Dragons of the Valley - Donita K. Paul [58]
In another second, Maxon, quick and definitely wet, buzzed around the attackers’ feet. It took Bealomondore a moment to realize the kimen had a ball of twine. Maxon tangled the mariones’ legs together, severely restricting their footwork. They fell to the ground in a heap. One marione pulled out a knife and sliced through his bonds.
A squeal from Tipper caused Bealomondore to run down the bank to where the raft dipped and swayed in the water. The flow of the River Hannit ran faster as the land slanted more steeply. Librettowit desperately tried to use the pole to steady them, but the rushing water defied him. Taeda Bel held on to her rope. As Bealomondore watched, she fell on her face. The raft dragged her along the path.
“Let go,” Bealomondore yelled as he searched for the rope he’d dropped. He spotted it thrashing in the water, out of his reach.
Taeda Bel now lay in the dirt. Her rope trailed in the water as well. Librettowit shoved his pole against a rock and kept them from crashing. Tipper clung to the raft. The box she had used as a seat was nowhere in sight. Bealomondore ran to catch up.
A great weight hit his back, and he fell forward. His sword flew from his grasp. Bealomondore rolled, pushing the marione off. He scrambled on all fours toward his weapon, but the man tackled him again. This time the tumanhofer used his feet and fists, kicking and hitting at the bigger marione. His assailant easily held him down.
Realizing he’d never defeat this stronger opponent in hand-to-hand combat, he grasped for memories of boys he’d seen scrapping in the streets. Think, he demanded of himself.
He grabbed one of the marione’s ears, twisting and pulling. The marione yelled with pain. The tumanhofer got his other arm free and poked his finger in the howling man’s eye. Bealomondore squirmed loose and dove for the sword.
He grabbed the hilt, rolled on to his back, and sliced at the marione as the creature leaned over to grab Bealomondore. He gained his feet before the surprised marione came at him again, this time with a long, curved knife. Rayn swooped in and spit on the man’s face. The marione growled and wiped at his forehead with his empty hand.
Bealomondore hopped backward. The curved blade bothered him.
That looks wicked. It looks sturdier than my blade. It looks like I’d better run.
But running was not an option at the moment. The marione would just as soon stab him in the back as in the front.
Rayn bombarded the stout enemy once more. The saliva landed on his jacket. For a moment the man’s attention wavered. Bealomondore managed a thrust that pierced his clothing but apparently did not hit flesh.
The marione swung his arm at a height that would decapitate his adversary, but Bealomondore tucked himself into a somersault position and bowled into the man’s legs. He sprang to his feet and saw his foe rising. While the marione was off balance, Bealomondore kicked him in the face, sending him careening into the river.
“Maxon!” he called.
“Here.” The kimen approached, allowing his clothes to resume a soft glow.
“Weren’t there two more?”
“I secured the twine that holds them.”
Bealomondore bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, and panted. At the moment he didn’t have the strength or the breath to tackle another foe.
The light from Maxon shone on the hilt of his sword, which he still held in his right hand.
The kimen squinted and peered at the cross guard. “You’ve scratched your fine sword.”
“No, it’s words.” Bealomondore bent over to point out the inscription but paused. “That’s odd.”
“What?” Maxon leaned closer, and his light flickered over the shiny silver.
“It changed. It says, ‘Grip the Sword of Valor to protect the