Then Kael moved.
There was no warning in his stance, no telltale shift of weight that Thran might have read and countered in the years they'd trained together.
One heartbeat he stood still; the next, the dagger was already arcing toward Braka's exposed flank. Only pure reflex—honed through a lifetime of drills neither had ever expected to use against each other—carried Braka's spear up in time to deflect the blow.
The impact still drove him back a full stride, his boots gouging furrows through the blood-soaked earth.
"He's not holding back," Braka gasped, disbelief and pain tangled in his voice.
"I know." Thran's arm still throbbed from the first block, numbness creeping toward his fingers. "Just keep him occupied. Don't let him corner any of us alone."
He knew that facing Kael alone meant certain death. Hence, he warned him against taking him alone.
Valen, though afraid, did not retreat.
