Читать «Rising Tide (зксм-1)» онлайн - страница 70

Jherek met the blow with his cutlass. Sparks leaped from the roughened metal and rained down over the young sailor's clothing. Driven back by the impact, Jherek stumbled for his footing, his boot soles sliding across the cobblestones. He barely got the sword up in time to defend himself again.

Though fear filled him, coiling through his guts like a rabid mouse, Jherek focused his mind and skills. He kept his arm hard and relaxed at the same time, parrying the big man's raw attack with skill and strength, forced to give ground before it. Twice he got the cutlass in for blows to the body, but the edge wasn't able to bite through the leather armor. Metal clanged, filling the court with unaccustomed noise. The young sailor couldn't help wondering how many ghosts they were attracting as an audience, and he knew not all of them were benign.

"Gonna die this night, whelp," the big man promised. "Gonna spill me some cursed pirate's blood in the bargain, maybe lay claim to that bounty on that tattoo you're sporting so high and mighty on your arm." The big sword came down again.

Hearing the man's words stung Jherek, touching off the unforgiving anger that lay inside him. Malorrie had always taught him that the anger he felt was his greatest weapon, and his greatest weakness. The difference lay in control, and in whether that anger was directed inward or outward.

Jherek parried the sword blow with his cutlass, ducking down and to the side to turn it away from him and to the right. Before the big man could move, the young sailor whipped in with the hook and buried it behind the man's knee. He yanked, setting it deep.

The big man roared in pain, trying desperately to get away. He bent down to grab for the hook.

Jherek straightened, unable to bring the cutlass's blade into play. Instead, he slammed the hard metal of the basket hilt into his attacker's face, breaking his nose and sending blood in all directions. Close as he was, he felt the warmth of the man's blood splash across his own face.

The big man squalled in renewed agony, and fear was in there now as well. He put out a big hand and gouged at Jherek's eyes with hard-taloned fingers.

The young sailor went backward automatically, protecting his vision. He let go of the hook, twisting as he did so. If the man didn't have access to a healing potion or a cleric, he'd have a permanent limp. Breathing hard, Jherek moved backward two more steps, getting the distance he needed to finish the fight.

The big man stood with effort, hobbled by his injured leg. He worked at rubbing the blood from his eyes with his free hand. He kept hold of the long sword, pushing it out in Jherek's general direction.

Jherek hesitated. It was one thing to take a man's blood in the heat of battle, but another to take it when the man was so obviously helpless.

"Vyane!" the big man called.

Realizing the man wasn't alone, Jherek whirled. He brought the cutlass up to a ready position as his eyes scanned the shadows around the court. He saw the woman standing in the darkness gathered at the opposite end of the court, below the hand-lettered sign that advertised Blackthorn's Brew, the most popular festhall in all of Velen.