But it’s too late. Scipius walks in, and from the way his nostrils flare and his eyes widen, I know he’s smelled her.

He puts himself back under control within a moment, which almost makes me doubt that he smelled Alice.

“We are next,” he says. “Once they’ve cleared the field.”

In the distance, I’m only vaguely aware that they are dragging the two corpses through the snow, leaving behind a trail of blood-soaked, exposed dirt.

Scipius pulls out his skullspear, though it’s not extended, and he points it toward me.

I take out mine, and I cross my skullspear against his.

“Good,” he says. “It should be with skullspears.”

He steps through the arch and out onto the snow, looking back over his shoulder at me to tell me to follow.

I nod to him, and he walks out toward the center of the colosseum. I hear the crowd begin to roar again, but I look instead to Alice.

“Did he smell me,” she whispers.

I nod. “He must have.”

“But he didn’t…”

“He is a good man,” I say. “Though not as good as me.”

Alice does the rolling eye thing, which I’m beginning to suspect means she disapproves of me.

“So you’re saying,” she says. “That if you lost, it’d be good if he takes me?”

“I will not lose,” I say, and I stalk off into the snow.

The crowd roars louder as I step into view of them. Scipius is already standing in the center, his spear still not extended, but in plain view.

Some spectators prefer the ancient weapons, with their pulsing glows or large explosions, but fights with sword or spear are always more popular. At least in Therassus.

I reach the center, pull out my spear, and butt horns with Scipius. My horns are larger and more massive, and Scipius butts harder against me to compensate. I can feel the rage and desire to win in his movements. And I feel something more troubling beyond that, the same unquenchable desire for Alice that I myself feel.

He looks at me with wild eyes, and growls. “Your terms!”

As the one being challenged, it’s my right to first state my terms. In the short time since Scipius challenged me, I’ve learned that he’s become a merchant in the city, running a company of some three dozen employees that imports dream leaves from the frozen forests deep in the ice to the inner-most cities.

“I want your money,” I snarl. “And I will destroy your company. I will sell it all for coin, leaving everything you’ve built in ruins. And it will be said that you failed as a warrior and as a merchant. No one will remember your name with even a shred of honor.”

I remember what I told Alice, that Scipius was a good man. That is only true if he–by some miracle–manages to defeat me. Only a good man could defeat me. But If I kill him here, there will be no honor left for him.

“When I kill you,” Scipius says. “I claim my rightful place as the Wandering Clan’s greatest spear.”

I clash my horns harder against his, making a sound loud enough to be heard over the roaring crowds.

“And,” he says. “I want her. The one who smells like the young sun must have smelled. I want to do things to her I’d never imagined possible. Wonderful things, though she likely will not enjoy them.”

I growl at him in intense fury. He will not lay a hand on her. Not so much as a fingertip. There’s no way I can actually debate this or question his right to claim her if I lose. Alice is the only thing of value I own. The only thing I can do is win. Kill Scipius, spit on his corpse, and take his wealth. I will not lose.

The scent of Alice is still in my nose. My spear is still twitching and hard from nearly giving into her. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want her, and I refuse to let Scipius take her from me.

I break away and raise my spear. I extend it to its full length and hold it out. Scipius meets my spear, and he lock eyes one last time.

The arbiter, who has been standing by and heard each of our terms, nods to us and backs away. It will be his job to see that I am given Scipius’ wealth when I win.

We both leap backward at the same time, raising our spears and signaling the start of combat.

We circle each other, our eyes intense and focused. There are two main aspects to a skullspear duel–two points of tension.

The first is obvious: that the other man is trying to stab you with his spear. You must always watch his body and the slight tell of his eyes and muscles to know from which angle he will strike. You must be aware of the reach of his arms, and the distance he can strike with a lunge. Stabbing with your own spear and missing leaves you exposed to a counter-stab. This is melee combat, and it is the primary focus of the duel.

The second point of tension is less obvious: the possibility of a thrown spear. While it rarely happens, the fear of it must be ever-present. It’s why Scipius and I are circling each other rather than standing still or moving forward and back. It’s why one of us changes direction clockwise or counter-clockwise at strange intervals, to make ourselves poor targets for a thrown spear. So while we each try to stab each other with a powerful thrust, each movement we make must keep in mind the risk of a thrown weapon.

If I think I see a chance to throw my own spear, I have to decide if it’s worth the risk. If I miss, it’s all but over. I have decided I will not throw my spear, I’ll use Scipius’ fear of a thrown spear to keep him off guard, to get a good thrust in. Knowing he is a weaker fighter, I expect him to throw his spear when he realizes he can’t win otherwise.

He makes a lazy jab, the kind of poke that is made more to test an opponent than one that actually hopes to connect. He misses, but his lack of commitment to the attack does not leave him open to any real counterattack. I feign an attack instead, and grin when I see him flinch.

We circle back and forth, until we’ve made three or four complete rotations. The crowd, even though it’s so far from us, is deafening. It’s rare for these duels to last more than mere moments. Scipius must have trained since we last fought, as I cannot find an easy opening.

Normally I’d have gotten a read by now, caught him in some kind of misstep, and that would have been it. This time I don’t see easy openings.

A few times I think I might be able to hit him if I threw my spear, but it’s never guaranteed, and I think if I just wait longer, I will get a guaranteed attack as soon as Scipius lets up.

I’m so focused on Scipius’ spear, his eyes, the way his arms flex, that I don’t notice the snow turning to rain. I don’t notice the snow melting underfoot, and I’m caught completely off guard when my foot slides wildly across the snow without warning.

It’s the opening Scipius needed, and before I can regain balance, he lunges.

I spin my spear around, slamming against Scipius’ attack and deflecting it just enough to avoid the sharp tip of his weapon sinking into my skull.

I grab hold of his spear before he can pull it back, though my grip my own spear is weak.

I tug on his weapon as I regain balance, and I drag him by his spear through the snow, though his feet are planted and his stance is wide.

I move to stab him with a one-handed thrust, but he kicks my arm before I can attack.

The kick sends us apart, and I lose my grip on his spear. We both fall back into the snow, which has become a mush of slurry and sweat.

We both get up at near the same moment, but we’re much too far away for either of us to attack. I consider rushing him. Using my larger size and speed to overwhelm him with a sudden burst of aggression, but I don’t trust my footing, and even if I did, the snow would slow me too much.

I take slow steps toward him, and the moment I look down at his feet, I see his whole body tense.

I leap sideways by pure instinct, just as his thrown spear hits. I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder, and I look down expecting to see it jutting out of my body. Instead I see only a line of blood, and a feeling of hot searing pain across my shoulder.

I look up at Scipius, who is no longer armed. There’s a brief flash of fear in his eyes, but then he lowers his head, points his horns toward me, and charges.

I sigh and raise my spear. I’ll give him an honorable death, though he must know there is little honor left. If I were in his place, I still would charge, I suppose. Better to die in a charge than to be hunted down like prey while hopelessly trying to get his spear back off the ground.

If my instincts hadn’t been so razor sharp–even a blink’s hesitation more–his thrown spear would have found my skull. It was a truly well-timed attack, just not good enough to defeat me.

I jam my spear into his skull just as he comes in range of me, and I feel a brief twitch and shudder before he goes limp.