Not a chance.

Surrendering to this inhuman creature was unthinkable. Even if he was telling the truth and would let Idra die if I surrendered, I would be in his clutches to face the same fate or worse. Although truthfully I had a hard time envisioning anything worse than what he'd done—and was still doing—to Idra. I couldn't really call the woman a friend, but she was an ally and I respected her. But even if she were an enemy, she'd deserve better than that.

Idra's condition was not on my conscience. I would not fall for this otherworlder's manipulation. Her suffering was his doing, not mine, no matter what he said or offered. Surely Idra knew that as well as I. I couldn't let the monster win.

Tightening my grip on my blades, I raised a hand to point one at him. "I will kill you." My voice trembled slightly, much to my irritation. I felt a burning resolve to end this man's life, but the sight of poor Idra had shaken me more than I'd care to admit. I couldn't help but imagine all the horrible ways she'd suffered. Some small part of me wanted to help her, but the best case scenario was to surrender myself, resulting in Idra's and my deaths, failing my mission, and letting this creature free to continue doing as he wished. And that was the best case scenario of my surrender.

Even if it meant Idra's suffering would continue, I could not yield. I reminded myself this was not my doing. Her pain was not my fault. From the look of **** focus on the face of the young Mage he'd brought with him, Idra's condition was ****. So much effort just to cause pain. What kind of world did this man come from? Were there others like him? I shuddered.

The Hero grinned and drew a short sword from his belt. "Excellent. Don't disappoint me, dog."

I noted that he carried two swords. His choice to draw the shorter of the two was interesting. The longer sword would be more advantageous in the clearing, but if I managed to make him to fight me in the trees or if I pressed him closer to his Mage, the shorter sword would be easier to use. He stood near the center of the clearing, where the longer sword would be the clear choice. Why did he draw the shorter sword? Was he planning to give chase if I fled? Did he anticipate a prolonged match with me and worried about his stamina? I couldn't accept that he was merely foolish so he must have had a purpose.

I approached, carefully measuring both Hero and Mage alike. He stood calmly, not even raising his sword as I approached. He was supremely confident, openly leering at the tight clothing covering my body as I moved. The Mage barely registered my presence. She was either completely occupied with Idra or she had unfailing confidence in her Hero's ability to keep her safe. Or perhaps she simply didn't value her own life. I would kill her, too, given a chance, but the Hero stood between us. She was secondary. Everything was secondary.

I'd never been so intimidated by an opponent. It was more than his arrogant calm; I'd killed plenty of arrogant men who died believing they were my equal. The reports of this Hero had ascribed incredible power to him, and mastery of arts and weapons unheard of in our world. I had no way to measure him, yet he seemed to know me to my bones. The way he grinned at me even as I drew within striking distance.

The small stone talisman I wore around my neck, under my clothing so it would remain in contact with my skin, fed me information about the magic in my immediate vicinity. I felt the wards protecting him from my bolts. The source was the Mage rather than any artifact on his person. As I touched the ward I could feel the incredible scale of her power; she was one of the more powerful Mages I'd ever heard of, let alone encountered on assignment. But the sensation was strange. It resonated oddly between the Hero and the Mage in a way that didn't make sense. There was a connection there—a powerful one—but I didn't have the luxury of studying it.

I felt a pit form in my stomach, worried I was out of my depth. But I was already committed to this. I didn't even care about the job anymore; he'd made it personal. I would kill him if it cost me my life. If that Mage put me on a stake it would be worth it as long as I killed him. I was prepared to pay that price. I said a silent prayer to the Goddess and struck for the Hero's throat with my left knife, already prepared to strike at his sword-arm as he rose his sword to deflect.

But he didn't deflect the first blade; he merely leaned slightly away from my attack, raising his sword to block the second, real attack, with enough **** to nearly tear the weapon from my hand. Even as I processed the move and planned my own response, the tip of his sword drew a shallow gash across my forearm. It burned like fire and I recoiled a few steps. My talisman flared in my mind, warning me of some hidden magic in the blade. Shit.

Grinning like a wolf, he followed, pressing me with a flurry of attacks I could barely ward off. His first move had been so fast I'd barely tracked it at all. That I was able to defend myself at all was a lie; he was toying with me. Teasing me with his superiority. It took everything I had just to keep my head on my shoulders and any attempt to retreat faster was met with more pressure from his attacks. I couldn't counter-attack or flee. I couldn't hope to win. My sense of self-preservation **** my hands and feet to move in time with his, to block and deflect, parry and evade. I was trapped in a dance with the devil.