The Khan was a nice man. Always laughing in his boisterous manner that spread to those around him. Were he born in a city and not the steppes, there's no doubt that his house would be the talk of the town every holiday, and every weekend.

But by the Old Gods, Clayton could not take that sort of energy for long. He liked a party, don't get him wrong, but he needed a break from this.  

Outside of the Khan's massive, mansion-like tent, night had fallen heavily, further darkened by dull clouds choking out the starlight. Outside of the lights of the burning campfires, he could barely see past the edge of the camps. He could see even darker storm clouds approaching the encampment, filled with the true rage of the storm.

Lightning cut its way through as Clayton watched. 

He struck a match on his bootheel and lit a cigarette as the wind picked up, carrying the sound of thunder to his ears. It was a low, rumbling noise that rolled on and on. 

Clayton exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, tipping his head back to bask in the cool wind as it pulled the smoke away. He thought on Helioa, who was still inside, and all she brought with her. Troubling, to say the least, and now the 3rd had marched across the continent. Away from home. All to find...something. Not even Helioa knows exactly what it was, just a vague old poem. 

"-And the sun shines on the head of the Khans, and the second key will be found in their crown." Clayton mumbled, let his head drop back into position, and huffed. "Who knew my career would devolve into solving riddles to stop the end times..."

He looked towards the stormclouds again, closer now. Maybe a mile from camp. That rumble of thunder was still...going...

Clayton tossed the cigarette down and stamped it out, focused now on that endless rumble. He strained his ears and eyes, trying to peer into the wall of dark. Lightning struck again, arcing close to the ground this time. 

Revealing a wave of horsemen storming towards the camp.

Now he saw little pinpricks of light at the edge of camp, as pickets saw the same thing and shot vainly into the ball of man and horseflesh.

Clayton drew a deep breath in and bellowed in a way only a God of War could. A way that every soldier under his command would hear in their very souls.

"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!" He heard the drums and horns inside the tent stop abruptly as his voice took on a quality to match the rumbles of thunder. "RIDERS TO THE NORTH!"

The tents of his men became a flurry of activity before he had even crossed the short distance back into the Khan's tent. He looked to the Khan, who still maintained his smile though it had become colder, and shared a nod. As Clay gathered his brothers, officers, and personal weapons; the Khan retrieved a pair of long curved sabers that hung at the top of his fur-covered throne. 

Pistol and blades belted on, he exited the tent again. His brothers and officers close on his heels. 

"Jack, Gest, Bradshaw; rally everyone you can into formation. Square if you can, but at least get them organized. Mind you're spacing, I don't care if you have to trample tents to do it."

"Sir!" The youngest Coffee brother and the two officers ran off yelling at every soldier they passed. Clay could see the horsemen reach the edge of camp, and the pop of musket fire increased in rapidity.

"Mac, get your grenadiers up here and protect the Khans family and retainers."

"The Khan?" Mac inquired in his deep baritone. 

"I have a feeling he's going to be at the bottom of the hill before us." 

As if on cue a group of riders stormed past, towards the edge of camp, the Khan's emblematic jade coat in the lead. Mac simply grunted and broke away, his massive form making all but his own grenadiers seem small in comparison.

"Wallace, Semple-" He could practically feel the anticipation vibrating off of the officers behind him. Gods of War like himself. "You're with me. I hope your blades are sharpened." 

"Sir, yes, sir!" They said in unison. Clayton grinned. 

By the time the trio reached the bottom of the hill, smoke trails were rising into the sky, backlit by the fires that caused them. In the distance he heard someone give a command to fire in Laidrian, followed by the telltale firecracker sound and the screams of horses. A pillar of fire rose off to their left, moving as if it had a mind of its own before fading back down.

They walked on the main thoroughfare of the camp, and could now see the enemy riders wheeling horses in chaotic patterns. Their long-sabers flashing in the firelight and thick fur-lined coats marked them as Atlan. 

A group of four riders gathered together, blitzing towards Clayton and his men. The foremost horseman leveled a mundane lance, and the other three raised their sabers.

Wallace and Semple fanned out behind Clay, left and right respectively, short and long blades drawn. Clay simply rested a casual hand on his. 

The lancer drew a pistol and pulled the trigger. Faster than mortally possible Clay drew his short blade, placing the blade in between the bullet and his heart.

The sparks of the impact lit up his face and chest, and the clear ringing noise heralded his officer's rapid advance, letting the lancer pass between, before sidestepping in a smooth motion. 

Their move brought them outside the knot of riders, and in a mirrored action brought their blades down on the necks of two of the saber-wielding rider's horses. The horses couldn't even scream, but their riders shouted as they were thrown from the saddle. 

