gwen. That meant that Derthsin’s armies had been attacking dwellings since even before their homes were ransacked. How long had this been going on? Tanner had no way of knowing — few people moved between the towns and villages of Avantia. Word had no way of traveling. But now one thing was clear: Grandmother Esme had not been the first to die.
    Castor frowned. “So? Did you get hit on the head back then and lose your brains? Step out of the circle, boy.”
    The Northern Mountains loomed over the town, jagged and dark in the daylight. The air was tense, as if a storm was nearby, ready to break.
    â€œNo,” the boy said. “When they took my father away, he told me I was to be the man in my family. I’m in charge of the house. I’m going to fight you — prove that I’m a man.” His bottom lip trembled and, for a moment, Tanner had to turn his face away.
    Castor didn’t waste time on pity. He knocked the boy’s tong up and twisted his blade in an arc that sent the boy’s weapon spinning away. It hit the dusty ground.
    â€œI’m going to put a stop to this!” Tanner said, setting off toward the outside of the circle, with Gwen at his side.
    The boy was shaking, watching Castor’s sword. “Wait …” he said.
    But Castor swung his blade high. The boy ducked, and Castor shoved him to the ground, planting a boot on the boy’s chest. He lowered the tip of his sword to the boy’s throat.
    The crowd broke out into fresh cheers.
    Castor grinned, showing white teeth, and waved his arm theatrically over the boy. “Go home to your mother,” he jeered. As the boy picked up his tong, Castor kicked his behind, knocking him into the crowd.
    Tanner didn’t need to get involved. The fight had ended without bloodshed. “See?” he scoffed to Gwen. “He’s nothing but an arrogant coward.”
    As he spoke, the crowd noise dipped, and the last word — “coward” — sounded louder than he’d intended. All faces turned to Tanner, and the darkest of all was Castor’s.

C astor flicked his sword from side to side like a pendulum as he studied Tanner. His eyes fell to Tanner’s own blade.
    â€œIt looks like we have another challenger,” Castor sneered.
    The spectators erupted into fresh applause.
    â€œI don’t want to fight you,” shouted Tanner over the din.
    â€œYou come here and call me a coward, yet you won’t back up your words with actions,” said Castor.
    â€œI’ve seen enough ‘fighting,’ as you call it,” said Tanner. “I know my true enemies.”
    Castor gave an uneasy smile. “All right, all right,” he said, signaling at the crowd to quiet down. “It’s getting late. We’ve been here all day, and my new friend is probably tired. The challenges are over until tomorrow….”
    But the crowd groaned with disappointment and began to chant again. “Castor! Castor!”
    Castor shrugged. “What’s your name, stranger?”
    â€œTanner,” he said.
    Castor eyed Tanner suspiciously.
    â€œTanner …” he repeated, smiling. “You look familiar. Yes, that’s it! I once owned