Corsair by Chris Bunch

said. He looked at Gareth.
    “You are Gareth Radnor, the one who shamed my sister,” he said. “My father has sought you long, and will be delighted that I’ll be the one who revenges our family name this night.”
    His hand went to his sword, and it flashed in the torchlight.
    “You’ll kill me where I stand, without a weapon?” Gareth said. “Brave indeed.”
    “You and you, take him,” Anthon said. Gareth’s hands came up as the two henchmen came closer. He struck with his right, full weight behind the blow, taking one man below the ribs. Air chuffed from the man’s lungs, and he bent. Gareth snapped another blow into the side of the man’s neck, and he fell back, gurgling.
    But then the other two men had him firm, one on either side.
    “Very good,” Anthon Quindolphin said. “Very good indeed.”
    “Anthon,” Cosyra said, “you cannot do this!”
    “Oh, but I can,” Anthon said. “No damned commoner can be permitted such liberties.”
    “If you don’t stop right now I’ll make sure your cowardice is known throughout the court,” Cosyra said fiercely. “And you’ll never be permitted to call on me again!”
    “What makes you think I’d want to call again on someone who’s proven herself no more than a sailor’s whore?”
    Cosyra stopped, frozen for an instant.
    “Now,” Anthon gloated. “We’ll start with your face, Radnor. Hold him secure, fellows.”
    Anthon stepped closer, and the shining point of his sword was just in front of Gareth’s eyes.
    Gareth collapsed forward, limp — then, held by the surprised toughs, lashed both feet up into the nobleman’s crotch.
    Anthon howled, and his sword clattered to the cobbles. He clutched himself, bending, straightening, yelping. The two holding Gareth relaxed their hold long enough for him to regain his stance, rake one foot down one man’s leg to smash the arch of his foot.
    The man shouted, let go, and Gareth half turned, hit the man still holding him in the cheek. The man grunted and let go of Gareth.
    Gareth danced free, and the third man was in a fighting stance, fists ready. The first man stumbled to his feet.
    “We’ll get the little bastard,” he managed, a knife coming from nowhere.
    “Kill him,” Anthon managed, panting. “Kill him now and throw him in the godsdamned river!” He staggered about, clutching his groin. The second man hobbled in, a short truncheon in his hand.
    Cosyra had Anthon’s sword in her hand. “Get away from him!”
    The third man had a sword out, dagger in his other hand.
    “Sir?”
    “Get the damned sword away from her,” Anthon ordered. “Don’t kill her unless you have to.”
    The man half smiled, came in on Cosyra.
    Gareth was looking about for a weapon as the other two henchmen closed.
    Then the darkness bellowed rage, and a very big man with wild-flying hair came out of the darkness, waving a long balk of lumber.
    One tough’s attention was broken, and Gareth was inside his guard, hitting him as hard as he could, very quickly, three times in the face. The man stumbled back, and Gareth clubbed him down with his fists clenched together.
    The man with the truncheon swung at Gareth, missing, and the hairy monster smashed him over the head. Gareth heard his skull crack.
    Cosyra lunged with Anthon’s sword, blade going home in the swordsman’s arm. He screeched, dropped his sword as Cosyra recovered and lunged again, her blade going to the hilt into his thigh.
    The man screamed again, turned, pulling the sword from Cosyra’s hands. He ran, hobbling, into the night, paying no attention to his master.
    Anthon Quindolphin looked at the huge man, ducked under his swing with the wood, and scuttled away, half-bent.
    The big man threw the wood after him, heard a thump and a shout of pain.
    Then there was nothing but a corpse, an unconscious man, an angry, beautiful woman, Gareth Radnor and the monster, under the lamp.
    “I had this
Feeling
I hadda be here,” the huge one rumbled.
    “Labala!”