Wings Over Talera - Charles Allen Gramlich [13]
I did not resent the man’s attempt to flee—I would have done the same in his place—but I was determined not to let him get away. There was information to be had.
I came to my feet, loosing my hold on Rannon.
“The reiver,” I shouted.
The others saw, leaped up as well.
“I’ll fetch him,” I said. “Rhandh! You and Rannon get everyone ashore.” I had no fear for their safety. All of them were excellent swimmers and there was plenty of wood to cling to.
I ran forward, stopping only long enough to borrow a rapier and thrust it into my belt before diving over the side in pursuit of the mercenary.
I wondered if I would have to kill him to stop him.
I wondered if he was better with a sword than I was.
CHAPTER FOUR
ON THE RIVER TO TIMMUZZ
I sliced the water cleanly in my dive, going deep to come up again a dozen feet out from the side of the crashed airship. The shock of the winter river seared my burns, sucked at my air. I fought through it, struck out for shore in the wake of the man ahead of me.
The ship had come down closer to the northern bank than to the southern, and it was to the nearest spit of land that the mercenary headed. That land was perhaps seventy-five tahng away, close to eighty yards, and the outlaw had a good head start on me. He flailed at the water rather than cutting it smoothly, though, and I had no doubt that I could close the gap. It seemed unlikely that I would catch him in the river. In the end, I did not.
He came to shore a few feet ahead of me and should probably have made his stand there where I would be awkward coming out of the water. Instead, he turned and ran inland. I followed, in better shape because I’d burned less energy in my swim.
Fifty tahng from the River Shauval’s edge, in a small field at the border of a wild wood, the mercenary turned at bay and drew a rapier that he’d stolen from our decks. I didn’t think he’d return it without a fight.
I pulled my own blade and bore in quickly, not wishing to give him a second to recover from his hard swim and the hard run that had followed. We crossed swords and the steel shivered. Beads of water flew. He blocked my rush and dropped into a fencer’s stance. I was familiar with such fighting, having learned much of it on Earth. The rapiers we carried were also suited to the work, though far heavier and broader than the fencing blades of my own world. The differences could be adjusted for.
I struck toward his left, in what would be called the high “4” line among Earthly fencers. His parry was ragged; he hadn’t yet recovered his breath and control.
I attacked again. A straight thrust. Not giving him time. The swords tapped together behind the tips, locked to each other in that part of the blade called the foible. I twisted my hand, abruptly increasing the lateral pressure against his blade. My steel slid along his, the edge shrieking, the point darting for his belly.
His parry should have been a simple midline movement, but, as I’d hoped, his relative exhaustion made him use too much strength on the block. His weapon swept too far to the left and in that instant I disengaged, dropped my blade beneath his, then followed with a lunge toward his unprotected right flank. My thrust was deliberately low, aimed to wound and not to kill, and the tip of my sword sliced only a half inch into his thigh before I brought it out again and stepped back into the guard position.
The mercenary’s eyes went wide. He knew how badly I could have hurt him, wasn’t sure why I had not. He would try to be more cautious now, try to feel his way through me. It