(Witcher 3) Blood of elves by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub

back. The commissar collapsed forward onto his horse’s neck but remained in the saddle. Paulie Dahlberg rushed to his aid. Ciri was left alone. She reached for her sword. The blade which throughout her training had leaped out from her back in a flash would not let itself be drawn for anything; it resisted her, stuck in its scabbard as if glued in tar. Amongst the whirl seething around her, amongst moves so swift that they blurred in front of her eyes, her sword seemed strangely, unnaturally slow; it seemed ages would pass before it could be fully drawn. The ground trembled and shook. Ciri suddenly realised that it was not the ground. It was her knees. Paulie Dahlberg, keeping the elf charging at him at bay with his axe, dragged the wounded Wenck along the ground. Roach flitted past, beside the wagon, and Geralt threw himself at the elf. He had lost his headband and his hair streamed out behind him with his speed. Swords clashed. Another Scoia’tael, on foot, leaped out from behind the wagon. Paulie abandoned Wenck, pulled himself upright and brandished his axe. Then froze. In front of him stood a dwarf wearing a hat adorned with a squirrel’s tail, his black beard braided into two plaits. Paulie hesitated. The black-beard did not hesitate for a second. He struck with both arms. The blade of the axe whirred and fell, slicing into the collar-bone with a hide-ous crunch. Paulie fell instantly, without a moan; it looked as if the force of the blow had broken both his knees. Ciri screamed. Yarpen Zigrin leaped from the wagon. The black-bearded dwarf spun and cut. Yarpen avoided the blow with an agile half-turn dodge, grunted and struck ferociously, chopping in to black-beard - throat, jaw and face, right up to the nose. The Scoia’tael bent back and collapsed, bleeding, pounding his hands against the ground and tearing at the earth with his heels. “Geraaaallllttt!” screamed Ciri, feeling something move behind her. Sensing death behind her. There was only a hazy shape, caught in a turn, a move and a flash but the girl - like lightning - reacted with a diagonal parry and feint taught her in Kaer Morhen. She caught the blow but had not been standing firmly enough, had been leaning too far to the side to receive the full force. The strength of the strike threw her against the body of the wagon. Her sword slipped from her hand. The beautiful, long-legged elf wearing high boots standing in front of her grimaced fiercely and, tossing her hair free of her lowered hood, raised her sword. The sword flashed blindingly, the bracelets on the Squirrel’s wrists glittered.

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