David Coe - Bonds of Vengeance

One of the men guarding Cadel walked over to Kalida, grabbing her by the arm, and tearing the front of her dress.

The man who remained with Cadel was looking past him at what his friends were doing, grinning with amusement. Cadel threw the punch so quickly, with such force, that the man never even had time to look at him. He merely dropped to the ground, his larynx shattered by the blow. The man by Dunstan cried out and bounded toward Cadel, but by that time the singer had his second blade in hand. The man swung at him wildly with his own weapon, but Cadel ducked under the attack and plunged his dagger into the man’s chest.

Shoving the thief off his blade, he spun toward the two who had Anesse and Kalida. The one with Kalida, pushed her to the ground, and held his weapon ready, dropping into a fighter’s crouch. Cadel didn’t falter. Striding toward the man, he lifted his weapon as if to attack. The thief lunged at him, just as Cadel knew he would. His kick caught the man just under the chin. The thief fell, rolled, tried to stand, but Cadel was on him too quickly, slashing at the brigand’s throat.

“Corbin!”

He just had time to dive away from the leader’s sword as it whistled past his head. He rolled as the other man had, and came up in his crouch, his dagger ready.

The leader advanced on him warily, the grin gone from his face, though his teeth were still bared.

“Watch behind you!” Dunstan called.

The young one had finally thrown off his fear and joined the fray. He was approaching slowly as well, dagger drawn. But Cadel had no doubt that the leader was the dangerous one. He saw Dunstan go to retrieve a dropped blade.

“Stay where you are, Dunstan! Leave them to me!”

“Ye think ye can take us, eh?” the leader said.

Even as he spoke the words though, he was already launching his next assault. He leaped at Cadel, lashing out with the short sword and holding his dagger ready. The singer danced away, seeing no opening for a counter.

“Fight, ye coward!” the leader roared at the other brigand. “Or when I’m done with “im, ye’ll be next!”

It would be a clumsy attack, born of fear and desperation. Under most circumstances, Cadel would have had no trouble defending himself. But he didn’t dare turn his back on the leader. The singer opened his stance slightly, so that he could look as easily to the rear as to the front, and he held his dagger ready.

He heard a footfall behind him, close. Dunstan cried out again.

Glancing quickly at the younger man, Cadel saw that he had already raised his weapon to strike. The leader was moving as well, closing the distance between them with a quick lunge and chopping down with his sword. Ducking wouldn’t work this time.

Instead, he swung himself down and backwards, swinging his blade arm at the younger man’s leg as he went down. He felt his blade embed itself in flesh, heard the man cry out. But rather than rolling as he had intended, he landed awkwardly, his wrist buckling under his weight.

Pain shot up his arm, white hot, like lightning in the heat of the planting turns.

The leader, who had missed with his first blow, pounced a second time, hammering down with his sword.

Cadel kicked out blindly-his only chance-and his boot glanced off the man’s forearm, deflecting the blow just enough to save him. For the moment.

The man struck at him again. Cadel rolled away and scrambled to his feet, only to find the leader leveling yet another blow at him. But this time he didn’t chop down at the singer. Instead he swung the blade, as if to take off Cadel’s head.

Cadel spun away from him, avoiding the sword. And allowing the momentum of his turn to carry him all the way around, switching his grip on his own dagger in midmotion, he tried to slam his blade into the man’s back. He misjudged the distance, however, slicing through the leader’s shirt and drawing blood from his shoulder, but doing no real damage.

Both of them backed away for just an instant, breathing hard. Cadel chanced a quick look at the other man. He was on the ground still, clutching his leg, which was bloodied just below his crotch. The leader put a hand to his shoulder, looked at the blood on his fingers, and gave a fierce grin.

“Yer no musician,” he said, his voice low.

Before Cadel could think of anything to say, the man rushed him again, raising his sword.

It was a clumsy attack. Too clumsy. At the last moment, Cadel looked not at the short sword but at the dagger, nearly forgotten, in the man’s other hand. It was swinging at his side in a wide, powerful arc, the steel glinting in the sun’s dying light.

Rather than ducking or retreating, Cadel stepped toward the attack, raising his injured arm to block the man’s dagger hand, and with the other arm pounding his own blade into the man’s stomach.

The leader let out a short, harsh gasp, his eyes widening. His dagger dropped to the ground and he grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands. But he was trembling, his legs failing him. Cadel pulled his blade from the man’s gut and thrust it into his chest. The thief sagged to his knees, blood spouting from his mouth. A moment later he toppled sideways to the dirt.

Cadel retrieved his dagger and advanced on the last man, who still lay on the ground, whimpering like a child.

“Corbin, no!” Kalida’s voice. “It’s enough!”

He halted, glaring at her. After a moment he nodded.

“Can you walk?” he asked the young thief.

“I–I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re going to have to. It’ll be dark soon, and the nights get cold here this time of year, even on a warm day.”

Dunstan began to reclaim their gold, including the coins Jaan had thrown. Cadel wanted to tell him to forget the money, but he didn’t. Instead he walked to where Anesse and Kalida were tending to Jaan. The bleeding had slowed from his nose and mouth, though his face looked a mess. His breathing seemed labored.

“I think he has a broken rib,” Anesse said, her voice tight.

“Can we get him back to Ailwyck?”

She shook her head. “I think we’d be better off returning to Fanshyre.”

“The distance is roughly the same. And the terrain’s easier to the north.”

“Ailwyck,” Jaan said weakly. “I don’t want to go back to Fanshyre like this.”

Dunstan joined them. “I found most of it. Not all.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cadel said. “We need to get Jaan back to the tavern. Can you help me carry him?”

“Of course.”

“Are you all right?” Kalida asked him, looking closely at his face.

“I’m fine.”

“It looked like you hurt-”

“I’m fine,” he said again, his voice rising.

Her face colored and she looked away.

“Let’s get him on his feet,” he said to the piper.

Dunstan nodded toward the injured man. “What about him?”

“Leave him. He’s no threat, and he’s not worth helping.” He turned to Anesse. “Find our daggers,” he said. “And theirs as well.”

“What about the sword?”

He stared at the body of the leader. “That, too.”

His wrist was screaming, and he wondered if he had broken the bone. Not that it would slow him. He’d been injured before, far worse than this. Back when he was an assassin. He nearly laughed aloud. You’ll always be an assassin . His father’s voice. He would have liked to curse the old man’s name aloud.

It was a slow, painful walk back to Ailwyck, and before they were done it turned dark and chill as well. The tavern was already full when they arrived-they could hear laughter and raucous singing coining from within. When they opened the door, however, and the tavern patrons saw the blood on Jaan’s face, silence spread through the great room like the pestilence.