One hit the ground next to Clay hard and didn't attempt to rise. He grabbed the other one out of the air, not even straining to hoist him up and impale his chest on his allies lance.

The added weight pulled the lancer's arm down before he could let go, Giving clay the chance to grab his wrist and yank him from the saddle. There was a loud crack, and the rider screamed before quickly being silenced by Clay plunging his short blade into the rider's throat. 

Looking up he saw Wallace effortlessly dancing away from the hooves of the last rider's horse as he sawed it back and forth. A second later and Semple smoothly drew his revolver and fired, hitting squarely in the back of the skull. They were on the move before the body slid out of the saddle.

They continued down the main thoroughfare, encountering and taking care of a few more groups of riders as they went. The trio continued to drive towards the loudest sounds of fighting, the cacophony increasing as they got closer. They passed many wounded, being dragged towards the top of the hill by comrades, or being treated where they fell by medics or the occasional god with healing abilities, as well as many dead from both sides. 

The blue coats of Clay's division mixed between the jade of the Khan and doehide tan of whoever was attacking. They sat in clumps on the ground, usually half a dozen at a time. He felt his mouth quirk downward, and he put the familiar feeling back in its place. This was not the time. 

Clay and his officers rounded a corner made by a high wall of supply crates, while a musket shot overhead brought them to a halt. Looking up, Clay saw another one of his pantheon corps, Daniel Pepper. A small squad milled around him, handing him loaded muskets. As Clay looked he rapidly shouldered and fired into what seemed to be open-air, though Clay knew the ball had found some impossibly distant soldier. He shouldered another.

 "Pepper!" Clay yelled. Pepper didn't respond, totally focused down the barrel. Clay waited, knowing how Pepper got. Another moment passed before the musket went off, and he traded for another musket before looking down again. 

"Ah, Major General! What can I do you for?" His right eye, which was faceted and colored like a ruby, glittered in the light of burning tents and floating embers.

"What's the score, Sergeant?" Pepper glanced over the tents of the camp from his perch for a moment, looked back at clay, and opened his mouth to speak before his gaze snapped back the way he had been looking, rapidly shouldered the musket, and fired again. He looked back to Clay as he was handed another loaded musket. 

"Well, it seems we've got a brigades worth of cavalry running roughshod over our camp. Give or take a hundred in either direction...' 

"Any gods?"

"I've seen a few.  Maybe half a dozen. Maybe a few more than that. Put down two myself! Weird pair they were, both rode the same horse which gave me the perfect opportunity to line them both up and-"

"Sergeant, focus." Pepper gave Clay a cheeky grin that Clay had grown used to.

"Sorry, sir." His smile turned downward thoughtfully as he looked back out towards the camp. "Well, that's something. You're gonna want to see that, Major General!"

"See what?" 

"That would ruin the surprise!" Pepper pointed off in a direction. Clay couldn't see any sign of what he was referencing. "Now get going, or you'll miss it!"

Clay huffed at the insubordination but knew it would do no good to talk about it. The trio moved in the direction Pepper had indicated, and heard shots until they melded into the general din of the battle. Though they still saw an occasional enemy fighter along their path suddenly stumble and collapse amidst a sudden red mist. A crater left in their chest or head.

A couple blocks of tents later, they found what could only have been the thing Pepper had pointed them towards. A large mass of tents just on the inside of the camp-edge had been trampled in a massive scuffle, though that particular scuffled had seemingly ended. 

Now, Clay could see two formations of blue uniforms, both squares, but not firing. Their muskets held loosely but at the ready. On either side of the formations, a small squad of horsemen sat in the jade coats of the Khan's riders. Across from them, a huddle of tan coats sat. Lazy in comparison, casually leaning on saddlehorns or laughing amongst themselves as they watched the pair of figures standing between the groups.

Jogging over between the two squares, met by a few nods from officers and salutes from soldiers, Clay could see the two figured better. 

They were dressed largely the same and of similar build. Long, ornate, silk coats tied around the waist with colored sashes. The figure, Clay could tell it was a man now, with his back to the Laidrian formation Clay recognized as the Khan, with his midnight blue and jade-colored coat. 

"What's your name and unit?" Clay said to an officer within the square to his right, keeping his voice low and his eyes on the Khan. 

"Second Lieutenant Charity Fillmore of the 95th, sir." It sounded familiar. Were they the ones that were mustered outside of Kolville?

"What's going on here?" 

"I'm not sure, sir..." The officer stepped out of the square and stood next to Clay. "It was this whirlwind of horses, all of them whooping and hollering, and all of a sudden they were everywhere. The Khan rode straight through them, like a knife through paper, and around us." 

