Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [18]
But treachery, he knew, was part of life.
Then something flashed between him and Starad something small and slender and bright. It caught the younger man in the side, forcing him to loosen his grip on his weapon and hit the ground instead of his target.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kahless saw a warrior step back into the crowd, lighter by the weight of a throwing dagger. He vowed to remember the man, just as he would remember who had caused him to lose his footing a moment earlier.
In the meantime, there was still a battle to be fought.
Kahless scrambled to his feet and raised his blade before him, albeit with one hand. By then, Starad had pulled Out the dagger in his side and balanced it in his left hand. It was clear what he intended to do with it.
Seeing that he had no time to lose, Kahless lunged as quickly and forcefully as he could-closing the distance between them so the dagger couldn’t be thrown. With a scowl, Starad brought his blade across to intercept his enemy’s.
But just this once, he was too slow. In one continuous motion, Kahless thrust his sword deep into the younger man’s side and followed it with his shoulder, bringing Starad down like a tall tree at a land-clearing feast.
They landed together, Kahless on top of his enemyand his first thought was of the dagger. Taking a chance, he let go of his hilt and used his right hand to snatch at Starad’s wrist.
There was still a lot of strength left in Molor’s son-so much, in fact, that Kahless nearly lost the struggle for the dagger. But in the end, he forced Starad to plunge the thing into the ground.
Weaponless, hampered by the sword in his side, Starad clawed at Kahless’s face, scoring it with his nails. But the older man managed to squirm free, to lurch to his feet, and to grab hold of the sword that still protruded from between Starad’s ribs.
He pulled on it, eliciting a groan from Molor’s son.
With a sucking sound, the blade came free.
Kahless felt the weight of the sun on his face. His wounded shoulder throbbed with pain that was only just awakening. Breathing hard, sweat running down the sides of his face into his beard, he bent to recover the dagger that had preserved his life and thrust it into his belt. Then he paused to survey his handiwork.
Starad was pushing himself backward, inch by painful inch-trying to regain his sword, which had fallen from his hands at some point and still lay a meter or so beyond his grasp. There was gore running from his mouth and his nose, and his tunic was dark and sticky where Kahless had plunged his sword in.
Molor’s son was no longer a threat. Left to his own devices, he would perish from loss of blood in a matter of minutes. But despite everything, Kahless was inclined to give him one last chance-for by doing so, he’d be giving himself a chance as well.
A chance that Molor would forgive him. A chance that he might still have a place in the world.
Approaching Starad, so that his shadow fell across the man, Kahless looked down at him. Molor’s son looked up, and all the hatred in him was evident in his bulging, bloodshot eyes.
“Yield,” Kahless barked, “and I’ll spare your life.”
Starad kept on pushing himself along, though he never took his eyes off his enemy. Obviously, he had no intention of giving in.
Kahless tried again anyway. “Did you hear me, warrior? I’ll let you live if you admit your mistake.”
“I admit nothing,” Starad croaked. “If I were you, Kahless, I would kill me-because otherwise, I swear I’ll kill you.”
The older man scowled. There was no point in dragging this on. He was weak with blood loss himself and needed stitching. Raising his blade with his one good hand, he brought it down as hard as he could. Molor’s son shuddered as the spirit passed out of him.
But Kahless wasn’t through yet. Removing the dagger from his belt, he turned and threw it. Nor did the warrior who’d tripped him realize what was happening in time to avoid it.
There was a gurgling sound as the man tried to pull it from the base of his throat. He’d only half-succeeded when his legs buckled and he fell to his knees,