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On the Aeryk Road
71
going on, I may have to learn how to live with a bunch of crossbow bolts in
me.
He rubbed at a slim scar that curved around the left side of his collarbone. A
knife had left that as a remembrance of Lundeyll; it hadn't been any fun at
all. One of his own knives, and it had cost quite a bit to get it replaced in
Pandathaway. In fact
Enough.
It was time to stop stalling, and get it done.
One way or the other.
He set the knife down with the bulk of the oak's trunk between it and the view
of the watchman, and raised himself on his toes and fingertips, inching
slowly, silently into the cover of the tree.
Aim for the chest, Karl had said. Very well; the chest it would be.
Picking up the knife between the thumb and first two fingers of his right
hand, he stood and moved quickly to his right. Raising the knife to shoulder
level, he threw, then dove for the cover of the grasses.
With a flicker of steel, the knife tumbled end over end through the night air.
The guard must have seen the sudden movement; with a grunt, he jerked back and
to the side. The knife's hilt caught him a glancing blow in the left arm, then
fell away in the dark.
"Datharrrrti!" the guard called out as he reached for his crossbow and jumped
to his feet.
Raiders!
Oh, shit.
Karl had said to hide in the shadows, but he hadn't been counting on this.
With a functioning cross-bowman on the roof of the wagon, the fight would be
over before it began.
The bowman, a blocky little man, leveled his crossbow at Walter.
Ignoring the rustle of branches overhead, Walter broke into a staggered
sprint, snatching another of his knives from his belt and throwing it, still
on the run. At least it might distract the bowman for a second or two.
With a meaty thunk, the knife sank into the watch-man's thigh. His leg
crumpled; he fell to the roof, a sound halfway between a scream and a groan
issuing from his
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72
THE
SWORD
AND THE CHAIN
lips.
Clapping his hands to his leg, he dropped the cross-bow.
Walter reached the side of the wagon. Without a pause, he grasped the edge of
its roof and pulled himself up.
Below, steel clashed against steel. Karl fought with the gigantic swordsman
who had been sleeping next to the campfire. Swords flashed in the firelight;
screams and shouts filled the air.
Groaning, the watchman pulled the knife from his thigh, rose to his knees, and
lunged at Walter, stabbing downward.
Walter caught the descending arm with both hands, stopping the razor-sharp
point just inches from his left eye. A clout to the side of his head set the
world spinning, but he held on as they rolled around the rough wood.
The watchman's free hand clawed at Walter's throat; the rough fingers fastened
on his windpipe. Walter tried to drag air into his lungs as they struggled
face to face, gasping as he drew in the foul reek of wine on the other's
breath.
Inexorably, the knife moved toward his face, the point seeking his left eye,
as if on its own volition.
Walter pushed against the knife arm. The blade's progress slowed; the point
stopped four inches from his eye.
His hands started to tremble. The point moved closer. Three inches away, then
two, then
With a heave, Walter lurched on top of the slaver, driving his knee into the
open wound on the other's thigh.
The watchman screamed; his fingers loosened from Walter's throat. Just for a
moment, the watchman's right arm lost its strength.
Walter didn't wait for him to recover; he twisted the knife arm behind the
watchman's back and up, past the hammerlock position, until he felt a
sickening, wet pop as the arm separated from the shoulder socket,
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file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Joel%20Rosenberg%20-%2002%2
0-%20The%20Sword%20And%20The%20Chain.txt the knife falling from the slaver's
limp fingers.
OntheAerykRoad
. 73
The slaver whimpered; feebly, he kicked at Walter, trying to slide away on his
belly.
With one smooth motion, Walter snatched up the knife and stabbed downward into
the other's kidney. He pulled the knife out and stabbed again, and again, and
again, as the blood poured from the slaver's wounds.
With a muffled scream, the slaver twitched, then fell still.
Walter's stomach rebelled; he fell to his hands and knees, sour vomit spewing
from his mouth. Wiping his oiouth with a bloody hand, he willed his body back
under control.
Below, Cullinane sliced down at his huge opponent's swordarm; as the other
parried, Karl whipped the manriki-gusari around the slaver's blade and jerked,
sending both the manriki-gusari and his enemy's sword flipping end over end
into the night. He lunged in full extension; his blade slid into the slaver's
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throat, almost to the hilt. Blood fountained as Karl kicked the slaver off his
blade; the giant gave a bubbling groan and fell face down onto the campfire.
As he lay there motionless, the fire hissed, sending up clouds of smoke and
steam. A reek of scorched flesh reached Walter's nostrils. He gagged, but
quelled the urge to vomit again.
"Walter," Karl shouted, "are you okay?"
Walter nodded.
Chak walked slowly into the dwindling firelight, his falchion dripping with
blood. "Mine's taken care of.
But where's Ohrmyst?"
Walter vaulted to the ground, letting his knees give to absorb the shock.
"We've got to find him.
Quickly I
If he gets away "
"I know, dammit. I know." Karl looked from side to side, his face a snarling
rictus. "Chak, you go that way, I'll-"
He stopped, lowering the point of his sword.
Cullinane smiled. He scanned the ground for a
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