Empire Of Blood

Chapter 5

Blade shot a quick look at the father, trying to guess what was on the man's mind while concealing his own surprise. The other's face was as blank as Blade's own. He might have been ordering a meal in a fine restaurant instead of calling for cold-blooded murder in a dark and windy wilderness.

Then Tzimon and Dzhai began to move forward and Blade turned his attention to them. Both men held on to their weapons as they advanced but did not raise them. Blade dropped into unarmed-combat stance. He did not draw his knife. If it came to killing, he could kill with his bare hands well enough. If his best course was to disable without killing, as he suspected it might be, his bare hands were better than the knife.

Tzimon and Dzhai walked toward Blade side by side until they reached the fire. Then they separated, one moving around each side of the fire. They moved slowly, a step at a time, matching each other's movements step for step.

Blade gave ground slowly, letting his opponents gradually close the distance. He would have liked to be able to retreat until he was half-concealed in the shadows of the trees and Tzimon and Dzhai were silhouetted against the fire. That would give him a useful edge. It might also leave a bad impression on the two noblemen. Blade suspected this was one of those fights where how he won mattered as much as whether he won.

In any case, he probably didn't need the advantage. Tzimon and Dzhai were moving in on him like men who had fought side by side before, but they did not move like a team who'd trained together for years to fight as a single mind with two bodies. Against a pair like this, a single man always has the advantage.

Blade was only three steps from the shadows when his opponents suddenly charged. They came at him with Tzimon slightly in the lead, axe raised, while Dzhai whirled the mace in a great circle around his head. Anything that got inside that circle was going to get smashed, whether it belonged to friend or foe. Blade noticed that, and noticed that Tzimon was keeping well clear of his comrade as they advanced. This left a gap between the two men so wide that they could not hope to support each other against a fast-moving opponent.

Blade was going to be that fast-moving opponent.

He seemed to explode forward into the gap between his opponents. Dzhai sprang to one side, taking himself completely out of combat position. Tzimon stopped in midstride, whirled with frightening speed, and started to bring the axe down where he expected Blade's head to be.

Blade's head stayed in one piece only because he ducked just as the axe whistled down. He knew in that moment that Tzimon was his major opponent here, far more dangerous than Dzhai, as dangerous as any man he'd ever fought. It would be suicide to turn his back on Tzimon without doing him some damage first. Blade shifted his attack and put even more speed and power into it.

One arm shot upward in an eye-blurring stroke. The edge of Blade's left hand slashed across Tzimon's right wrist. The impact jarred Blade from shoulder to waist. It was like trying to chop through a log. The axe wavered in midair above Blade instead of swinging down to split him from shoulder to crotch. Blade threw his clenched right fist into Tzimon's stomach, putting all his weight and strength behind it. It felt like punching a bag of cement, but the wind went out of Tzimon with a tremendous whuffff.

Blade let the movement of the punch pivot him around in a complete circle. He let go with a back kick as he swung. He aimed for Tzimon's jaw, but the man stepped back far enough so that Blade's foot slammed across his chest in a glancing blow. Blade heard something crack, but he wasn't sure if it was Tzimon's ribs or his own foot!

Blade came down out of the circle to see Tzimon standing with his feet wide apart and his axe raised, his eyes still focused on Blade but his chest heaving as he fought for breath. Three solid strikes from Blade were enough to slow anyone down, even a fast-moving mass of bone and muscle like Tzimon. For a moment Blade had one flank clear. He badly needed that moment, for Dzhai was now moving back to the attack, the mace whirling in circles over and around him.

Blade used that moment to time Dzhai's swings. He noticed that the man held his free arm out across in front of him.

Blade moved in. He darted under the swing of the mace, driving his left hand upward and jerking down with his right. Dzhai's right arm swung down in a perfect arc. The mace whistled past Blade's ear and grazed his shoulder hard enough to jolt him. His left hand crashed into Dzhai's descending elbow. Dzhai screamed horribly as his elbow shattered.

In the same moment Blade jerked Dzhai's free arm down and to one side, nearly pulling it out of its socket. From the corner of his eye Blade now saw Tzimon moving back into the attack, looking for an opening that would let him strike at Blade without hitting his comrade. Blade closed with Dzhai until he was embracing the man as tightly as he might have embraced a woman. His arms locked around Dzhai's chest.

Then Blade hurled himself backward, at the same moment heaving upward on his opponent. Dzhai rose into the air as Blade dropped. He came down at exactly the right moment for Blade's upthrusting feet to take him in the stomach. Blade continued rolling, balancing Dzhai on his feet. He rolled right over in a backward somersault, flinging Dzhai's entire helpless two hundred pounds squarely into Tzimon's face. There was a crunch and a gasp, the axe flew out of Tzimon's hand, the mace flew out of Dzhai's hand and landed in the fire, and the two men crashed down onto the ground together. Blade sprang to his feet, snatched up the axe, plucked a couple of thorns out of his buttocks, then looked at his two opponents. They were sprawled on the ground, both obviously out cold but still breathing.

Blade sank the axe into the ground at his feet and turned to face the two noblemen. Both were staring at Blade, their swords still drawn. To one side of them stood one of their guards, holding a matchlock musket under one arm. On the other side stood the dancing girl, now wrapped in a blanket. She was staring at Blade even more intently than the others, her eyes wide and seeming to glow in the firelight. The other men stood behind these four.

Blade bowed politely, drew his knife, laid it down on the ground with the point toward him, then bowed again. It was a symbolic disarming only. He could snatch up the knife and pick off at least one man long before any of them could do anything to him, even the one with the musket.

Everyone remained as motionless as figures in a waxworks for a moment. Then the father smiled, thrust his sword back into its scabbard, and stepped forward. His son hesitated for a moment, then did the same. The man with the matchlock blew out his match and lowered his weapon butt first to the ground.

The father stepped up to Blade, hand outthrust. Blade took it, matching the other's firm grip.

«Well, my-«began the father, then shook his head. «No, I cannot call you friend, not now, and not ever without the Emperor's permission. You are still a stranger, and the laws of the Empire are strict when they speak of strangers.» He smiled. «But though you are a stranger, certainly you are no Steppeman. You are just as certainly a warrior, whom I am happy to have met, and very probably a truthful man as well. Blade, I am Boros, Duke of Kudai. This is my son, Tulu. And these»-he pointed to the other men-«serve in the House of Kudai. Though we cannot call you friend, yet we can say that here and now we are happy to have you among us.

«Prince Blade, welcome to the Empire of Saram.»