Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [122]
The shorter marione sprang at him. With one thrust, the tumanhofer stopped him on the point of the Sword of Valor. He pulled back, removing the blade and allowing the man to fall.
The shock of his ready defense held the other two henchmen back.
“Get him, you fools,” ordered Mernantottencat.
The two men pulled knives with long, wicked blades. They brandished the intimidating weapons in front of them. Moving in sidesteps, they widened the distance between them, making Bealomondore’s chances of defending himself harder.
The tactic didn’t overly alarm Bealomondore. He’d been in battle, surrounded by dozens of the enemy. He jumped to the back of a stuffed chair, and as the chair fell, he used it to launch a somersault over the other marione. As Bealomondore came down behind him, he sliced the man’s jacket from collar to hem. The tip of his sword penetrated the cloth and left a deep, red line on his skin.
The man yelled and put his hands behind him as if to examine his wound. Bealomondore deftly carved two small circles on each hand.
He whirled just in time to see the other tumanhofer thug throw his knife. He deflected it with his sword and pointed his weapon at the now unarmed man. The wounded man dropped to his knees, but Bealomondore didn’t trust him. He still held a knife.
Bealomondore stepped sideways, taking the attention of the three men away from where his father stood, dumbstruck, behind his desk.
The downed man shouted, “Here!” and threw his knife to the one who stood between Mernantottencat and Bealomondore.
Deftly snatching the knife by its handle, the thug feinted a charge from the left, shifted, and dived from the right. Bealomondore jumped to the side and kicked the man in the stomach as he roared past. The enemy fell on his knife but only wounded his leg. He hobbled up, ready to charge again. If Bealomondore turned, he would face this charging bull but have his back to the treacherous Mernantottencat. Instead, he whirled back a few steps to end up behind the leader of this unsavory pack.
Grinning, Bealomondore grabbed Mernantottencat. With one arm bent to the breaking point behind his back and a stinging blade pressed against his throat, Mernantottencat didn’t move.
Bealomondore smiled at the brutish tumanhofer. “Stay where you are, and drop your knife.”
The knife thudded on the carpet.
“Move over to the wall, next to the dead man.”
He complied.
“You!” Bealomondore indicated the other man with a chin thrust. “Crawl over to the other side of your fallen mate.”
He went on his knees, cradling his injured hands.
“Not too close. You aren’t going to need his knife, so just forget about it.” Bealomondore spoke without taking his eyes off the villains. “Father?”
“Yes, son.”
“Open the door, and let King Yellat’s men in. They’re coming into the outer office now.”
“You heard them?”
“No, Det heard them and told me.” He smiled a more cheerful grin than the one he’d used on the rogues. “His hearing is better than mine.”
Mernantottencat growled, “No one told me you have a warrior son, Master Bealomondore.”
“I don’t,” said the father. “This is my son, the artist. You should see his paintings.” The old man chuckled. “His art is better than his fighting, which is better than his hearing.” He laughed out loud as he went to the door. “And his hearing is better than your scheming. You’ve lost this battle, Mernantottencat. And I think I’ve won more than this skirmish.”
48
Hollee
Meeting people topped Hollee’s Happy Things to Do list. Being down in the cavern with her wizard and his librarian had made her right palm itch. In Prince Jayrus’s valley, she could shake hands all day long and still have more people to meet the next day. Coming up out of the hole and talking to Sage had changed life for the better.
And now company abounded in the cavern, and the new tunnels were being built. Dragons roamed beneath the ground, guarding the statues and watching for intruders. Tumanhofers