guesses or melancholy regrets. There is only the anticipation of blood and the question of who will spill it.
The axe came in fast and low. The woman wielding it brought the spike-tipped shaft upward from knee height in a jabbing cut that would have emasculated me if I hadn’t thrown myself backward into a reverse handspring. I landed with a splash as my left foot came down in the nearest pool, and I more than half expected it to slide out from under me. But the wet and angled stone seemed to grab onto my foot with some of that same sticky grip I’d felt earlier.
As I brought my arms down from their extension, I popped the catch on the knife in my left wrist sheath, flicking the hilt into my hand with the same gesture. A moment later, I flipped it at the axe-wielder’s face while I reached for a sword with my other hand.
The best thrown knife is unlikely to do much more than slow an opponent down, and this was little more than a snap toss. But even the toughest and most calculating of warriors will have a hard time ignoring a piece of pointed steel flying toward their eyes. The woman twisted aside in a move that was simultaneously inhumanly quick and impossibly statue slow. It looked like a series of painted pictures rifled quickly—each motion a moment of stillness that simply jumped to the next rather than flowing smoothly as a human’s would have.
Watching her sent a spiral of nausea eeling through my belly. I had to fight the impulse to look away as she turned the twist into a stomach-churning spin that brought her axe around at the side of my head with tremendous speed and force. But forcing her to dodge had given me time to free my second blade, and I caught the head of the axe on the back of my sword, lifting it up and over my head as I drove my other sword straight into her left thigh.
Goddess-forged steel hit the thin stone of her bloused pants with a harsh
chunk
that stung my hand and jarred all the way up to my shoulder. A normal sword might well have snapped. It certainly would have slid off her stone armor. But Namara’s swords are made of tougher stuff, and it went as deep as any hammer-driven chisel.
The Durkoth woman’s leg gave and she fell. She was still turning from the impulse of her failed swing and she landed hard on her back, sliding into the pool to my right and sinking instantly. The stone of her trousers clung to my sword and very nearly wrenched it free of my hand in the process, but I managed to hold on, turning the blade as I did so. The edge levered its way out through the big muscles in the front of her thigh and the stone layer above them as she went down.
Ware!
Triss shouted into my mind.
The effort of hanging on to my sword had spun me half around, putting me badly off balance as the woman’s companion came rushing in. He’d left the spear in Krithak and had drawn a short mace, which he swung at me now. There was simply no way to parry the blow, so I threw myself into an awkward sideways dive instead and the flanged mace passed through the space I’d occupied an instant before.
I expected to hit the bottom of the pool and slide a few yards through shallow water, but plunged deep instead, fooled by its crystalline clarity. I hadn’t had the time to take a deep breath and I caught a mouthful of water now. Touching bottom fifteen feet down, I kicked off immediately, aiming up and toward the far shore. Again, the clarity of the water deceived me, and I drove face-first into the steeply shallowing floor of the pool.
Stunned, I slithered forward through the knee-deep water, pushing my head up into the air and gasping for breath. I’d barely had time to register the bright blossom of red my broken nose left in the water below me when Triss yelped again and a hot silky hand caught my ankle from behind, yanking me back under. The mace clipped the side of my knee with a blow that might have shattered it if not for the dual protections of water slowing the Durkoth’s arm and
The axe came in fast and low. The woman wielding it brought the spike-tipped shaft upward from knee height in a jabbing cut that would have emasculated me if I hadn’t thrown myself backward into a reverse handspring. I landed with a splash as my left foot came down in the nearest pool, and I more than half expected it to slide out from under me. But the wet and angled stone seemed to grab onto my foot with some of that same sticky grip I’d felt earlier.
As I brought my arms down from their extension, I popped the catch on the knife in my left wrist sheath, flicking the hilt into my hand with the same gesture. A moment later, I flipped it at the axe-wielder’s face while I reached for a sword with my other hand.
The best thrown knife is unlikely to do much more than slow an opponent down, and this was little more than a snap toss. But even the toughest and most calculating of warriors will have a hard time ignoring a piece of pointed steel flying toward their eyes. The woman twisted aside in a move that was simultaneously inhumanly quick and impossibly statue slow. It looked like a series of painted pictures rifled quickly—each motion a moment of stillness that simply jumped to the next rather than flowing smoothly as a human’s would have.
Watching her sent a spiral of nausea eeling through my belly. I had to fight the impulse to look away as she turned the twist into a stomach-churning spin that brought her axe around at the side of my head with tremendous speed and force. But forcing her to dodge had given me time to free my second blade, and I caught the head of the axe on the back of my sword, lifting it up and over my head as I drove my other sword straight into her left thigh.
Goddess-forged steel hit the thin stone of her bloused pants with a harsh
chunk
that stung my hand and jarred all the way up to my shoulder. A normal sword might well have snapped. It certainly would have slid off her stone armor. But Namara’s swords are made of tougher stuff, and it went as deep as any hammer-driven chisel.
The Durkoth woman’s leg gave and she fell. She was still turning from the impulse of her failed swing and she landed hard on her back, sliding into the pool to my right and sinking instantly. The stone of her trousers clung to my sword and very nearly wrenched it free of my hand in the process, but I managed to hold on, turning the blade as I did so. The edge levered its way out through the big muscles in the front of her thigh and the stone layer above them as she went down.
Ware!
Triss shouted into my mind.
The effort of hanging on to my sword had spun me half around, putting me badly off balance as the woman’s companion came rushing in. He’d left the spear in Krithak and had drawn a short mace, which he swung at me now. There was simply no way to parry the blow, so I threw myself into an awkward sideways dive instead and the flanged mace passed through the space I’d occupied an instant before.
I expected to hit the bottom of the pool and slide a few yards through shallow water, but plunged deep instead, fooled by its crystalline clarity. I hadn’t had the time to take a deep breath and I caught a mouthful of water now. Touching bottom fifteen feet down, I kicked off immediately, aiming up and toward the far shore. Again, the clarity of the water deceived me, and I drove face-first into the steeply shallowing floor of the pool.
Stunned, I slithered forward through the knee-deep water, pushing my head up into the air and gasping for breath. I’d barely had time to register the bright blossom of red my broken nose left in the water below me when Triss yelped again and a hot silky hand caught my ankle from behind, yanking me back under. The mace clipped the side of my knee with a blow that might have shattered it if not for the dual protections of water slowing the Durkoth’s arm and
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