Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [10]
The young Mace, Gareth, was still shouting into Corin's face. "We protect those who can't protect themselves- like drunks and cripples!"
Corin's head-butt dropped Gareth to the street, smashing the young man's nose in an eruption of blood. Gasps of horror came from the crowd surrounding them, mingled with a few cheers. Caught off guard by Corin's violent outburst, the remaining members of the patrol hesitated a split second before reacting. Corin didn't.
He dropped another of the city guards with a kick to the knee, and by the time the pop of the dislocated joint reached his ears Corin had already drawn his sword and brought the flat of his blade down across the helm of the third man, stunning him. Corin, despite the dual fogs of alcohol and rage, still had enough self-control to keep from using his sword's lethal edge on an Elversult guard officer.
The fourth Mace had the sense to jump out of the reach of Corin's initial mad rush. He swung his weapon in a low arc, looking to sweep Corin's legs out from under him.
Corin parried the blow and retreated-right into range of the female captain's attack. Her weapon missed his temple by inches, but came crashing down across his right shoulder.
Corin's arm went numb and his knees buckled under the force of the blow, but he managed to keep his feet. He threw his elbow back and was rewarded with a painful grunt from the patrol captain as he caught her in the chest. The man still standing in front of him swung his mace in a downward arc, but Corin spun away to the side.
The crowd had formed a wide circle around the melee-safely out of range of the violence, but close enough to watch and egg the participants on. Violence in Elversult's street was officially discouraged since Yansel-dara came to power, but a good street brawl could still get the general population fired up with bloodlust.
As Corin spun away from yet another of his opponent's attacks, he caught a glimpse of the blonde disappearing into the circle of enthusiastic spectators.
One of the Maces on the ground-the one with the dislocated knee-grabbed Corin by the ankle. Corin stomped down quickly with his free leg, leaving the pattern of his boot on the man's forehead as he kicked his opponent into unconsciousness.
While Corin was distracted by the man at his feet, the captain and the other Mace still standing tackled him, dragging the enraged warrior down to the ground, but they couldn't pin him. Punching, kicking, and twisting wildly he managed to work himself free and scramble away from his would-be captors-though he lost his sword in the struggle.
On his feet again, facing his opponents, Corin knew his chance had come and gone. The Mace Corin had dazed with the flat of his sword had risen to his feet. The young man with the broken nose was also up again, the front of his armor coated in blood. The two men now stood in formation with their captain and the fourth man who had survived Corin's initial assault. Reckless fury and the element of surprise had been Corin's only advantages, but his first mad rush had succeeded in incapacitating only one of his five opponents. Now with his sword out of reach on the ground Corin was weaponless, and confronting four armed and ready guards in battle formation.
The Maces advanced cautiously, spreading out into a wide semicircle. Corin could do little but wait for what he knew would be a coordinated attack he couldn't possibly hope to ward off.
The young one, Gareth, screamed and dropped his weapon. Hopping on one leg, he clutched at his other foot, the hilt of a tiny poniard protruding from the tongue of his boot. Blood from the deep stab wound was already soaking through the leather.
Gareth's unexpected scream attracted the attention of everyone; the Maces, the unruly spectators encircling the battle,