Adventure of Brandon Dubois

Steel flashes in the moonlight as the Stranger Rider slashes low, aiming past Brandon Dubois and straight for the hidden scroll beneath his cloak. Ice spits from the road under their boots.

Brandon Dubois turns with the blow, sword up in time to catch the strike. The impact shudders through his arms, but the scroll stays pressed against his side.

The rider presses again, blade hunting the gap at Brandon’s cloak, his horse stamping in the frost behind him. The wake-house door stands shut now, and the threshold behind Brandon is no shelter.

Brandon shifts his stance on the slick road, angling his body between the rider and the buried scroll. The moon catches the scar on his right arm as he drives the next strike aside.

The first exchange is clear now, if Brandon holds the line, the king’s message reaches High Point. If he falters, Iska takes it here on the road.

Brandon Dubois gives ground a single step, cloak twisting in the frost, and the hidden scroll vanishes deeper beneath the wool at his side.

He settles his weight, sword angling low, then ready, his feet finding purchase on the slick road.

The Stranger Rider’s blade hisses in again, but Brandon meets it cleanly, turning the cut aside with a tight counter.

Steel rings sharp in the cold. The rider recoils a half pace in the saddle, horse snorting white steam behind him.

Moonlight flashes along Brandon’s sword as he keeps the line, while the wake-house door stays shut and the road offers no shelter.

The Mentor's Wife snaps back inside at once, her hand already on the heavy latch. Cold air knifes after her as the wake-house door swings inward.

Wood thumps against wood. A bar drops into place with a dull, final strike, sealing the warmth and candlelight behind the frame.

Outside, the Stranger Rider checks his horse hard, forced to halt short of the step. Frost shivers under the beast’s hooves, and the narrow approach becomes a trap of ice and steel.

Brandon keeps his blade between them and the door, the hidden scroll safe beneath his cloak as the rider searches for an opening that is no longer there.

Brandon commits to the swing, all shoulder and steel, and the blade crashes across the rider’s guard with a ringing snap of force.

The Stranger Rider is ripped sideways in the saddle. His horse skids on the frost, forelegs scrambling, then lurches out from under him.

He spills hard into the road, cloak and sword scattering across the ice. The hidden scroll stays with Brandon, untouched beneath his cloak.

The rider’s mount throws its head and sidesteps away, snorting steam into the dark while the barred doorway holds steady behind Brandon.

On the ground, the rider scrabbles for his fallen blade with one gloved hand, glaring up through the frost as the horse stamps just beyond his reach.

Brandon hooks the Rider’s blade aside and drives the flat of his own sword across the wrist. Metal skitters over ice, then stops dead near his boot.

The Stranger Rider recoils with a sharp gasp, fingers empty now, his gloved hand clutching at nothing but frost and air.

Brandon’s cloak shifts as he keeps the hidden scroll pinned safe against his ribs. The disarmed sword lies between them, useless on the road.

The rider’s horse stamps and throws its head, steam curling from its nostrils, while the barred door stands firm behind the widow’s shadowed silhouette.

Brandon steps in close and levels his blade beneath the rider’s chin. The steel stills the man at once, his throat bared to the cold edge.

The rider’s shoulders sag. His gaze drops to the ice, and his hands open wide, empty and shaking.

Brandon holds the line a moment longer, then the pressure in the rider’s posture breaks. The fallen sword lies useless between them, half-frozen to the road.

The widow’s breath fogs in the doorway as she watches the surrender land. Behind her, the barred door stays shut, and the horse tosses its head at the night’s edge. No one moves yet.

Brandon eases his sword away from the rider’s throat, point lowering until the steel no longer threatens skin. The rider stays still, reading the motion as mercy.

The man slowly reaches down, two fingers careful in the frost, and nudges his own fallen blade farther from his boot. The surrender is plain now, not just spoken.

Brandon holds his ground, scroll still hidden beneath his cloak, while the cold settles over the road like a lid. The horse stamps once, then falls quiet, ears twitching toward the doorway.

The widow’s grip tightens on the barred door. The rider looks from her to Brandon, waiting for the knight’s next command.

Brandon keeps his sword low and speaks with calm steel, sending the rider’s own warning back at him. The frost seems to listen.

The rider shifts on the ice, then pushes himself upright with slow, measured care. He does not reach for the dropped blade.

The horse lifts its head at the sound of his voice, breath steaming in the dark. The barred door remains shut behind the widow, and the road opens cold and empty between them.