Читать «Rising Tide (зксм-1)» онлайн - страница 174

Pressing his slight advantage for all it was worth, Jherek slipped his fishing knife from his boot. He twisted, holding the knife tightly, then plunged it through Aysel's foot. Sharp and driven forcefully, the keen knife cut through the boot leather and slipped between the bones of the big man's foot. It thudded home solidly in the hardwood floor.

"Umberlee take you for your dark cowardice, you little bastard!" Aysel shouted. He pulled at his axe, bringing it up.

Ignoring the burning pain that filled his body and the salty taste of blood filling his mouth, Jherek forced himself to his feet. He stepped into Aysel, seizing the man's left arm in a hold Malorrie had taught him. Moving in close to the bigger man, holding the arm in a controlling position, Jherek pulled with his upper body and twisted at the same time.

Aysel left the floor, his foot tearing free of the floor with the knife still in it.

Jherek brought the big sailor down hard on the floor. Aysel reached for him, but Jherek slid away. As the big man hobbled to a standing position, grabbing dazedly at the knife impaling his foot, Jherek grabbed a broken chair leg from the floor and swung it from his shoulder.

The chair leg crashed into Aysel's temple with a dulled smack, turning his head.

Incredibly, the man remained standing for a moment.

Jherek watched uncertainly, fighting to sip his breath past the broken feeling in his ribs. If Aysel continued fighting, he wasn't sure he had anything left. Still, he kept his grip on the chair leg, then Aysel fell, pitching face forward onto the floor. Sawdust gusted up when he hit.

Kneeling with difficulty, Jherek felt the man's neck, relieved when he found a pulse. He'd never killed a man in anger before, and after the close call today, he knew he never would. Challenging Aysel's affront to Sabyna's honor had been a natural thing for him, something he knew he'd never be able to walk away from, but next time, he promised himself, he'd have a clearer head.

Hurting all over, his breath coming in short, painful gasps, Jherek stood. He surveyed the tavern, surprised at the destruction that had been wrought. Aysel's companions were unconscious as well, laying tumbled in the wreckage.

"Now, by Tyr," a grizzled old man at the front of the tavern crowd shouted, "that was a damn fight!"

Several of the other tavern goers loudly agreed. They came around Jherek and pounded him on the back.

Jherek's knees buckled from the impact and he almost went down. The man caught him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and laughing at how expended the young sailor was.

"Gave 'em all you had, didn't you, boy?" the old man asked.

"Aye," Jherek croaked, "maybe more." His vision still swam and his injured eye had swollen totally closed. Despite the pain that filled him, he felt proud. His cause had been just, and he'd won. At the same time, he realized how prideful and arrogant that thought was. He didn't think Malorrie would have approved. Madame litaar would have given him one of those reproachful looks that Jherek had always felt could have peeled paint.