Lousy, lousy odds.
I began to put up my sword and back away, hoping to make it out of the room in one piece. They could have Larrios; I’d find some other angle on all this. Confer with Kells, maybe even dust Rambles or Iron Degan. As long as I steered clear of the Sashes, I would be ahead.
Then Degan rushed past me and changed everything.
I watched in horror as he charged the closest Sash, his sword low, a snarl on his lips. The Sash, for his part, barely adjusted his stance. He didn’t even bother to draw his sword.
Shit. Shit. Oh shit.
At the last possible moment, Degan launched himself in the air, changing his low attack into a high one. The Sash twisted and tried to pivot sideways off his front foot. The maneuver didn’t quite clear him from the path of Degan’s cut, but it was enough to cause Degan’s blade to skip off the Sash’s breastplate and strike him across the shoulder instead.
The Sash yelled out in pain even as Degan landed and planted the elbow of his free arm in the Sash’s face. The Sash staggered back, blood gushing from his nose, and managed to draw his own sword and parry Degan’s next thrust.
“Take this one!” yelled Degan as he stepped back, putting both Sashes in his field of vision. The second was already on his feet, his own blade out and moving, threatening Degan. There was no way Degan could finish off the first Sash without opening himself up to an attack from the second.
Take him? I thought. How? With what? I was a fucking Nose, for Angel’s sake!
I looked over at Larrios. Maybe between the two of us… But no, he was an unmoving lump on the floor. No help there.
The second Sash advanced on Degan, his sword dancing in the candlelight. The first had regained his balance now and was wiping away the tears caused by his broken nose. He’d be back in the fight any moment.
“Drothe!” said Degan, a desperate tone creeping into his voice. “Take the wounded one, damn it!”
Well, fuck.
I ran into the room with a yell. The first Sash took another swipe at the blood on his face, then turned to face me. I was still a handful of paces away when he stepped forward and threw an incredibly fast lunge at me while I was still coming into range. I barely got my dagger up in time to parry the blow.
Damn, he was fast!
I backed off and brought my rapier back while extending my dagger forward so the tips of the two weapons nearly touched before me. The small triangle of steel was supposed to give me better protection, but I didn’t feel particularly safe.
My Sash didn’t look to be in great shape, what with one arm hanging limp and blood running from his nose, but neither did he seem terribly bothered by this. I decided that, barring evidence to the contrary, I was still outclassed and in trouble.
We both paused to measure each other up. He had a heavier rapier, closer to Degan’s than my own, but it looked light in his hand. The breastplate would be a problem, too; the armor meant I would have to aim for extremities and his head-smaller, harder to hit targets. I wasn’t used to fighting people in any kind of armor, since very few Kin or Lighters bothered with it, let alone owned it. Unless you knew you were going into a fight, it was just too uncomfortable and heavy to wear day in and day out in a crowded city. Plus, it drew far too much interest from the Rags.
Behind my opponent, I caught glimpses of furious swordplay. While I dared not follow Degan and his Sash in detail, what little I did see looked frighteningly good: blindingly fast attacks, parries that left barely a hairbreadth of room for error, body slips, and the occasional attempts at a grab or a punch with a free hand. Moves, in short, that would have left me quartered and sorted on the floor in a matter of seconds.
And if that weren’t enough, Degan and the other Sash were smiling at each other. Smiling!
Idiots.
As for the wounded Sash, he didn’t even crack a grin as he stepped forward and flicked a cut at my left hand. I moved the hand, trying to block with my dagger, and suddenly saw his sword coming right at my chest. He’d feinted and gotten me to open myself up.
I brought my sword up and across my chest even as I tried to leap back out of range. He must have been expecting that, too, since he immediately redirected his sword and buried its tip in my left thigh.
The sword had an amazingly fine edge-I hardly felt it go in. It wasn’t until the Sash pulled it back out, twisting and cutting down slightly as he went, that I felt the steel dragging against my flesh. That was when I screamed.
It wasn’t the pain that ripped the howl from me-it was the sheer frustration of being stabbed so easily. Five seconds into the fight and I was already being carved up like one of Prospo’s roast ducks. At this rate, Degan would be facing the both of them in less than a minute-not that I would be in a position to worry about it by then.
I backed away quickly, putting my left leg behind me, drawing my body into profile. My rapier went out before me while my dagger stayed in close to my body. I couldn’t threaten with the shorter blade this way, but I could-hopefully-have a bit more time to defend with it.
I was outclassed, wounded, and on the defensive, and I let it show. If I was lucky, it could work to my advantage.
The Sash came on almost casually. I managed to parry his next three attacks-a cut, a thrust, another thrust, all in quick succession-but it was a close thing every time. I didn’t even try to counterattack. The Sash grimaced at my hesitancy, rolled his bloody shoulder, and came in again. This time, I reacted.
As he thrust, I slipped my right leg back and extended my dagger out to catch his sword. I wanted to catch his blade and bind it with my dagger, even for a second, so I could follow it up with a thrust from my rapier. With his sword bound up and his left arm useless, I figured it was the best chance I’d get to put steel into him, preferably in the neighborhood of his head.
The problem was, I had to put all of my weight on my left leg to do this. I steeled myself and shifted my weight.
Fire shot through me, from leg to groin to body. I gasped at the pain, trying to ignore it as I brought my dagger and rapier forward. The dagger met his sword, but weakly and at the wrong angle-a twist of his wrist pried it out of my hand and sent it spinning off into the room. At the same time, he slipped his back leg behind him, turning his body out of the way at the last instant.
I cursed and took two quick, stumbling steps back. The Sash smiled.
“That’s the best you have?” he asked. “You should’ve left when you had the chance.”
Behind him, I caught a glimpse of Degan and his Sash-all whirling steel and blurring arms. No help from that front any time soon.
“I suppose it’s too late to take you up on that now?” I said as I let my empty left hand drift back behind me. I turned my torso sideways again, trying to provide the smallest possible target.
“It was too late when you walked into the room,” said the Sash.
So, Degan had been right in attacking-score another one for him.
The Sash moved forward and angled his blade across my own. I retreated, adjusting my own guard to block his line of attack. He advanced and angled again, and I responded in kind. Then a thought occurred to me.
It was risky and open to failure in any number of ways, but, at this point, I was dead no matter what I did.
I felt my left leg begin to tremble beneath me. I gritted my teeth and took another step back. Just a bit longer, I told myself. Either the Sash would fall for this or he would kill me; one way or another, it would be settled soon.
The Sash stepped forward and placed his blade over mine, just as before. As he moved, I snapped my left hand down. My wrist knife fell into my palm, the action blocked from the Sash’s view by my own body. He didn’t seem to notice.
I resisted the urge to smile.