The conversation between the Khan and the other man continued, though Clay noticed both of their hands edge up to the pommels of their sabers. 

"When did they start talking like that?"

"Almost immediately after. Both groups just settled on opposite sides, and those two dismounted and met in the middle. No clue why."

"Any idea what they're saying?"

"Not even a little sir. None of us can hear them from here, and our translator ran off soon after the fighting started, in any case." She started to check the cylinders of her revolver "They certainly don't seem to be having a friendly chat, though."

Partially blocked by the Khan's frame, the other man wore the colors of the riders. That same doe hide tan, though actually made out of doehide it seemed and highlighted with a deep purple.

He had a long mustache that trailed down to his chest and, even sheathed, Clay could see that both of his sabers glowed with godcraft. 

"Just be ready to move, Lieutenant. We might have to pull the Khan out of the fire on this-" Clay was interrupted by the Khan turning back towards him and yelling.  

"Mister Coffee! I'm glad you could join us!" The Khan still wore that same cold smile he had when the pair had left the tent earlier. The other man had done the same to his men. "As much as I'm sure you want to, I'm going to have to ask that you and your men don't interrupt."

"Interrupt what?" Clay quirked an eyebrow. 

With a yell and a rapid twist, the man in doehide drew his sabers and brought them down on the Khan, but the Khan was faster. Their blades met, creating a shower of purple and green sparks.

Both sides of the clearing exploded into cheers. The Laidrian soldiers holding their formation only because their officers bayed them to, while the Atlan riders of both sides stood in their stirrups to shout across to the other side.

The man in doe hide fought roughly, but with drive. Each strike heavy, driving the Khan's blades away from him.  The Khan was the opposite, despite his large frame. His style was fluid, both sabers constantly moving in circular patterns to seamlessly flow into a parry or strike. 

They danced in a tight circle, no hits landing on either body. As more sparks fell, the storm arrived in earnest: bringing the rain with it. A steady pour that Clay would have found pleasant if the situation wasn't what it was.   

He just hoped that whatever this duel would give his men an advantage to match the hindrance their now wet gunpowder would be. 

Each side grew antsy. Clay's men checking weapons, making sure that their pans were dry. Some shielding them with their caps to keep the rain out. The Khan's riders gripped reigns tightly and shifted in the saddle, fingers playing across sabers and pistols and the riders in tan did the same. 

The Khan scored a hit on his opponent's side, revealing godsblood that came out like purple light, and received a cut on the cheek in return.

They separated for a moment and the tension between sides almost broke. Some of Clay's men going so far as to shoulder their weapons before the dueling pair crossed blades again. 

parrying the first strike, the Khan ducked his shoulder down and rammed it into his opponent's stomach, hoisting him onto his own shoulder before slamming him to the ground. 

Even from that distance, Clay could hear the breath leave his lungs. He didn't get the chance to bring it back in. 

The Khan quickly reversed the grip on one of his sabers and swiped downward, severing his opponent's head from his shoulders. 

The tension that had been in the air dissipated rapidly, though Clay's men didn't relax, the riders on both sides calmed. The Khans riders cheering, while the riders in tan shook their heads and frowned in frustration, like they had lost a bet on a horse race, not a comrade in arms. A few riders peeled off to and rode in different directions.

One dismounted and trudged over the increadingly muddy ground to pick up the body and head. The Khan made his way back to Clay, met by the cheers of his men, and a few from Clay's own.

"What in the Desolation was that about?" Clay asked, still ready to give the order to fire. The rider was tying the body and head to a horse.  

"I got the Jalihujin to leave us alone, at least for now." That warm smile was back on his face, like he hadn't just been in a life or death duel. 

"And how did you go about that?"

"We had a, I believe you say, 'Gentleman's agreement'? I win, his men leave." 

"If he won?"

"My tribe would be folded into his own." Clay frowned at the Khan, unsure if he was joking or not. Clay decided he didn't want to know.   

"How do you even know if they'll honor that agreement?" 

"They already are." 

Even as they spoke, the sound of gunfire seemed to grow less intense. A shout from behind Clay interrupted the conversation. 

"Major General!" It was one of Jackson's runners, holding a piece of paper. Clay took it. "Message from Colonel Jackson, sir!"   

"And what does your brother have to say, dear Clay?" The Khan asked with a mischievous edge. Clay read the note out loud, though he really didn't want to give the Khan the satisfaction. 

"Brother, riders are disengaging. Whatever you and the Khan did has worked wonders." 

The Khan laughed and slapped Clay on the back, pushing him forward a step.  Clay didn't read the last section out, however. 

"My skirmishers captured an enemy god. Come to my officer's tent when you have a chance."