Blood of the Underworld(77)

“Least he was polite enough to knock,” Tarlak said, ice swirling in his palm.

Nicholas lifted his sword with a single hand and pointed it at the three.

“Last chance,” he said. “Not that I mind the gore, or a good fight, but this won’t be any competition. Won’t be any fun. Kneel down, offer me your necks, and you’ll die easy.”

Haern saw more tattoos on his hand, swirling lines almost like arcane runes. They shone a soft blue, pulsing along with the man’s heartbeat. Everything about Nicholas screamed danger, but those runes told Haern to expect more than the humanly possible from his opponent. Well, that, and the split door.

“The only one dying today is you,” Brug said, stomping his feet. “Just try it, come on, come on!”

Haern slipped further into the room, hugging the wall. Brug was trying to be a distraction, he knew, doing everything he could to not look toward the stairs to the side. Just a few feet closer, and Haern could lunge.

Nicholas whirled, and his sword stretched out, the tip aimed for Haern’s throat.

“And you,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be dead?”

Brug leapt forward, bellowing. Nicholas spun, his blade cutting through the air with unnatural speed. Both Brug’s daggers smacked aside, and he had to pull back to avoid having his head lopped off. Haern rushed to his friend’s aid before Nicholas could finish him. His sabers stabbed in, and when Nicholas pulled his sword close to his chest to parry, Haern pressed the attack, weaving a continuous assault so the man would have no chance to counter. A mindless roar exited his mouth, a primal cry to overwhelm the pain in his side as blood dripped down his leg from reopened wounds.

But his foe was too good. When Brug went to stab him in the back, he pretended to turn to block, then flung himself at Haern, who had to twist to shift his aim. The twist hurt too much, and he let out a gasp as his vision turned white. Only instincts kept him falling back, kept his sabers up to push aside the killing chop.

“Get back!” Tarlak yelled, and both Haern and Brug obliged, flinging themselves away. Lances of ice crossed the room, points deadly sharp. Nicholas turned to face him, his sword spinning in his grasp so the hilt neared his face. The lances vanished amid a subtle flash of the crystal within the hilt. But that was not all of the attack. Delysia cried out the name of her god, and from her outward palms shone a brilliant flash of white. Nicholas swore, and he turned away, rubbing his eyes.

Brug came barreling in, all clattering platemail. He slammed headfirst into Nicholas, but instead of bowling the man over, he let out a cry and bounced to the side. His helmet was dented as if he’d struck stone. Up went Nicholas’s sword, ready for the kill. Another flash of light from Delysia, but he squinted his eyes and shifted his head so it did not blind. That half-second delay was enough, though. Haern stretched to his limits, his sabers cutting through the coat. The leather was thick and heavy, rendering it a shallow flesh wound. Worn out as he was, Haern did not have the strength to force the cut deeper. Blood dripped to the floor as Nicholas clenched his teeth and brought his full fury to bear on Haern.

“I’m glad you are alive,” he said, swinging his sword in wide arcs so Haern had to remain on the defensive. A bolt of fire shot in from Tarlak, but it winked out of existence, not even giving Nicholas pause. “At least you make this interesting. You even made me bleed.”

Haern ducked underneath a swing, then tried to roll to one side. Nicholas predicted the maneuver, and Haern screamed as a heavy boot slammed into his stomach. His old wound tore. It was like being stabbed all over again. He tried to move, to keep going, but his body convulsed against his wishes, doubling over amid his cries of pain. Nicholas’s sword lifted, but a heavy brick slammed into his shoulder before he could swing. Startled, Nicholas fell back as two more flew in, one striking his sword, the other his chest.

“Don’t like magic, eh?” Tarlak said, still hiding on the far side of the room. “How about something more real?”

More stones dislodged from the walls, held in the wizard’s mental grip. They flew at Nicholas, and though the magic propelling them died when nearing the man, it did not remove the natural momentum of the stone. Nicholas dove side to side, flinging his sword about to help block. Upon reaching a wall he leapt into it and kicked off into a dive straight at the wizard.

And that’s when Tarlak lifted the couch into the air and swatted Nicholas with it as if he were a bug.

“Need some help here,” Tarlak shouted as he flung more chairs and stones at Nicholas. Haern saw that the wizard was losing strength, the velocity of each one considerably slower than the last. Struggling to his feet, he staggered into a run. Nicholas caught one of the slower stones, flung it straight back at Tarlak. It struck his forehead, and with a soft gasp the wizard slumped against the wall, blood trickling down his face and neck. Haern ignored it, couldn’t afford to worry about the fate of his friend. Pushing through the wall of agony, he thrust for Nicholas’s stomach.