trying to find an opening to strike with his weapon.
It was evident to him that nobody would notice him now, so Gord scurried up to where the passage opened, staying back just far enough to be hidden by the shadows. Just beyond the end of the tunnel lay the mastiff. From the way its head was positioned, Gord knew that its neck had been broken. The boy noted that fact in a quick glance; then his attention was redirected toward the trio of fighters.
Although Bru’s clothes were torn, and his cheek was bleeding from a couple of long gashes, the hairy-faced man seemed to be unhurt otherwise. Perhaps his bushy beard had saved him from the jaws of the dog, for there seemed to be parts of the thick mat missing now from around his throat. The smaller man was holding a dagger, but Bru had the fellow’s wrist and arm locked in his viselike left hand, while he clasped the killer in a bear-hug with his strong right arm, using the man’s own body as a shield. The dagger was moving back, away from Bru, because his friend was slowly bending the attacker’s arm upward and back. Gord thought that it would have been an easy tiling for Bru, except for the other bad man with the narrow sword.
“Stab the sonuvabitch!” the man with the dagger cried. There was pain in his voice, and as he spoke the last word, the wind rushed from his mouth with a gasp, for Bru had used the opportunity to tighten his grip around the man.
“Hold ’im still,” the other one panted, trying to circle so that he could get at an exposed portion of the big man. Bru kept shifting and circling at the same rate, however, seemingly able to anticipate every move the swordsman made. The sword-wielder made a tentative stab, then shouted, “Hol’ ’im still, godsdamnit, else I’ll never get to stickin’ ’im!”
“The bastid’s tryin’ ta break me arm, ya shithead,” the one caught in Bru’s grasp managed to choke out. “Do sumpin’!”
Just then the arm holding the dagger moved farther back, and the man’s mouth opened In a grimace of pain. There was a funny, snapping sound too, and the knife flew from his open hand. That seemed to make the other killer act with more quickness and less sense. The man with the sword fairly flew as he circled, and the sword shot out with terrible speed and force.
“There!” the evil-faced man cried as his blade sank into flesh. Then the man’s face went very pale as he saw that he had driven the weapon through his comrade’s back. Bru and the stabbed killer were between him and the gangway. The man simply let go of his small sword, turned on his heels, and fled through the courtyard and into another passageway at its end. He was gone in a matter of seconds.
“Uncle Bru! Are you all right?” Gord called from his hiding place. His friend was just standing there, still holding onto the man with the sword sticking out of his back.
“What are you doing here?” Bru’s voice sounded strange to Gord’s ears. The man turned slowly, still clasping the dead attacker. His face changed from its hard expression to a smile, however, as the thin boy advanced hesitantly out of the shadows. “Never mind me, Gord,” he said softly. “You’re a friend indeed, and I thank you. Take hold of that sword there and pull it out-real careful like.”
It was a terrible thing to ask. Gord didn’t want to do it. He stood still, looking uncertainly at Uncle Bru. “I don’t want to touch it…,” Gord managed to say.
“Do as I tell you, you little fool!” Bru’s eyes were narrowed, and his tone was hard. “Do it now, and do it carefully. If you don’t, I won’t be your friend anymore!”
After the kick and the strange behavior, Gord wasn’t so sure that Bru was really his friend anyway, but he had to do what Bru said because the little boy still wanted the man’s friendship, even if the feeling was no longer mutual. His hands reached out and touched the sword’s hilt.
“Grab hold, boy, that’s right,” the big man
It was evident to him that nobody would notice him now, so Gord scurried up to where the passage opened, staying back just far enough to be hidden by the shadows. Just beyond the end of the tunnel lay the mastiff. From the way its head was positioned, Gord knew that its neck had been broken. The boy noted that fact in a quick glance; then his attention was redirected toward the trio of fighters.
Although Bru’s clothes were torn, and his cheek was bleeding from a couple of long gashes, the hairy-faced man seemed to be unhurt otherwise. Perhaps his bushy beard had saved him from the jaws of the dog, for there seemed to be parts of the thick mat missing now from around his throat. The smaller man was holding a dagger, but Bru had the fellow’s wrist and arm locked in his viselike left hand, while he clasped the killer in a bear-hug with his strong right arm, using the man’s own body as a shield. The dagger was moving back, away from Bru, because his friend was slowly bending the attacker’s arm upward and back. Gord thought that it would have been an easy tiling for Bru, except for the other bad man with the narrow sword.
“Stab the sonuvabitch!” the man with the dagger cried. There was pain in his voice, and as he spoke the last word, the wind rushed from his mouth with a gasp, for Bru had used the opportunity to tighten his grip around the man.
“Hold ’im still,” the other one panted, trying to circle so that he could get at an exposed portion of the big man. Bru kept shifting and circling at the same rate, however, seemingly able to anticipate every move the swordsman made. The sword-wielder made a tentative stab, then shouted, “Hol’ ’im still, godsdamnit, else I’ll never get to stickin’ ’im!”
“The bastid’s tryin’ ta break me arm, ya shithead,” the one caught in Bru’s grasp managed to choke out. “Do sumpin’!”
Just then the arm holding the dagger moved farther back, and the man’s mouth opened In a grimace of pain. There was a funny, snapping sound too, and the knife flew from his open hand. That seemed to make the other killer act with more quickness and less sense. The man with the sword fairly flew as he circled, and the sword shot out with terrible speed and force.
“There!” the evil-faced man cried as his blade sank into flesh. Then the man’s face went very pale as he saw that he had driven the weapon through his comrade’s back. Bru and the stabbed killer were between him and the gangway. The man simply let go of his small sword, turned on his heels, and fled through the courtyard and into another passageway at its end. He was gone in a matter of seconds.
“Uncle Bru! Are you all right?” Gord called from his hiding place. His friend was just standing there, still holding onto the man with the sword sticking out of his back.
“What are you doing here?” Bru’s voice sounded strange to Gord’s ears. The man turned slowly, still clasping the dead attacker. His face changed from its hard expression to a smile, however, as the thin boy advanced hesitantly out of the shadows. “Never mind me, Gord,” he said softly. “You’re a friend indeed, and I thank you. Take hold of that sword there and pull it out-real careful like.”
It was a terrible thing to ask. Gord didn’t want to do it. He stood still, looking uncertainly at Uncle Bru. “I don’t want to touch it…,” Gord managed to say.
“Do as I tell you, you little fool!” Bru’s eyes were narrowed, and his tone was hard. “Do it now, and do it carefully. If you don’t, I won’t be your friend anymore!”
After the kick and the strange behavior, Gord wasn’t so sure that Bru was really his friend anyway, but he had to do what Bru said because the little boy still wanted the man’s friendship, even if the feeling was no longer mutual. His hands reached out and touched the sword’s hilt.
“Grab hold, boy, that’s right,” the big man
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