Katherine Kurtz - Deryni 1 by Deryni Rising

Author:Deryni Rising
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-09-27T22:19:43+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

"7rom whence comes the wonder, from whence the miracle?"

THE WORDS of the intruder launched the two men into action. Duncan dashed his candle to the floor to douse the light, then tossed Morgan's sword to him. Morgan had already eased the unconscious Kelson to the floor at his feet, and now he slung the scabbard from his blade with a quick, lightning flick of his wrist. At his side, Duncan drew Kelson's sword and prepared to fight.

Immediately, the junior of the three attackers engaged Duncan in combat, pressing him back into a corner. And the remaining two attacked Morgan in unison with rapier and two-handed broadsword, their blows ringing out against Morgan's blade like hammer blows in a forge.

After the initial clash, Morgan proceeded to parry each thrust of his two opponents easily, methodically, less concerned now with actually defeating them than with keeping himself always between them and the limp form of Kelson behind him. The slender stiletto had again appeared in his left hand, and he was using it to good advantage to deflect an occasional blow from the rapier. But it was, of course, completely ineffectual against the blows of the broadsword which continued to rain down on him.

Also, he was having to refrain from launching a full-scale offensive maneuver. For he dared not take the offensive if that meant leaving Kelson open to attack. Right now, he wasn't really sure who they were after, and he couldn't risk Kelson's life in finding out. He glanced aside and knew that Duncan could not help, either.

In the corner, Duncan was having his own problems keeping abreast of the situation. Kelson's blade was shorter and lighter than those the priest was accustomed to. As a consequence, he was fighting under an extreme handicap: with a blade too light and short against a man who surpassed him in weight, strength, Page 97

reach, and years' experience.

Not that there was anything lacking in his skill. Duncan was first and foremost a nobleman's son, born and bred to a fine fighting tradition and tempered by many years* experience and training. But these were not the odds he liked. He had only this puny blade to protect him—not even a scrap of mail shirt. People did not often raise steel against a priest, especially of the monsignorial variety.

Undaunted, he continued to press for an opening— and found it!

Apparently, his opponent had also recognized his advantage, and as a result he became lazy, returned from a thrust less quickly than he should have.

It cost him his life. Even as he realized his mistake, Duncan's blade flashed through a weak point in his mail and pierced him to the heart. He crumpled to the floor with a surprised look on his face and quietly died.

Dropping Kelson's bloodied sword, Duncan peered through the gloom, trying to decide which of Morgan's two opponents to take out of the fracas. The decision was not a difficult one, however. If Morgan had to parry many more blows from the two-handed broadsword, there was little doubt as to what the outcome would be.

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