Of course, as with all plans Alia had devised of late, this one like every other, took a distinctly quick and wrong turn. “Then there is, as you say.” Cadell acknowledged Elliott. “No point in keeping the golden giantess alive any longer then.”
Crud.
“…Although, there is still the matter of the outstanding money you owe me for shooting your cousin.”
“He didn’t die!” Elliott spat out from between clenched teeth, eyes blazing with anger.
“The agreement we had was that I would mortally wound the man, which I did. I cannot be held accountable for miraculous healers being present to bring him back from the brink. You will hand over the money we agreed upon…” Cadell’s tone icy cold. “…immediately, or there will be a reckoning.”
The bark of laughter that erupted from Elliott sent nearby nesting birds skywards. “With what monies, you idiot? I’m still only the heir, and I may not even be that for too much longer if my cousin’s wife births a boy. I live from card game to card game. If he was dead, I could have delivered… but you didn’t kill him!”
“That wasn’t the agreement!” Cadell lifted his bow and arrow, his attention upon Elliott. Who was at the same time shifting his target, straining to stretch his bow and swivel so he could return aim at Cadell.
Finally. Alia broke for Cadell. Out the corner of her eye she noted Talac, still on his knees, swivelling fast and lunging for Elliott.
She prayed hard, so very hard, that for once, just cruddy once, a plan she was instigating worked… miracles did happen she’d been told. Just usually not to her.
Still, she prayed, leaping forward, silently bargaining with the Gods. It didn’t matter what happened to her, just please, please, let Talac emerge from this encounter unscathed… please.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Go. See to the boys.”
It took everything Brandth had to follow Perri’s instructions. To leave her side as all hell broke loose. Arrows flying. Men yelling. Bodies tumbling to the ground. But he had promised to let her be the one to deal with Regal. More importantly, Perri was trusting him to see to the welfare of her greatest treasure, Levi.
Fine. Brandth would go, but quickly, dispatch one evil henchman and be back in less than a minute to back up Perri. Except, even as he took a step, lifting his crutch up, breaking it in half to withdraw his hidden sword, Brandth noted that the two fellows who had been guarding the perimeter had rushed to the side of Bilg, the man standing over the bound youths. Cruddy hell.
He understood why, as he drew closer. The three men obviously brothers, with the same doughy features, height and broad chests. One sported a cudgel. While Bilg and the other one held long blades. Hell, Brandth started to run as Bilg glanced his way, grinning to reveal several teeth missing, raising his sword above Levi’s prone form, readying himself to make a downwards strike.
Ignoring the ache in his leg, Brandth sped up. Time slowed. He reached for more speed, all the while knowing he would be too late… too slow.
Then a miracle, the older boy, Deacon, rolled hard to the left, shoving both himself and Levi sideways across the slippery slightly sloping riverbank. Bilg, having committed to the downward strike, could not break off his action. As his blade sliced deeply into the mud and stuck there for a moment, Brandth brushing past the man at an all-out run, skewering Bilg through the heart with his rapier. Whipping it out of the falling body, turning to face Bilg’s brothers. One howling in grief. The other snarling out an angry shout of promised retribution.
Ducking a cudgel swipe that would have seen his head cleaved from his body, Brandth just managed to side step the jab of the other brother’s sword. They were angry, upset, but these two weren’t stupid. Dividing, taking up stances on either side of Brandth. Giving him two fronts on which to both defend and fight.
It meant Brandth had to keep switching his focus, whilst still trying to hold his defensive guard up. An impossible task. Slash. Swish. Jab. He was all but dancing, unfortunately unable to avoid every strike, with only split seconds to determine which attacks he might possibly survive, versus those that might irreparably harm him.
Being a gentleman of means was paying off. Brandth’s stylish jacket made of keymoat skin, all but impenetrable to any blade or needle not made of keymoat bone. So more often than not Brandth chose to incur the jab of the sword. He would be bruised but not skewered. Besides, the bigger lad with the cudgel appeared determined to crush his bones to smithereens. With a particular preference for targeting Brandth’s skull. And Brandth had a very distinct wish to keep his brains safely intact in his head.
Fights were always frantic. When you were the one involved it felt like they lasted an age. But funnily enough, most only last a few minutes. Skill and brute strength being an early decider. Stamina and training winning out often if the clash went on longer.
The problem with this fight was, the man with the sword hadn’t yet figured out that he wasn’t making actual contact with Brandth every time his blade struck. The lack of blood was a glaring undeniable clue. Any moment now, he would realise and change his targeting to either Brandth’s exposed neck or his legs. He needed to act and act quickly.
There. Rearing back out of the way of the cudgel, he felt the hard jab of the other brother’s blade into his ribs, the point sliding across his jacket covered belly, the swordsman almost stumbling forward, expecting his sword to have sunk into Brandth’s flesh.
With less than a split second, sliding along the edge of the man’s blade, Brandth brought his own up, slitting the swordsman’s throat from ear to ear. No time to saviour the moment, immediately leaping backwards several feet, sensing the cudgel coming in for another swipe. Though not fast enough as the club made brief contact with his shoulder blade. Cruddy hell, ouch. Brandth’s left arm suddenly numb.
“No!” The cudgel holder protested in disbelief as his only remaining brother faltered, falling with a dull thud down on to the churned muck. His expression scrunching up into murderous rage. Dashing forward. The last standing brother swiped the cudgel back and forth, making the air sing as it passed by.
By the nine circles. Brandth only had one option, and thankfully his left arm was already numb, so it wasn’t going to hurt too much. Okay, he knew he was lying to himself. But he had very little choice.
He ducked. Side stepped the next swipe aimed at his chin. And then swung his left arm up to block the cudgel as it headed for his chest. Oh, yes, that pain was all too familiar, breaking bones, but Brandth didn’t recoil away from the pain, he thrust himself towards it and his attacker, bringing his sword up and under the man’s defence, jabbing it as hard and deep as he could into the man’s gut, before going up on his toes, dragging the sword upwards as well.
Brandth could feel hot tacky blood coat his sword hand. The cudgel owner releasing a small, distressed sound. Dropping the cudgel to the ground, reaching for Brandth, perhaps with the intention of strangling him. But the man’s hands came to rest on Brandth’s shoulders instead, squeezing hard for a split second before suddenly all his strength deserted him. Stumbling back away from Brandth, clutching at his gut for a split second before his gaze went blank, his knees buckling beneath him.
Several thoughts raced through Brandth’s thankfully intact head. Pain. Perri. The boys. He glanced in Perri’s direction… Gods. She needed his help. He took a step towards her, but something made him glance over to check on the boys.
Damnation. They were covered in mud, teetering at the river’s edge, hard to tell one from the other. Clearly they had been struggling for a while to get away from the water, but the slightly sloped bank was slippery and the mud fast crumbling away beneath them, disappearing into the choppy flowing water. Deacon doing his best to push Levi back up the bank to safety just using his shoulders. But with every wriggle Deacon made, he was only sliding in deeper, the water over his bound legs and thighs now, Levi wedged up against him, desperately, futilely, trying to hold on to Deacon.
