Furies of Calderon
path through the onlookers until she could see the scene in the center of the courtyard.

    Two men stood facing one another in the courtyard, and the air between them practically thrummed with tension. Kord stood with his arms folded over his chest, the ground at his feet shifting and trembling. His greasy beard framed his smile sharply, and his eyes were bright and eager beneath his heavy brows.

    Facing him stood Stead-holder Warner, a tall man, slender as a post, with gangling arms and legs and a head that shone bold but for a fringe of wispy grey hair. Warner’s narrow, chiseled face had flushed bright red in anger, and the air around him quivered and danced like heat rising off an oven.

    “All I’m saying,” Kord drawled, “is that if that little slut of yours can’t keep her legs together and men out from between them, it’s your problem, friend. Not mine.”

    “Shut your mouth,” Warner snarled.

    “Or what?” Kord asked, throwing a sneer into the words. “What are you going to do, Warner? Run and hide behind the skirts of a woman and whimper for Gram to come save you?”

    “Why you…” Warner spat. He took a step forward, and the air in the courtyard grew detectably warmer.

    Kord smiled, a flash of teeth and said, “Go ahead, Warner. Call it to juris macto . Let’s settle this like men. Unless you’d rather humiliate your little whore by having her testify how she seduced my boy in front of every Stead-holder in the Calderon Valley.”

    One of Warner’s sons, a tall and lean young man with his hair shorn in Legion-fashion stepped up to his father and took his arm. “Pa, don’t,” he said. “You can’t take him on in a fair fight.” The other two took up a spot behind Warner, while Kord’s sons mirrored them behind their own father.

    Warner’s daughter rushed to his side. Heddy’s cobweb-fine hair rose and rippled in silken yellow waves in the heated air around her father. She threw a conscientious look around her, her face flaming scarlet with embarrassment. “Papa,” she urged. “No, not like this. This isn’t our way.”

    Kord snorted at the girl. “Bittan,” he asked, glancing back at his son. “You stuck your wick in that skinny tramp? Might as well have gone after one of Warner’s sheep.”

    Isana had to clench her fists and brace herself against the raw tide of emotions in the courtyard. From Heddy’s panicky fear and humiliation to Warner’s rage, to Kord’s sly satisfaction and eagerness, every feeling washed over her, too intense to ignore. She forced them all away from her and took a breath. Kord’s earth fury was a vicious beast, trained to kill. He used it to hunt and to slaughter his cattle. Any fury started taking on aspects of its partner, after a while, but even considering Kord himself, the earth fury was a bad one. A killer.

    Isana swept a look around the courtyard. The hold-folk all stood well clear of the conflict. None of them wanted to involve themselves in a struggle between Stead-holders. Crows take her brother! Where was he when she needed him?

    The flood of intense anger from Warner grew more harsh—in only a moment more, he would give in to Kord’s taunts and take the matter to juris macto , the Realm’s legal form of duel. Kord would kill him, but Warner was too furious at the treatment of his daughter to consider that. Warner’s sons, too, were flooding her with a growing torrent of anger, and Kord’s youngest son burned with a barely disguised lust for violence.

    Isana’s heart fluttered with all the emotions, piling on top of her own fear. She pushed them all firmly away, struggling to master them—and stalked out into the courtyard, squarely between the two men, and put her hands on her hips. “Gentlemen,” she said, letting her voice ring out. “You are interrupting lunch.”

    Warner took a step toward Kord, his eyes never leaving the other Stead-holder. “You can’t expect me to stand here and take this.”

    Kord

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