Borin and Drifter stood across from each other, taking up a small alleyway outside the inn. Damien was harassing passersby for bets, finding a fair amount of success. It seemed there weren't any regulations around duels in Faraton; so few, in fact, that even the guards were joining in on the gambling.

  I stood with Orwyn off to the side while the combatants got ready. "How did you meet Borin?"

  "He's an old friend, met each other in our teens. I used to help my dad with the general store in our village, and he moved in with his parents on a nearby farm. Borin liked playing with swords more than doing his work, so he'd harass the militiamen to spar with him until he got better than all of them." Orwyn scratched at his cheek, a flush of embarrassment rising to the surface. "When I wanted to go travel around, he was the first person I asked, before even my own parents. He was a good friend, and his dreams were able to help support mine, so it was a relief when he agreed right away." He nodded to himself. "Even if he's not the strongest he's strong enough. I wouldn't have nearly the success I've had without him."

  Borin was stretching a little, testing the weight of his sword, getting his head in the game. Drifter, to compare, was leaning against the wall, sword tied in his sheath.

  Orwyn noticed this. "Your friend isn't taking this seriously."

  I shrugged. "No, probably not."

  "Is he that skilled?"

  "Yes." I didn't have the words to describe precisely how skilled Drifter was, and I hardly knew, anyways. I just knew that I was met with an inhuman display of violence when he had drawn his blade .

  I assumed he knew that this should be a friendly spar, but I suddenly had a fear that he might take Borin's head off between heartbeats.

  Borin seemed to have finished his preparations. "You ready?" Drifter nodded.

  Borin took a stance, mostly side-on, sword and foot forward. Exactly the basic stance that works in nearly every situation.

  Drifter took a similar stance, mostly side-on, foot forward. But he didn't draw his sword. He held up his right hand, his fingers left loose, while he put his left hand near his hip in a knife-hand.

  Borin charged in, his sword dropping low for a strong swing drawing on his core, and Drifter met him while taking a single step forward, seemingly in slow motion. As the sword swung up, aiming for a lethal slice into Drifter's side, he used his right hand to knock the sword away from himself while his left hand was suddenly an inch to the left of Borin's neck, the force of the thrust leaving a small cut on the neck and a small nick on the wall behind him, six feet away.

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  Borin froze. Drifter asked, "Again?" and after a nod they reset.

  The crowd was quiet. It was hard to judge exactly what happened, as Drifter moved so faster that he seemed to go from his starting position to victory as they blinked. Orwyn's jaw hung open, unable to parse what he had seen.

  I was no better, of course. I needed Drifter to relate his actions to me that evening in order to record them here.

  Round two started the same way, but this time Borin took things slow. He edged forward, holding his defensive stance, shifting left to right to judge how Drifter's stance changed. Drifter, for his part, only turned his torso slightly to match Borin's movements.

  When Borin got close enough they both sprung forth. His sword flashed forward in a a thrust to Drifter's gut, which was knocked aside by his left hand forming a fist and punching the sword away. He let the momentum spin him around, his right hand forming its own fist to arc around and stop just before Borin's face. Like before, the speed of the spin was so fast and the force so strong that a shockwave hit Borin, knocking him over onto the pavement.

  His sword bounced across the cement to Damien's feet. He was holding on to a hat full of bets, hoping to the gods that people wouldn't feel cheated after such a one-sided display of skill. Drifter was so far beyond their expectations that the whole competition felt pointless.

  They were worried about him fighting Varys? No one had described Varys as moving faster than eyes could perceive and breaking walls with the air pressure from his fists. Orwyn was attempting to wrap his mind around the strength Drifter had just demonstrated.

  Borin, for his part, climbed to his feet laughing, even as a bruise could be seen forming on his cheek. "Incredible. I felt like I would lose when we talked, but not like this." Drifter recovered his sword for him, and Borin gratefully accepted it. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

  Drifter shrugged. "Don't know. Amnesia."

  Borin shook his head. "That's a shame. Your teacher would be a millionaire if you could recommend him."

  Drifter's eyes grew distant. "I suspect not."

  For my part, I was not particularly surprised. Drifter was holding back in this duel. That was good, of course - killing Borin would have been terrible - but I thought his supernatural abilities felt more present when he saved me from the bandits. Maybe my own fear and adrenaline had elevated that experience, or maybe the weeks of travel had accustomed me to Drifter's humanity, but I could not sense that godly demeanour I saw originally.

  It was good enough for now, but I was looking at Drifter as not merely a companion, but a contestant, a potential god of the new world. Did it matter how clear his qualifications were? I was unsure.

  In fact, I still knew little about Drifter's intentions. Would he agree to going all the way to Mount Bromid? What was he wandering around for, anyways? What was his goal? I had pushed ahead too fast; I had no idea whether my goals for Drifter had any relation to his own. It was something I'd need to investigate soon.