Page 120 of Fang & Fury

“Gregor was a stubborn prick,” Darach went on. “He didn’t admit anything, but that master tattoo damns him, all the same.” He paused then. “What was his goal, I wonder? Was he planning to kill you after the battle? Or maybe he intended to keep you on … as a puppet king?”

Niall’s lips pinched, an expression Darach knew well. His brother was clinging to his temper.

Knowing this, he pushed harder. “You never really questioned him, did you? A big mistake.”

The brothers’ gazes locked then, their stare drawing out.

Still, Niall didn’t answer. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

Darach let the silence lie. He’d had his moment. He’d twisted the knife. He didn’t need to kill his brother to get his revenge, he realized. Just seeing him defeated like this was enough.

“Throw down your sword, Niall,” Alar shouted then. “See for yourself if my wife is merciful.”

Niall ignored him. His gaze never wavered from Darach. “Let’s end this with blades,” he ground out finally. “Just you and me.”

Darach snorted. “Don’t be a fool. It’s over, Niall. Do as Alar says.”

A heartbeat followed, and then his brother lunged.

Anger propelled him off the ground like a spear, and suddenly he was flying toward Darach, bringing his sword down in a wide arc.

There was no time for Darach to raise his own weapon to counter the swing—and so, he ducked, hit the ground, and rolled.

Even without the clag-doo, he was fast.

However, he loosened the reins just a little bit, giving his tiring limbs strength. He’d already fought hard until now, whereas his brother had been watching from the sidelines. Niall was fresh.

A grunt to his right drew Darach’s attention as he bounced to his feet.

Ailsa had just lunged too—but not at Niall.

Instead, she brought Maol down. Dodging his blade, she slashed him across the throat with her nails. The warrior reeled back, and Ailsa went with him.

Darach cut his gaze away, just in time to see Niall coming for him again.

His brother’s broadsword slammed down.

No one intervened now. They all understood this was his fight. Instead, they all moved back a little, watching as the two brothers faced off.

Darach raised the sword he still gripped, and then they were fighting.

Iron rang through the air, cutting through the groans of the dying and the howl of the wind.

Through everything.

They had learned from the same father, but Darach had finished his education elsewhere. And along the way, he’d learned a few tricks to survive.

But he was exhausted now. He could feel it dragging him down like an undertow. He knew as they clashed again that Niall would eventually overpower him. The wound to his shoulder throbbed, while his limbs tingled, a warning that his strength was failing.

There was no time to call on the clag-doo either. Even the moment or two it would take to transform would be the opening his brother needed to kill him.

And so, Darach fought dirty.

He stepped left, letting his brother think he was about to parry a strike. But instead, he swiveled, cut low, and barreled into Niall.

And then, as his brother staggered back, he brought his knee up hard into his cods.

Niall grunted a curse, but Darach wasn’t done. He headbutted him in the face.