R. Salvatore - The Dame

Moh Li gave a cry that told the Highwayman the man was charging at his back. At the last possible moment, the Highwayman reached down and grabbed the sword on his left hip with a backhand grip so that he easily pulled it free and snapped it back out under his right arm, blade stabbing behind him.

Just as Moh Li leaped for him.

The man collided with the Highwayman, but not hard, for he was scrambling desperately to avoid impalement. The Highwayman’s sword angled down, and Moh Li crumpled to the floor. The Highwayman pulled the blade free and spun to see him writhing in agony. Moh Li had come in with a flying kick and had taken the sword into the back of his thigh, a deep, deep wound. Screaming, he flailed around now, trying to stem the blood flow.

“Shut up,” the Highwayman said to Moh Li, kicking him in the face, silencing him. Perhaps he would bleed out, perhaps not. The Highwayman didn’t care. Perhaps Pactset Va would choke from the throat kick, perhaps not. Images of dead Jameston filled Bransen’s mind, and he did not care about these men’s suffering.

He stalked through the room and kicked open the opposite door into the small anteroom before Affwin Wi’s large chamber entryway. That second door swung wide before Bransen crossed to it. There stood Merwal Yahna staring at him, staring at his bloody sword. No look of revulsion showed on Merwal Yahna’s face, though. Indeed, the man’s smile widened wickedly.

The Highwayman reacted with anger, leaping ahead, but Merwal Yahna anticipated the charge, for he was moving even as Bransen did. The warrior from Behr leaped backward and to the side, and the Highwayman went through the door in a rush, skidding to an abrupt stop, acutely aware that Merwal Yahna was not alone in the room.

“You act rashly, warrior,” said Affwin Wi, standing in a corner of the room. “Jhesta Tu do not act in such a manner.”

“But they murder without cause,” Bransen replied through clenched teeth.

“He found his friend,” reasoned Merwal Yahna.

Bransen turned sharply to Affwin Wi and started to ask why, but he bit it back. It didn’t matter; he didn’t even want to know. He presented his sword toward Merwal Yahna, inviting him to battle.

The warrior snapped out his nun’chu’ku in a dizzying, spinning blur, ending his fast movement with a battle shout. He held the poles straight before him, leather cord taut, the muscles on his arms tight under the black silk sleeves of his shirt.

At the back of the room, Affwin Wi similarly exploded into sudden motion, whirling her arms in wide circles as she leaped into a wide-legged, ready crouch.

“A’shin ti!” Merwal Yahna shouted at her. “Abidu a’shin ti!”

Bransen didn’t know the exact translation of the phrase, but he recognized it as plea from the warrior that Affwin Wi allow him to fight this battle alone. From the corner of his eye, he watched Affwin Wi relax and stand up straight, bringing her hands together before her chest and offering a slight bow before stepping back.

Bransen’s gaze shifted back to Merwal Yahna. The Behrenese’s face was locked in a stare of absolute concentration and simmering eagerness. The man went into another flourish, releasing the nun’chu’ku with his right hand and sending it into a violent spin with his left, around and up, over his head and around, and around the back of his head, where he caught it in his right hand and continued the flow around the other side.

The Highwayman didn’t let him continue his display. Bransen rushed forward with a sudden and ferocious stab, retraction, and slash of his blade. Neither came close to hitting the agile Merwal Yahna, who deftly reversed the spin of his own weapon to send it snapping out to intercept.

But Bransen leaped to his right, using the malachite to enhance the great jump and turning his hips to keep his shoulders squared to the warrior from Behr as he sailed past. He bent his legs as he came over a chair, planting one foot on the arm, the other on the back and riding it to the ground as it tipped over.

Merwal Yahna came in fast pursuit, but Bransen hooked his foot under the arm of the chair as it and he descended. He kicked out, launching the chair Merwal Yahna’s way.

Merwal Yahna blocked the spinning chair with a straightened leg, then battered it aside with his nun’chu’ku, breaking off pieces with the mighty blows.

The Highwayman seized the moment and leaped at him, kicking and stabbing. Up came the nun’chu’ku, spinning and snapping. Bransen blocked with his foot, then with his blade, then again to the left and back to the right. He stabbed ahead and Merwal Yahna’s weapon was there, wood slapping the side of the sword, and again a second time.

There was no thinking here, no movements other than instinct as the two warriors let loose tremendous volleys and counters, wood hitting metal, sword slapping nun’chu’ku, a leg thrusting forward to steal momentum from a swinging pole and absorb the blow, an open palm slapping flat against the side of the sword, turning the thrust harmlessly aside.

It went on for a long while, a furious explosion that rolled and rolled from one end of the room to the other. Only Affwin Wi, so trained in the ways of battle, witnessed it. To her, it was a thing of beauty, a dance of precision and discipline.

To any other onlookers, it would have seemed a thing of chaos, a blur of movement and a cacophony of discordant sounds. Untrained onlookers would have gasped through every heartbeat, thinking a kill to be had.

Affwin Wi just smiled, pleased that her lover was showing himself so well here and excited by the possibilities of this stranger who had taught himself the ways of the warrior.

Bransen stepped quickly back against a sudden burst of snapping nun’chu’ku thrusts, the pole popping forward in the air before him in rapid succession. He felt the broken chair behind his heels and jumped backward reflexively, landing lightly.

Over the chair came Merwal Yahna, leaping high in a spin. He landed with his right side facing Bransen and unrolled his right arm out at the Highwayman, the nun’chu’ku lashing out like an extension of his arm.

But Bransen had seen the movement in his mind before it had happened. As soon as Merwal Yahna had leaped the chair, Bransen had known the end of the play. More importantly, he knew that his opponent could not easily alter the ending.

Instead of backing away, the Highwayman went forward and leaped high above the swing of the nun’chu’ku. He threw his sword up past Merwal Yahna, a daring distraction. Bransen turned as he sailed and kicked out, scoring a stunning blow to Merwal Yahna’s face, snapping the man’s head back viciously. He landed close to the warrior, his chest against Merwal Yahna’s outstretched hand. Without slowing, Bransen punched his right arm under Merwal Yahna’s elbow, then stabbed it out across the man’s back, planting his hand firmly against Merwal Yahna’s opposite shoulder blade. At the same time, with his left hand he grabbed Merwal Yahna’s weapon hand. As soon as he had executed this locking hold, Bransen drove forward and upward hard, throwing all his weight into the move. Merwal Yahna, dazed by the kick, still stuck in the momentum of his initial attack, couldn’t begin to turn about appropriately to respond.

Bransen heard the pop of the man’s shoulder coming out of joint, and he drove ahead again to accentuate the move and the pain. He released fast, unafraid of the nun’chu’ku at that point, and spun backward, lifting his foot in a circle kick that caught Merwal Yahna square in the chest, knocking him back several steps. To his credit the tough warrior didn’t fall, but the Highwayman pursued, jabbing hard with a left-right combination, avoiding Merwal Yahna’s attempt to block with his right arm and hitting him squarely in the face.