Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [114]
The night he lost his hand, Corin's very soul had been rent asunder, his spirit shattered into a million fragments. Alcohol washed away much of his broken self-the fires of hate and revenge consumed even more. Pieces of what he had once been were lost beneath the earth, buried with the bodies of his dead comrades. The fragile bits that remained had been swept away by the hollow winds of a bleak and pointless existence, until there was nothing left but a shell of a once-proud warrior.
But in the past month Corin had been reborn, rising from the ashes of his own destruction. The alcohol was gone, the hateful fires of revenge were quelled. The void left by the corpses in his past had been filled by his friendship with Lhasha. There was purpose in his existence. His life had meaning and value once again.
Corin knew he might die in the dark tunnel, but he would die with the knowledge that his life had not been wasted or given in vain. Lhasha had been saved, and if the price of her salvation was an end to Corin's mortal existence, that was a sacrifice the warrior was prepared to accept.
Misinterpreting the silver-limbed warrior's stoic silence as speechless fear, the orog laughed. "I will enjoy taking your other arm this time, White Shield."
Corin let his enemy come to him, let the beast come well into the light to negate any possible advantage Graal might have in the shadowy tunnel.
The orog rushed forward, trying to gain a strategic advantage by using his momentum to drive the smaller man back and pin him against the wall. Corin stepped up into the charge, and they met with a clash of blades that rang throughout the caverns.
Corin dodged to the side, using one blade to intercept and deflect Graal's attack while the other thrust forward, looking to catch the orog on its point and use the great beast's own weight and momentum to drive the blade home.
" Graal twisted away and leaped nimbly back, showing amazing agility for a creature of his size and bulk. The sword ricocheted off the dark ringed mail covering Graal's torso. The orog was unharmed, but his advance had been blunted.
Corin followed up with a series of quick stabs and cuts at his foe's chest, forcing the orog to sidestep and spin away from the blows, turning Graal so that his back was to the wall Corin had been against only moments before.
Corin's blades flickered in and out, each swinging on a different trajectory and striking from a different angle. He went after his enemy's legs now, looking to slice open the few inches of unprotected flesh below the hem of the black, iron kilt and above the orog's heavy leather boots.
Graal stumbled back, momentarily overwhelmed by the unfamiliar dual-bladed attack. The creature parried desperately with his own heavy weapon, somehow managing to smack down each strike with the flat of the dark blade. He was unable to keep Corin off him, unable to drive the undersized warrior back or slow bis furious assault.
The orog's retreat stopped only when the beast's back touched the hard stone of the granite blocks behind him. Graal pushed off from the wall, using it for leverage as he swung his knee up, catching the Corin in the gut and doubling him over. Corin dropped to the ground and rolled away, springing to his feet.
Graal had not pressed his advantage. The orog was hesitant, Corin realized. Uncertain. The knowledge fuelled Corin's confidence.
The two combatants circled slowly, each trying to work the other into a position of disadvantage against the walls. One would advance, and the other would momentarily retreat. But just as quickly, the tide would then shift, and the aggressor would be forced back, dancing away from the counterthrusts of his foe.
With each round of give and take the warriors inflicted small wounds on each other. Dozens of small nicks and cuts on Corin's arms and body-an inevitable result of any battle-began to bleed. In and of themselves, none of the wounds was fatal, but they