The tranquil courtyard of the Sanctuary of the Silent Path had suddenly transformed into a deadly arena. The rain had ceased, leaving the cobblestones slick and dangerous.
"Slippery" Sam, his chest heaving with exertion, stood with his twin short swords drawn, bleeding from a shallow cut on his thigh. He was caught between two terrifying forces. To his front stood Brother Malachi or rather, the assassin known as "The River Viper" wielding a massive executioner's broadsword. To his rear stood a newly arrived, heavily scarred bounty hunter who had just dropped from the temple wall, carrying a curved falchion.
And in the reception room behind Sam, his four brothers Marcus the Iron Fist, Julian the Silver Tongue, Silas the Shadow, and 'Falcon' Ray lay completely unconscious, victims of Malachi's treacherous knockout incense.
"You talk too much, monk," the bounty hunter repeated, his voice like gravel grinding together. He didn't look at Sam. His cold, dead eyes were fixed entirely on Malachi.
Malachi sneered, his grip tightening on his broadsword. "I don't know who you are, stranger, but you picked a bad day to trespass. There's enough silver on these sleeping fools to buy a small town. I'm not sharing."
"I don't want their silver," the bounty hunter stated, taking a slow, measured step forward. "I want the bounty on your head, River Viper. Ten thousand copper pieces, courtesy of the Merchant's Guild you robbed last month."
Malachi let out a harsh bark of laughter. "You think you can take my head? I'll mount yours on the temple gates!"
Malachi charged, completely ignoring Sam. He swung his massive broadsword at the bounty hunter with terrifying, overwhelming force.
The bounty hunter didn't try to block the massive blade. He sidestepped with astonishing speed, allowing the broadsword to crash into the cobblestones, sending sparks flying. As Malachi overextended, the bounty hunter swung his falchion upward in a brutal, reversed arc.
The curved blade sliced through Malachi's thick gray robes, biting deep into his ribs.
Malachi roared in agony, stumbling backward. The bounty hunter didn't hesitate. He pressed the attack relentlessly, raining a flurry of precise, lethal strikes upon the fake monk. Malachi tried to defend himself, but his heavy broadsword was too slow against the lightning-fast falchion.
Within minutes, the fight was over. The bounty hunter drove his blade through Malachi's chest, ending the River Viper's reign of terror.
Sam watched in stunned silence, his twin swords still raised defensively. The bounty hunter pulled his blade free, wiped the blood on the dead monk's robes, and turned to look at Sam.
"You," the bounty hunter grunted, pointing a calloused finger at Sam. "Your friends in there. They inhaled the Sweet Lotus incense. If they don't get the antidote within the hour, their hearts will stop."
Sam's eyes widened in horror. "Do you have the antidote?!"
The bounty hunter shook his head. "No. But I know who does." He pointed his blood-stained falchion toward the rear of the temple complex. "Malachi's partner. An alchemist known as 'The Golden Toad'. He brews the poison, and he brews the cure. He's hiding in the back chambers. If you want your brothers to live, you'd better go find him. I'm just here to collect my bounty."
The bounty hunter calmly knelt down and began the grisly task of removing Malachi's head to claim his reward.
Sam didn't hesitate. He sprinted across the wet courtyard, kicking open the doors to the rear chambers. He navigated the dark, incense-scented hallways until he found a room filled with glass vials, bubbling cauldrons, and strange dried herbs.
Cowering under a heavy wooden table was a small, incredibly fat man wearing spectacles.
Sam hauled the man out by the scruff of his neck, pressing the cold steel of his short sword against the alchemist's throat. "The antidote for the Sweet Lotus. Now. Or I'll see how much you bleed."
The alchemist whimpered, pointing a trembling finger toward a blue glass vial on a high shelf. "That one! Just... just mix a few drops with cold water and pour it down their throats! Please don't kill me! Malachi forced me to make it!"
Sam grabbed the vial and sprinted back to the reception room. He found a bucket of rainwater in the courtyard, mixed the blue liquid, and frantically poured it into the mouths of his unconscious brothers.
It took ten agonizing minutes, but eventually, Marcus the Iron Fist groaned, his eyes fluttering open. Julian, Silas, and Ray soon followed, coughing violently as the antidote cleared the poison from their lungs.
"Gods... my head feels like it was kicked by a mule," Marcus grumbled, rubbing his temples and sitting up.
"We were betrayed," Julian rasped, reaching for his sword. "Where is that monk?"
"Dead," Sam reported, helping them to their feet. He quickly explained the entire bizarre, terrifying encounter with the bounty hunter and the alchemist.
By the time the vigilantes stumbled out into the courtyard, the bounty hunter was long gone, taking Malachi's head with him. The fat alchemist was left tied securely to a wooden pillar, waiting for the local authorities.
"We got careless," Silas the Shadow muttered, looking at the dead body of the fake monk. "We let our guard down because of the storm."
"It won't happen again," Marcus growled, retrieving his war hammer. "Mount up, brothers. We have a war to fight in the Riverlands."
The five vigilantes rode hard for the next two days, pushing their horses to the limit to catch up with the main host of the Brotherhood.
They finally rendezvoused at a massive, sprawling encampment situated near the borders of the Riverlands. This was the staging ground for the impending clash with Darius, the 'Iron Baron'.
The encampment was awe-inspiring. Over a hundred of the most elite, honorable fighters from across the realm had answered the call. There were the southern warlords, the northern vigilantes, the eastern mercenaries, and Liam Thorne's own Brotherhood.
As Marcus and his team rode into the camp, they were greeted by cheers and the clinking of ale tankards.
Liam Thorne, Master Sterling, and Felix the Hawk-Eye were gathered inside a large command tent, pouring over maps of the Riverlands.
"Marcus!" Liam called out, smiling broadly as the Iron Fist entered the tent. "I was beginning to worry. How went the extraction in Oakendell?"
"Julian Sterling is locked in the deep cells, and his pet warlord is breaking rocks in the quarry," Marcus reported, grabbing a cup of water. "The Magistrate is secure."
Master Sterling nodded approvingly. "Arthur Pendelton is a good man. Now, we must deal with the threat to our own borders. Felix, what is the latest intelligence on the Iron Baron?"
Felix pointed to a large, fortified city marked on the map. "Darius has retreated to his stronghold in the city of Riverbend (a different Riverbend from the one near Oakendell). He knows we are coming. He has gathered his own army of mercenaries and thugs. He sent another messenger today."
"And what did he say?" Liam asked.
"He proposed a formal duel," Felix replied, his expression grave. "He refuses to fight an open war that would destroy his city. He challenged Master Sterling to single combat. If Sterling wins, the Baron surrenders his territory and leaves the Riverlands forever. If the Baron wins... the Brotherhood must disband, and he claims total dominion over the northern and eastern trade routes."
The tent fell silent. It was a massive, incredibly dangerous gamble.
"He is trying to bait you, Master Sterling," 'Ironclad' Jax rumbled from the corner of the tent. "He knows you are older. He is banking on his youth and brute strength to defeat you, thereby demoralizing our entire army without losing a single one of his own men."
Master Sterling looked down at his calloused hands. He was in his late fifties. He had spent thirty years fighting, and his body bore the scars of a hundred battles. But his eyes burned with an unyielding, fierce pride.