Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [115]
The longer the battle raged, Corin realized, the greater his opponent's advantage would become. If he couldn't finish the orog off soon, he would surely die in the darkness of the smugglers' tunnels. The one-armed warrior launched a reckless, all-out assault against his foe, determined to bring a quick end to the confrontation-one way or another.
The sword in Corin's left hand arced down, a desperate blow designed to kill, or at least throw his already stumbling opponent off balance. The orog parried, the edge of his enormous black sword catching the flat of Corin's own blade at an angle more precise than a jeweler cutting a diamond-and Corin's sword shattered.
The shock of the vibration ran down the length of the weapon, through the blade and into Corin's hand. His hand tingled, his fingers became numb. The useless hilt slipped from his grasp and clattered on the floor to he beside the shards and slivers of tempered steel littering the ground.
The orog seized the moment and brought his own blade in hard, aiming for Corin's unprotected left side. Corin had to reach across his body with the weapon held in his metallic right arm to parry the blow, but he didn't have the leverage to fully turn the course of Graal's fierce attack.
Corin partially deflected the orog's dark blade. It bit into Corin's hip, buckling the one-armed man's leg and dropping him to a knee. A second blow came in from overhead, a wicked two-handed chop straight down. Unable to brace for the force of the attack, Corin threw his own blade up in desperation, parallel to the ground and perpendicular to the course of Graal's weapon.
Graal's sword was halted in mid-arc but the strength of the orog's blow slapped Corin's remaining sword out of his metal hand to clatter on the ground. Without pausing, the orog raised his blade for the killing blow and brought it down again on his weaponless opponent. Corin threw his right arm up over his face in a vain effort to protect himself.
The dark blade sliced down in a mere blur, powered by the fury of the orog's bloodlust. Yet for Corin, all was still. The black sword hung motionless in the air. The White Shield could see the individual etchings on the surface of the foul weapon, shimmering with an obsidian glow. The deadly arc of Graal's weapon would lop off his prosthetic arm. The blade would continue unabated, slicing through Corin's shoulder and diagonally across his torso-a sure kill.
But to Corin's awareness, time had stopped. Frozen in the moment with the dark blade hovering inches above him, the warrior's mind flashed back to a night three years ago-the night of Igland's death, the night the White Shields were betrayed, the night Corin lost his hand.
The surrounding light and shadows of the cavern dissolved into the black of a storm-filled night. The far-off cries of doomed men in distant corridors and the faint scuffling of the unseen denizens of the tunnels became the sounds of his fellow White Shields battling Graal's companions. The warm blood soaking Corin's clothes and covering his face became the cold, viscous mud of the Trader Road mixing with the pelting raindrops of the raging tempest above. Corin felt his knees sink into the ground beneath him, as if it were soft earth rather than unyielding stone.
His world had come full circle, back to where he was two years ago. Helpless once again beneath the savagery of Graal's dismembering blade.
But this time something was different. He could no longer hear the screams of his comrades dying around him. There was only silence, and knowledge came to Corin.
His companions were alive.
Unlike Igland, Lhasha and Fendel would survive this night-even if Corin did not.
The storm vanished, replaced by the surroundings of the smugglers' tunnels once again. The sinister blade still hung frozen above the gleaming silver of Corin's prosthetic arm, poised