The Floodgate - Elaine Cunningham [95]
Working together, the Crinti's weapons formed a deadly parenthesis that cut off evasion or retreat.
Retreat was the last thing on Matteo's mind. He leaped in close and slammed his dagger into the curved cross guards of the female's sword. The heavy blow jolted through his arm and sang down his spine, but he did not allow the pain to slow his counterattack. With all his strength he heaved upward, first stopping the sword's momentum and then forcing the enjoined blades up. At the same time he spun his body swiftly under the locked weapons, forcing his opponent to turn with him so that they stood back to back. With his longer reach he heaved the weapons high and broke the woman's grip on her sword as his spin brought him inside the path of the flail.
The Crinti's sword clattered to the rocky ground. Matteo gritted his teeth as the flail's chain wrapped heavily against his thighs, but the real danger-the spiked metal head-slammed into his opponent's leg with a wet, sickening thud.
Matteo quickly brought his dagger hand down and jabbed lightly at the gray hand grasping the flail handle. The Crinti snarled and released her grip. Matteo shoved aside the chain and whirled away, then lashed out behind him with one foot. The kick caught the Crinti just above the back of her knees. She fell heavily to her hands and knees. Recovering quickly, she pushed herself off the ground and leaped to her feet, ignoring the blood that poured from the holes the flail's spikes had punched through her gray leather leggings.
The jordain snatched up her fallen sword, keeping his familiar dagger as a companion weapon. He'd already proven the value of a longer reach, and none of his own weapons matched the second sword the shadow amazon carried on her left hip.
The Crinti drew her sword-twin of the weapon Matteo held-and spun it in a deft circle. Though her gesture held the flavor of ritual, Matteo knew better than to mirror her move. The sword was heavy and strangely balanced: She knew the weapon, he did not.
Matteo stepped back and took several short cuts to get the feel of the weapon. Its weight leaned closer to the point than he was accustomed to-a choice that added power to a thrust or cut and that spoke of great strength and deadly intent. He did not relish the idea of fighting the Crinti warrior with such an unfamiliar weapon.
The elfblood exploded into motion. To Matteo's astonishment, she tossed her sword into the air. It flipped end over end and fell, point down. She caught the sword as it fell, her hands fisted at the midpoint of the blade. Blood seeped from between her white-knuckled fingers as she clenched the weapon. She caught Matteo's eye, sneered, and spat.
Then she raised the sword point to her chest and with both hands drove it into her own heart.
With her last strength she threw herself backward, as if determined not to fall prostrate at his feet. She landed hard and her arms flew out wide. Her bloody hands spasmed into clenched fists, slowly opened, and fell slack.
For a long, shocked moment Matteo stared at the dead warrior.
"It is their custom," Andris said softly. "A Crinti who feels herself disgraced will chose death over shame. They are a brutal people, but proud."
Matteo slowly turned to his friend. "How did you come by this knowledge?"
Andris swept one hand in a wide circle that encompassed the high, wild country. "This is the Nath. If you wish to survive, you must learn of its dangers."
"That does not mean you must join them!" Matteo protested. "Gods above, Andris, what are you doing?"
The jordain's ghostly jaw firmed. "What I think is right. Go your way, and leave me to it."
"You know that I cannot. Kiva must be found and stopped. The Crinti bandits are my only link to her."
Even as he spoke, he knew his words to be false. The shuttered expression on Andris's ghostly face forced Matteo to admit the full and painful truth.
"You fight with Kiva again," he marveled, "and with the accursed Crinti!
Andris, what could possibly