pain. Tye Benesile?
Silverdun and Ironfoot moved carefully, picking their way through the tiny attic. Batlike creatures slept in the exposed rafters. They wriggled when Silverdun brushed up against them. The going was painfully slow as they wove their way through the narrow space, trying to be as silent as possible.
Now there was more noise on the stairs, and pounding from beneath them. The men were knocking on doors. Silverdun and Ironfoot were nearly to the window now.
The door to the attic crashed open. A pair of Annwni guardsmen peered into the attic. They were armed with short swords, and wore dark blue uniforms with black leather helmets and boots. Silverdun and Ironfoot crouched down, but there was nowhere to hide.
'There!' shouted one. He ran toward them, shoving a broken chair aside.
Silverdun ran toward the window and tried it. It was locked, but the lock gave with a hard shove. He opened the window and looked out. It opened directly onto the cul-de-sac below, a forty-foot drop with nothing to break the fall. On the street, five more guardsmen stood at the entrance to the building.
'I think doing this silently is going to be quite a lot more difficult now,' he said, turning back around.
Ironfoot already had a knife out. He hurled it at the guardsman in front, and the point found its mark in the Annwni's throat. The man dropped without taking another step. Silverdun bent, took a knife from his boot, and heaved it at the remaining guard. The man raised his hand reflexively, and the knife lodged in his palm. He screamed, but it was more a scream of rage than pain, and he kept coming.
Ironfoot was already moving, running toward the guardsman. He reached the other one first, the one he'd killed with his thrown knife. Rather than jump over the man, however, he bent down and removed his knife from the guard's neck with a fluid motion, then raised it just as the second watchman leapt at him, Silverdun's knife still lodged in his palm. Ironfoot made a brutal upward jerking motion and the second watchman went over his shoulder and crashed into the wall.
All of this happened in the moment it took Silverdun to catch up to him. By the time he reached Ironfoot, both watchmen were dead. Ironfoot wiped his knife on the leg of one of the dead men and handed Silverdun's back to him, still slick with blood.
'I imagine someone heard that,' said Silverdun. He looked down at the fallen watchmen. 'To hell with Jedron and his advice on swords,' he said, taking the closest one's blade. It was light and unbalanced, but it was sharp. That was fine; there wasn't going to be a lot of finesse required in the next few minutes.
'Suit yourself,' said Ironfoot. He held onto his knife.
Now there was more noise on the stairs. Silverdun led the way out of the attic, his heart thudding in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd last killed anyone. The Battle of Sylvan, in fact. Over a year ago. His heart was pounding and his palms were beginning to sweat, but it was also familiar and, frankly, a bit of a relief to be in action.
There were four men on the landing, and they ran straight at Silverdun and Ironfoot without preamble. As soon as Silverdun engaged the first of them, he realized his mistake. It was difficult to swing a sword in such a narrow space, and he was forced to resort to jabbing with it like a tiny spear. His opponent had the same problem, of course, but his opponent also had three friends.
Ironfoot, however, did not have this problem. He flitted past Silverdun and took the second man on the stairs, dodging his blade. Once Ironfoot was inside the man's guard, he was able to use his knife freely. His opponent was down in an instant, and Ironfoot shoved him roughly backward, tripping up the man behind him.
Meanwhile Silverdun managed to take out his own opponent with a lucky thrust. He pushed his man aside and followed Ironfoot. Against the two of them, the last of the guardsmen didn't last long.
The noise of the fight, however, had drawn the attention of others, and now three more appeared below.
'Why so many?' asked Silverdun. 'Two upstairs, the four we just did, five on the street, and now these fellows?'
'Worry about it later!' called Ironfoot. He lunged at the man closest to him, who appeared to be in charge. But this one had apparently earned his promotion, because he sidestepped Ironfoot's lunge and smashed him hard on the back of the neck with the hilt of his sword as he went past. The men behind him grabbed Ironfoot but didn't kill him. Interesting.
Silverdun turned to run back upstairs, but there was a man above him as well. Well, one was better than three, even if fighting from below. He jumped up and immediately tripped on one of the men he'd just killed. As he fell forward, his opponent chopped down, flailing.
And lopped Silverdun's sword hand off at the wrist.
Silverdun watched it happen, trying to reel backward, moving as if through water. There was no pain at first, just shock. Blood, deep deep red, flowed thickly from his wrist. Silverdun couldn't remember ever having seen
