Rylan pulled the door the rest of
the way closed. How could she have
dropped the thrice cursed door handle? The
voices in the common room stopped. She
pulled the knife out and held it ready in her right hand as she backed away
from the door. She pushed Anaya behind
her. The girl was gripping her knife so
hard her knuckles had turned white. Rylan
turned back to face the door. Nallah yanked it open, her sword in hand. One of the men was behind her.
A wild cry erupted and Erros leapt
onto the man behind Nallah. She heard
steel meet steel and a man fell into the room, a surprised look on his face and
a growing, crimson stain on his chest.
She turned to Anaya.
“Stay here.” she said. Erros had pushed into the common room, his
blade a silvery blur as he engaged the mercenaries. She saw him parry the attack of one, slice
his blade down the leg of another and bring it back up to block the clumsy,
overhand blow of a third. His blade
flicked out and another man lurched back, clutching his arm where Erros had
opened him from elbow to wrist.
Rylan saw Nallah sneaking up behind
Erros, blade in hand. She wasn’t paying
Rylan any heed. As Nallah passed in
front of her Rylan tackled her. She drove the knife forward as hard as she
could. The other woman’s surprise was
total, and Rylan felt her knife drive deep into Nallah’s back. They both fell and Rylan lost her grip on the
knife. Nallah squirmed under her and
Rylan hauled back and punched her in the face.
The other woman threw an arm up to protect herself but Rylan punched her
again and again and again. Nallah went
still and Rylan got up, grabbing the knife out from under the woman. Nallah didn’t move further and Rylan paid her
no more mind. Erros blocked a blade that
was aimed at Rylan’s head. She locked
eyes with him and smiled. He winked back
and just as quickly was spinning around again, his blade a steel shield against
the five opponents in the common room.
His blade was barely visible as it wove back and forth, blocking,
attacking, blocking again. She knew she
was safe behind that barrier.
“Get the Princess. We need to leave!” he yelled. Rylan stopped watching and went back into the
room.
“I’m here.” The Princess said. She still clutched the knife in her hand.
“Let’s go.” Rylan said. Another man tried to flank Erros so Rylan
jabbed her knife into his side. Erros
blocked another cut aimed at her, but took a slice along his ribs for his
efforts. Erros was bleeding from dozens
of minor wounds. She backed out of the
room and onto the porch at the front of the inn.
* * *
Erros was pressed by the four
remaining mercenaries. He dodged the
blade of one only for his shoulder to meet the incoming mace of another. He staggered to one knee but didn’t drop his
guard. Another man came at him from the
front, and Erros parried his blade while twisting away from the mace
wielder. His blade reached out and found
the man’s arm, stabbing through his forearm and forcing him to drop the
weapon. Erros lunged and his blade bit
deep, felling the man. Erros felt a
sharp pain as another man came in and caught his thigh with the point of his
blade. He hadn’t dodged in time, and the
remaining three were pressing him towards the door. He took several long steps back, inviting
them to close with him. The first man
did so and was met with the blur of Erros’ blade. A slash across the face sent him stumbling
back amongst his fellows and Erros turned and ran out the door.
He bumped into the Princess who was
standing behind Rylan on the front porch.
Facing them were at least a dozen men, three of whom were on
horseback. One of the mounted men,
dressed in finer clothing than the mercenaries around him, was talking.
“Please, there is no need for
violence. Your Grace, despite our
initially harsh methods you will not be harmed.” The man said, staring straight
at Anaya.
“Unfortunately, our goals are at
cross-purposes to your mother’s. A
regrettable circumstance of politics.
Lay down your weapons, and no one need be harmed any further.” Erros took an instant dislike to the man’s
oily voice, too-well-coiffed hair and eyes that did not match the mild
words. Something about him was familiar
too.
“I have seen you before.” He told
the man, pointing at him with his bloodstained blade. “You were at the Queen’s court. You work for one of the Barons.”
“And you are?” the man asked.
