Free Walk Through Fire by Joshua P. Simon

Ronav had worn a mask of confusion when Jonrell’s first blow struck and the commander lost his shield deflecting the unexpected attack. Ronav recovered quickly and the two had been going at it since.
    Since that first strike Jonrell fought from a defensive standpoint, doing his best not to die under Ronav’s staggering press. Jonrell impressed Kroke with his skill against the more experienced warrior.
    There is more there than I would have thought.
    Kroke touched the grip of his own blades. With all the excitement, no one cared any longer how many knives he wore. Not that it mattered. He still wasn’t sure what Jonrell wanted him to do.
    “Follow my lead.” What’s that supposed to mean?
    It was obvious that Jonrell sought to buy time for the others back in camp, but at some point they would tire.
    Then what ?
    Kroke sighed.
    I hope he thinks of something.
    * * *
    Jonrell stumbled backward only to be pushed forward by Hezen’s soldiers. He worked to keep his balance, ducking beneath Ronav’s sword and rolling to the ground. He raised his sword as he took a knee and caught another strike arcing for his face. A quick counter, aiming low at Ronav’s leg, bought him enough time to regain his feet. He took the chance to draw back. He and Ronav circled each other.
    The shouts of roaring soldiers filled the air with curses and promises of death. Jonrell breathed deeply and tried to slow his pounding heart as he shuffled around the crude ring.
    It happened so fast, from his decision to act, to the first blow, and then the dozens that followed. That look of shock in Ronav’s eyes had quickly turned to an emotionless mask after their initial impact. Jonrell had shouted out some nonsense about Ronav sleeping with his mother and that it was time for him to pay, figuring his commander would know he wasn’t really trying to kill him. Ronav’s response seemed like he understood, yet the man attacked him with such zeal, he found himself pulling out every trick he learned as a boy from his weapons master just to stay on his feet.
    Jonrell continued to circle, widening the area and creating more space to maneuver. Or hide.
    Ronav called out. “Of all people, I never thought you’d be the one to do this. And to think I came here intent on helping you.”
    Ronav spoke in Thurum’s common tongue. Jonrell shrugged, doing his best to appear indifferent. “Hezen made an offer I couldn’t refuse. He wants the Hell Patrol, but not you.”
    Ronav’s eyes widened. “So Effren is dead then?” He snorted. “My men will never follow you.”
    Jonrell gestured to Kroke. “One has. I think I can persuade the others to do the same. But only after you’re dead.”
    “You pompous little…”
    Jonrell rushed Ronav, whirling his sword wildly in the air and yelling slurs while switching languages several times midsentence until Ronav put him back on the defensive. Ronav knocked the sword from Jonrell’s hand and he grabbed the dagger at his waist. He slipped around Ronav’s reach and closed the distance between them while thrusting upward. Ronav dropped his sword to catch Jonrell’s arm. The two fell to the ground, face to face, struggling for position, pushing and pulling at the serrated blade between them.
    In such close quarters, Jonrell spoke in Cadonian so none could understand him. He masked his tone so it did not betray his words. “This is all a setup. I’m only doing this to buy time for the others to escape.”
    Ronav spat in his face and followed it with a head butt that sent Jonrell’s head spinning. He replied in Cadonian, eyes empty of emotion. “I know.”
    “You know?”
    “Of course I know. I thought it was obvious. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good fighter, but I could have killed you many times, beginning with that idiotic charge.”
    One Above, I’ve been fighting for my life and he’s been playing with me. “So, how are we going to get out of this?”
    “I wasn’t expecting to. I came to give Krytien