Shadow War - Deborah Chester [12]
That was all he could do, however. Caelan fell and rolled blindly, unsure where the Madrun was. He scrambled to his feet at once, but the Madrun was already tackling him, and brought him down with an impact that jolted half the breath from Caelan’s lungs. Caelan kicked and squirmed, but he found himself pinned by the man’s weight with the Madrun’s forearm pressed down across his throat. The Madrun lifted his sword to plunge it into Caelan’s side.
However, the swords were too long to fight with at such close quarters. Caelan got one hand free and jabbed his fingers into the Madrun’s eyes.
Howling with pain, the Madrun shifted but didn’t let go. Caelan chopped him in the throat. The Madrun made a strangling, gasping noise and went slack enough for Caelan to push free. Kicking hard against the man’s side, Caelan scrambled away, recovered his sword, and swung it around.
Just before the blade connected, however, the Madrun flung a handful of sand at Caelan’s face. Caelan had been caught once long ago by that ancient trick, but never again.
He ducked, closing his eyes, even as he finished his sword swing.
A choked cry of pain coupled with the jolting bite of steel into meat told him he had hit his mark.
Blinking, Caelan saw he had sliced into the man’s hip, but the Madrun half hobbled, half crawled away from him and recovered his sword.
Good spectacle demanded that Caelan let the man regain his feet. Good sense told him to finish the Madrun quickly while he had the chance.
Caelan wavered for an instant. Tirhin wanted more than a quick victory; he wanted the crowd in his hand. Even now, half the crowd was shouting for Caelan to finish the kill but the rest were roaring approval as Caelan stepped back and waited for the Madrun to recover. The show was not finished yet, and they loved it.
Forcing a smile, Caelan turned to the crowd and lifted his bloody sword in quick salute. They clapped and cheered all the more.
It was his second mistake.
In that moment of inattention, the Madrun regained his feet and impossibly rushed at Caelan with all the speed and fury of before. Disbelief hit Caelan at the same time as the Madrun did.
Caelan parried the attacking blow clumsily, feeling the jolt travel into his wrist and up his arm. There was no time to wonder how the Madrun could move like this with such a deep wound in his hip. There was no time for Caelan to curse his own stupidity. There was only desperation throttling him now as he fought off the Madrun again. Despite severance, he could not ignore the leaden ache creeping through his arm. As he tired from exhaustion and blood loss, he would get slower. He could not continue much longer. Yet what choice had he? The Madrun seemed tireless. Despite the blood coating his leg, the barbarian gave no evidence of pain or distress. His red eyes glared as fiercely as ever.
Perhaps he understood the principles of severance too.
That was a disconcerting thought, at a time when it was foolhardy to think too much. Grimly, Caelan forced himself to ignore everything save keeping his blade in motion. No faltering, no mistakes. He had been lucky thus far. He could not depend on fortune to save him a third time.
Back and forth they fought, scrambling and dodging, only to rush at each other again. No trick Caelan tried seemed to work. No amount of skill seemed to be enough to break through the Madrun’s guard.
Well matched, Orlo had said. It was true. For the first time, Caelan felt he had met his equal.
He could hear himself gulping air. Little black spots began to dance across his vision. Everything but the Madrun was a blur. Yet Caelan would not give up. Tirhin had promised him his freedom, and for that Caelan would go to the wall.
Caelan felt as though he had fought for hours. It should be enough. Let the crowd be happy this once so he could go home. Let the other man fall down; let him die so