If he got surrounded, the splashing of those trying to come at him from behind would give vital warning.
The daerils were all of the same species. These grunted and hooted rather than speaking, though they wore crude armor and carried swords. They had hollow-looking, almost skeletal faces. He couldn’t distinguish them by their features, though the leader wore armor stained the color of blood. This one stepped into the river directly in front of Siris, and for a moment, it looked as if he might follow the ancient ideal after all.
Then the leader waved, and the other three moved into the river to attack. Rustling and hooting came through the bamboo in the distance. More were coming. Great.
Siris positioned himself, trying to watch—or at least listen for—all four. The cold mountain water was icy on his feet as it seeped through his boots. Something about his circumstances suddenly struck him as familiar.
I’ve never been in this situation before, he thought, spinning on one of the daerils that tried to come at him. The beast moved back in the water, growling.
All of Siris’s training had been focused on single duels. And yet, there was a sense of familiarity to this larger fight . . . as there had been in the castle, when he’d faced the two golems. There was something there, something inside of him. If he could just reach it . . .
The daerils attacked, and he shook out of the reverie. Siris jumped forward and engaged the first one to gain a second or two breather from those coming up behind.
He slammed the daeril’s sword out of the way, then rammed his weapon into its chest. Splashes behind. Siris ripped the sword free and yelled, spinning, coming down on the arm of a daeril swinging for him. The daeril’s blood was red, just like that of a person.
Keep moving, keep moving. Splashes and hoots, cries of rage and pain. A third daeril was coming at his side, where Siris had intentionally left himself open. The creature struck as Siris snapped his fingers together, summoning the God King’s shield in a flash of blue. The daeril’s eyes opened wide as its sword was blocked by the steel.
Siris shoved the beast’s weapon aside, then struck, sword through the neck.
That left Siris completely exposed from the back. There was no way to stop the fourth daeril in time. Siris spun, expecting to feel the blow at any moment.
Instead, he found the daeril splashing and flailing, a figure in a long black coat hanging onto its back, her arms around its neck in a choke hold. The daeril tried to stand, and Isa cursed, kicking at its leg and bringing them both down in a splash of water. The creature was wheezing.
“Wow,” Siris said.
“If . . . you’re done . . . admiring,” Isa said, straining, “could you please stab this thing? ”
Siris leaped forward and rammed the blade down into the creature’s chest. Isa rolled free, water pouring over her as she puffed in and out. “Damn,” she said. “Those things are strong .”
Siris helped her to her feet, and she pulled off her coat—it was so wet that it flopped when she moved. She dropped it and let it float away, fishing out one of the daerils’ fallen swords. The hooting of other daerils was growing closer. A second later, eight of them broke out into the small clearing.
“Hell take us,” Siris whispered.
“I believe I warned you that this was a perfect place for an ambush,” Isa said, her teeth chattering as she raised her sword.
“You did.”
“And I believe I suggested restraint as you charged off like a fool.”
“You did.”
“Well, so long as I’m proven right, I guess I can die happy. And cursing your name, of course.”
Siris smiled wanly as the newcomers fanned out, looking at the corpses of the fallen, the blood coloring the river. One of the daerils—the one whose arm he’d cut off—had crawled to the bank. One of the newcomers killed him with a strike to the head, a sneer on his lips.
“If it turns out that guy
The daerils were all of the same species. These grunted and hooted rather than speaking, though they wore crude armor and carried swords. They had hollow-looking, almost skeletal faces. He couldn’t distinguish them by their features, though the leader wore armor stained the color of blood. This one stepped into the river directly in front of Siris, and for a moment, it looked as if he might follow the ancient ideal after all.
Then the leader waved, and the other three moved into the river to attack. Rustling and hooting came through the bamboo in the distance. More were coming. Great.
Siris positioned himself, trying to watch—or at least listen for—all four. The cold mountain water was icy on his feet as it seeped through his boots. Something about his circumstances suddenly struck him as familiar.
I’ve never been in this situation before, he thought, spinning on one of the daerils that tried to come at him. The beast moved back in the water, growling.
All of Siris’s training had been focused on single duels. And yet, there was a sense of familiarity to this larger fight . . . as there had been in the castle, when he’d faced the two golems. There was something there, something inside of him. If he could just reach it . . .
The daerils attacked, and he shook out of the reverie. Siris jumped forward and engaged the first one to gain a second or two breather from those coming up behind.
He slammed the daeril’s sword out of the way, then rammed his weapon into its chest. Splashes behind. Siris ripped the sword free and yelled, spinning, coming down on the arm of a daeril swinging for him. The daeril’s blood was red, just like that of a person.
Keep moving, keep moving. Splashes and hoots, cries of rage and pain. A third daeril was coming at his side, where Siris had intentionally left himself open. The creature struck as Siris snapped his fingers together, summoning the God King’s shield in a flash of blue. The daeril’s eyes opened wide as its sword was blocked by the steel.
Siris shoved the beast’s weapon aside, then struck, sword through the neck.
That left Siris completely exposed from the back. There was no way to stop the fourth daeril in time. Siris spun, expecting to feel the blow at any moment.
Instead, he found the daeril splashing and flailing, a figure in a long black coat hanging onto its back, her arms around its neck in a choke hold. The daeril tried to stand, and Isa cursed, kicking at its leg and bringing them both down in a splash of water. The creature was wheezing.
“Wow,” Siris said.
“If . . . you’re done . . . admiring,” Isa said, straining, “could you please stab this thing? ”
Siris leaped forward and rammed the blade down into the creature’s chest. Isa rolled free, water pouring over her as she puffed in and out. “Damn,” she said. “Those things are strong .”
Siris helped her to her feet, and she pulled off her coat—it was so wet that it flopped when she moved. She dropped it and let it float away, fishing out one of the daerils’ fallen swords. The hooting of other daerils was growing closer. A second later, eight of them broke out into the small clearing.
“Hell take us,” Siris whispered.
“I believe I warned you that this was a perfect place for an ambush,” Isa said, her teeth chattering as she raised her sword.
“You did.”
“And I believe I suggested restraint as you charged off like a fool.”
“You did.”
“Well, so long as I’m proven right, I guess I can die happy. And cursing your name, of course.”
Siris smiled wanly as the newcomers fanned out, looking at the corpses of the fallen, the blood coloring the river. One of the daerils—the one whose arm he’d cut off—had crawled to the bank. One of the newcomers killed him with a strike to the head, a sneer on his lips.
“If it turns out that guy
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