Free What Remains of Heroes by David Benem

hell,” Karnag said, jerking his short sword free of its scabbard.
    He moved toward the encampment but then glimpsed a swift movement to his right. He spun about to see the cloaked man facing him in a wide stance, blade poised overhead. A genuine swordsman , Karnag thought, a wicked smile crossing his face.
    In the twenty-odd years since he’d left the highlands of his youth, Karnag had learned from many teachers. A Harkane blademaster, a guild assassin, a Scarlet Sword of Rune. None had taught him anything more valuable than his time as a slave forced to fight by his merchant master in the slums of Riverweave. The fight wasn’t always won by the strongest or the quickest. Rather, the advantage was held by the first recognize the stakes. The first to know—to truly understand—the contest was to the death . To life’s utter end, with no second chances.
    Karnag roared as he charged, not a battle cry of the highlands but something more feral. The cloaked man shifted into a defensive posture, trying to protect life rather than take it.
    At that moment Karnag knew the fight was won.
    The cloaked man steadied his blade crossways before him, readying to parry a strike. Karnag obliged, swinging his short sword in a tight arc. With a clang he pinned the man’s blade low. The man tried to slide free to his right, the side of his sword hand, just as Karnag expected. Karnag pulled loose a dagger with his free hand and punched it toward the man’s gut as he tried to shift away.
    Impossibly, the man forced aside the blow with the hilt of his blade, which now glowed with a faint greenish hue. The man jumped into the camp’s clearing and moved his blade slowly before him. Fencress, Drenj and the two remaining strongmen struggled behind him, but the man’s attention remained solely upon Karnag.
    “You fool!” the man wailed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
    Karnag’s eyes darkened. He dropped his sword and his hands sought the long hilt of his two-handed blade, Gravemaker . This was a killing he would relish.
    The man traced a circle with his steel. “So the enemy resorts to hiring common killers now? No matter. The Sentinels will receive the Lector’s summons, and you and your vile ilk will not stop the vigilant.”
    The man screamed and rushed at Karnag, forcing him backward with a barrage of strikes with his blade. Karnag deflected the blows with swift movements of his sword, waiting to sense either a rhythm or the man’s fatigue. His moment would come.
    Karnag shoved the man forward with his weapon, trying to force him off balance. The man stumbled for an instant and Karnag thrust his sword at the man’s chest. Again, though, the man moved with inhuman quickness, a green blur against the backdrop of the campfire. He recovered just in time to fend away the strike.
    The man pressed again, redoubling his attack. He was strong and quick and Karnag’s sinews burned. Karnag retreated a stride, toward the trees. A thought occurred to him just then, and he foresaw the fight’s conclusion. He took another stride backward, placing himself just beside a stout tree.
    The man struck with overhead sweeps of his weapon, shouting words without meaning. And then it happened, just as Karnag had anticipated. In his fury the man struck wide, his sword biting into the trunk of the tree.
    Karnag grinned as the man wrestled with his weapon. He tightened his hands about the hilt and then swung Gravemaker in a deadly arc overhead. He caught the man’s hip, the sword cleaving deep and severing the man’s leg. The man cried out and collapsed at Karnag’s feet. Karnag leered over him, watching as dark blood pooled on the ground.
    The man choked as he fumbled with his mortal wound. He looked at Karnag with sad eyes. “Why?” He choked again, his face twisted with pain. He groped for his missing leg and his voice was measured as he settled into shock. “The Sentinels… They must be summoned…”
    Karnag spat and looked at the