Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [70]
This man was good. There'd be no fooling him with swift turns. She cast a glance at the other brigand – Mielikki damn him, he was close! – and came down charging at another foe. Best swing around him to put the stumbler between her and his blade-master fellow, and – They were both fast. She caught the stumbler's blade on her own, but the other blade thrust hard into her from behind. It passed through her as if through smoke, of course, but blue fire arced from sword to sword – and the tip of one of them was protruding from her own belly, thrust through from behind.
The pain was like being plunged into a fire. Or rather, like having a fire burst from nothingness into instant full roaring inside her, blazing up through her ribs to choke her and leave her sobbing and trembling helplessly.
Through her whimpering agony Sharantyr heard both men swear in astonishment at her lack of blood and solidity – and swing their swords again, that damned blue fire arcing and sizzling between the blades in hungry lines of blue sparks.
"Die, she-wolf!" one of the brigands snarled, as she circled desperately away from them. He lunged at her.
Good, that kept them both facing her, so she couldn't get caught between them and pinned or grappled.
Which meant… if she could somehow stand more of this pain…
Yes! Sharantyr refrained from parrying the blade coming at her. Instead, she embraced it and ran along it, until his knuckles struck her belly. The agony of blue fire raging in her was almost too much to bear, but she kept hold of her blade somehow and slashed it across his face. He fell away with a snarl, his blade clawing numbingly down her legs to clang on the road stones beneath her boots. She kicked the wound she'd made, hard, as she sprang over him and into a whirling parry against the last brigand.
The swordmaster who was so swift and so good.
Their blades met and sang, whirled, and sang again, and at every strike blue fire arced from his steel to the fallen blades of his fellows. She saw his intent in her foe's face even before he tried it. He wanted to snatch up the blade of the man she'd just blinded and catch her between the two blades, knowing the magic would hurt her where steel could not. She'd no time to sort through Lhaeo's bag for particular gems, or any other aid at all, and she lacked the strength and speed to stop this stratagem now.
So Sharantyr let him snatch up that second blade, by backing away and slashing out the throat of the one she'd wounded. "Three down," she panted aloud, trying to enrage or unsettle him, but the last brigand only smiled.
"So I'll have you all to myself," he said lightly, as he stepped forward with a sword in each hand and blue fire snarling silently between them, "to teach you true pain."
Sharantyr stepped away from him, taking care not to trip over any of the bodies. No, let him try to stalk her over them. "My," she replied more calmly than she felt, "that should be fun."
"Oh, yes," he purred. "You'll find I'm a very good teacher. I ran my own school of the sword in Athkatla for twelve seasons."
"Until they caught you at something, I've no doubt,"
Sharantyr replied coolly, circling away from him again. His smile broadened. They both knew who was better with a blade and who was swifter and stronger – and it wasn't the lady ranger. Flamewind stamped and made a small sound of fear and irritation well behind the man, but he never so much as let his eyes flicker. Carefully he advanced, blades out and ready.
Something burned Sharantyr's foot, and she looked down and saw another brigand's blade, alight with blue fire. The swordmaster rushed at her, but she managed to snatch up the fallen blade before his swords could quite touch her, and flung it right at his face.
Gods, but he was fast! The Athkatlan's swords caught the spinning steel and struck it aside, so it only sliced a lock of hair from him as it whirled away – but blue fire burns brigands, too, and he cried out, blinded for a moment.
A moment was