“Erros Mardaak, Swordsman of the
Queen, and the man who will kill you all if you try to take the Princess.” He
said. He stepped in front of the Princess
and Rylan. He grasped Rylan’s hand in
his free on and gave it a squeeze.
“They’re behind us too.” Rylan
whispered at him.
“I know.” He whispered. “When it is time, go for the horses. Remember who he is when you reach the Queen.”
“Time for what? What are you –“ before she could finish Erros
leapt off the porch, blade sinking deep into the man nearest him.
“Run!” he yelled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rylan
punch her knife into one of the men behind them and drag Anaya off the porch. All the men in front of the inn were focused
on him and he was going to keep it that way.
They were also going to regret it.
He lashed out around him, his attacks
focusing left and right so none could flank him. Every time one of them tried Erros was there,
stepping into their attack. He was the
shield protecting Rylan and the Princess.
He danced across the ground, always between the mercenaries and his
charges so they could escape. Two blades
came at him at once, one of them he blocked but the strength of its wielder
prevented him from sliding it away and the other sword drew a bloody line down
his arm. He backed away, his blade
finding the owner and ending his ability to fight forever.
Another man tried to get behind him.
Erros spun back and away to the right, his sword carving a path across the
man’s belly. Another blade snuck in to
cut Erros’ leg and he ducked and rolled away from the knot of men that had grown
around him. He rose and went on the
offensive. He savagely hacked at one man
who backed away parrying. Another man,
who was his real target, moved into the opening Erros had left. Erros stepped
back, parried the incoming blow and shoved his blade into the man’s guts. That one fell but the others kept coming.
Rylan and Anaya had almost reached
the horses but two mercenaries were in close pursuit. Erros spun around, taking a blade in the back
of the shoulder where his armour was weakest, while another skidded across his cuirass,
cutting into the flesh at his waist. He
ignored the pain and drove onwards. The
two men didn’t see him coming, so intent were they on their prey. His first stroke ended the closest, a slash
across the back of the neck felling him.
The second turned but it was too late as Erros’ sword slashed across his
face then plunged into his torso just under the ribs. He collapsed with a gurgle.
“Go!” he yelled as Rylan turned as
if to help him. Another man jammed a
knife into Erros from behind. The pain was
like fire inside him but he turned and the man lost his hand and life to Erros’
blade. Two more men caught up to him and
he blocked both their blows. His riposte
sent the tip of his blade down one man’s face.
The other lunged in, scoring another line across Erros’ ribs. A third man swept in and Erros managed to
block his thrust.
He dared a glance over his shoulder and saw Rylan on one of the
horses with Anaya behind her. Rylan
looked back at him, mouthed ‘thank you’ and kicked the horse into motion. None of the men were near them. He crashed back into the group before him,
the dagger in his back ripping through more muscle. He concentrated on the offense, determined to
swiftly kill as many of them as he could so they couldn’t chase Rylan and the
Princess. Two fell to him, his blade
carving deep, but he took cuts to his arms, legs and even one to his face. Blood was flowing freely down his limbs but
he didn’t care. He had to keep them
busy, had to keep them from giving chase.
Slash, block, cut, parry, riposte, block, lash out again, and again, and
again. His vision narrowed to the man in
front of him. He cut that man down, barely
surviving another round of blows from the others. More of his blood dripped to the ground. Weave, parry, lunge. Another man fell before him; another blade
carved a fresh furrow on his body. Someone
smashed his head with something heavy.
He staggered to one knee, his blade lashing out and cutting his
assailant to the bone.
More blades came at him. He
blocked, parried, thrust. More were
getting through. He heard yelling and
screaming, but it was hard to tell over the blood pounding in his ears. He collapsed to his other knee, sword still
held before him. He looked around him to
see where Rylan was, to make sure she got away.
He couldn’t see her. The pain crashed
over him and he couldn’t resist any longer.
The ground rushed up to meet him and then nothing.
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