28?
Aedan saw the glint of a dagger. Alleymen. Oh, gods, not now, he thought, exasperated. “Get out of my way,” he said, hoarsely. ‘I don’t have time for this.”
“Well, aren’t we high and mighty?” the leader of the trio said unpleasantly. “I think we may have to take you down a peg or two, milord.”
As they came toward him, Aedan saw that all three had long daggers in their hands. And the leader wore a sword and a vest of chain mail over his tunic. A former soldier, Aedan thought, one who had left the army and turned to crime. After what he had just seen the army go through, the thought filled him with cold fury. How many of them had laid down their lives or returned home cripples so that the likes of this one could prey upon the people of city they’d protected?
“Get out of my way, you filthy scum,” he said.
“Kill him,” said the former soldier.
As the men came at him, something in Aedan snapped. He screamed hoarsely and drew his blade, launching himself at them like an enraged berserker.
With a powerful, two-handed blow, he struck the closest one so hard that he split him from the shoulder clear down to the middle of his chest.
The man screamed and fell as Aedan yanked his blade free, but by then, the second one was on him. Aedan twisted around, deflecting the dagger lunge with his blade, then bringing his sword hilt up sharply to strike the alleyman in the face. Blood spurted as the man’s nose broke and he cried out; then Aedan ran him through. Only the former soldier remained, and as Aedan made for him, he drew his own blade and took a fighting stance, his cocky attitude completely gone, replaced by a deadly serious expression. He managed to parry Aedan’s first stroke, but Aedan kept at him, screaming all the while, as the man fought desperately to keep Aedan’s blade at bay, never having a chance to go on the offensive.
Aedan backed him toward the wall of the alley.
They locked blades, the alleyman with his back against the wall. As they strained against each other, Aedan dimly felt a blow to his shoulder. He raised his knee sharply into the alleyman’s groin, and as the man grunted and the breath whooshed out of him, Aedan bore down on his opponent’s sword and slammed his forehead into the alleyman’s face.
Blood spurted from a broken nose as the man slumped against the wall.
Aedan disarmed him easily, then threw down his own sword and started pummeling him with his fists. The nearly senseless alleyman started to slide down the wall. Aedan seized him by the throat with his left hand, holding him up, and repeatedly smashed his right fist into the man’s face, turning it into a mask of blood. Over and over, he pounded him until he felt someone grasp his shoulder from behind.
Turning quickly, he swung a hard right at the cloaked figure that came up behind him, dimly registering that the alleymen had worn no cloaks.
The figure ducked beneath his punch and drove a hard jab into his stomach, directly into the solar plexus.
He doubled over as the wind whistled out of him, and the figure caught him, supporting him.
“Aedan! Aedan, it’s me! Sylvanna!”
The familiar voice broke through his berserker rage. “Sylvanna?” he said, weakly, as he fought to catch his breath.
She eased him down to his knees, then left him to check on the alleyman he had been battering. She bent over him, then straightened. “This one’s dead,” she said curtly. She quickly checked the other two, but their condition was obvious. She came back to Aedan, who was just beginning to get his breath back. “What’s wrong? You didn’t have enough fighting? You had to go wandering through the alleys in the middle of the night, looking for more trouble?”
“What … what are you doing here?” he asked.
“Lady Ariel sent me,” said Sylvanna.
“Ariel?”
“She was worried about you. She thought you might have gone to the Green Basilisk, so she asked me to see if you were all right. I was just passing by the alley on my way there when I heard the commotion.
Doesn’t seem as if you needed any help, though.
Was that you screaming like a wounded bear?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Oh, Great Mother, you’re wounded,” she said.
Aedan glanced down and saw a knife sticking out of his shoulder. He remembered, vaguely, feeling a blow and realized the alleyman had stuck him. “Pull it out,” he said.
She grasped the knife firmly by the hilt and pulled straight back. It came out with some difficulty. It had struck bone and stuck there. As she pulled it out, the blood began to flow. Aedan winced with pain, then closed his eyes and concentrated, calling upon his blood abilities of healing and regeneration. After a few seconds, the blood flow stopped and he felt the wound starting to close. Moments later, it had healed completely, leaving behind only a mild redness of the skin.
He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling slightly dizzy.
The fight, together with the healing, had taken a lot out of him.
“Wish I could do that,” said Sylvanna, pulling back his tunic to check on the healed wound. “It’s a handy trick.”
“Help me up, please,” he said.
She assisted him to his feet, putting his arm around her shoulder so he could lean on her for support. “Are you all right?”
“I will be, shortly,” he replied, breathing heavily.
“By the gods, I need a drink. I need a lot of drinks.
“Come on,” she said,
