Once upon a time, in a little campsite by the desert's edge, he had been the fastest among his tribe. Men from all the wandering clans would come to watch him race horses on foot, gaping as he dashed ahead of sleek black geldings, their mouths white with foam.

He had beaten those horses, unburdened as they were. This horse was carrying two people. Within minutes he could see its heaving flanks, its hide lathered with sweat. Durza threw himself forward, spitting his scimitar from between his teeth. From his lips rang out the battlecry of the faithful: "Khudaaaaaaaya!"

Cymric of Prythain whirled around, his heart a snaredrum, his guts twisting themselves into knots. He wrenched his spurs into the belly of his horse, ignoring its agonized whinny. "Arya," he rasped. "Arya, get off the horse."

"What?"

"It's him! We can't fight him! Get off the bloody horse, damn you!" The beast whinnied again, blood dripping down its belly, its lips dripping with foam. "I won't die here! Get off!"

Arya Tialdari looked over his shoulder, and what she saw made her blood freeze. "Cymric," she said, her voice hushed. "Cymric, we have to fight him. We can take him together, he's not a demon, not a spirit, he's just a madman wearing facepaint."

"Give me the egg, Arya." His eyes were white with terror. "Not again. By Dummanios I've fought black men, yellow men, and brown men, but never again will I fight his sort. Just give me the egg. Buy me time."

"You can't enter the forest without me," Arya hissed. "They'd feather you from a thousand paces. Cymric, listen to me. We can fight him, I swear to you!"

"I've seen men fight him before. I've seen what he did to them. Get off the horse, Arya, and give me the egg. We fight him together, he'll devour both of us."

"You coward." Her face contorted. "You despicable, peabrained coward. How could you do this?"

The dagger flashed out of the darkness, tickling her jugular vein. "Give it to me," Cymric snarled. "Give it to me, or I'll slash your gullet and dump you into the grass." His beard prickled her neck and she shuddered. "Do it, Arya. If you ever cared for the north, if you ever wanted to burn Uru'baen, give me the egg. Now."

She wanted to vomit. Against the advice of a thousand people she had trusted this man, ridden with him across half the known world, through snowfields, savannahs, and deserts. Together they had dodged mailed knights and turbaned tribesmen, hid from dogs in cracked belly of the River Hanamsagar. Not once had he touched her. She'd saved his life twice. Slowly, her blood bubbling, she drew out the egg and dropped it into the satchel that hung down the bloodstained belly of their horse.

They staggered out of the grove and into an open field blued by the full moon. A rough hand grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her into the savannah.

She stared after his silhouette, her heart thundering in her chest, and spat into the dust. Then she turned to face the living nightmare who exploded out of the trees to kill her.

He raced toward her like some wraith escaping the bowels of hell, his body smattered head to toe by white handprints, his scimitar shining in the starlight. For the first time in uncounted decades their eyes met, and in her belly stirred an old hatred, a hatred bred on a thousand frozen wastelands, when gun thunder split the howling skies, when the earth rumbled under the footfalls of naked dreadlocked ascetics, the universe filled by their howls of "Khudaaaaaya!", the snow muddied with oceans of blood. He was close. She could see him properly now, could see his eyes, could smell the ganja reek on him, seven paces, six paces, five paces, her hands found her swords, four paces, they glimmered as she drew them, he was coming, she could smell him, here he was, here he was.

Durza's leap carried him six feet into the air and his scimitar sliced down in a blur of silver, crashing into her blade with the power of a wild elephant. She fell to one knee, swung widely at his legs. He jumped up and kicked her in the teeth. She rolled away, spitting blood, kicked dust into his face and slashed at him with both swords. He grabbed her wrist with one hand and smashed his swordhilt into her eye. Wildly her second blade lashed out and scored his hip to the bone.

They broke away from each other, panting. Arya's face was a ruin, her eye swollen and purple, two of her teeth splintered. Damn you, Cymric, she thought. Damn you, damn you, damn you, and Durza surged forward again, his scimitar weaving webs of steels, slashing for her throat from a million different angles.

She caught his blade between both of hers. His face filled her vision, bleached, skeletal, his eyes blacker than obsidian. This is a demon, she realized, his muscles aflame. This is a demon, this a monster, this is something crept out of a child's nightmare. He threw his weight behind his blade, drove her back six paces.

"Rhoi i mi, gwraig." He spoke in the tongue of Prythain, his voice guttural. "Surrender, enemy of God. I swear on the Only Lord that I will show you mercy."

Arya's face became a rictus. She showed her teeth, her eyes insane. "Never," she snarled.

Durza's foot hooked around her ankle and pulled with hideous strength. The fall tore the breath from her lungs, and as she lay there stunned Durza's fingers dug deep into her windpipe. What a foul way to die, she thought. What a vile place to be murdered.

Before the world turned inside out, before darkness filled her eyes like a flood, her last thought was of Cymric's face.