Pan hurtled down the sand dune towards the action, eager to be at Seronisis’ side should the monarch need him; if only for moral support.
For every step forward the king took, Bathor took a step back.
“Admit your defeat and relinquish your claim, publicly, to the throne of Tansa.”
Bathor spat at Seronisis. “You’re no king. You’re a barbarian. Go on, kill me! You can’t, can you?” Bathor was panting heavily. His tone was defiant, but his expression showed great fear. “Why not! I’d certainly kill you, with infinite pleasure, if I got the chance.”
“That is where we differ, brother,” said Seronisis. “I have love in my heart. I could no more kill someone I loved than I could sprout wings and fly.”
“You’re as weak as piss!” Bathor snarled.
In a flash, Bathor spun around, reaching out to grab something. A weapon? But instead he impaled himself on a spear held by one of his very own men.
“Bathor!” Seronisis shouted, dropping his knife.