“What about the armor?” she asked. “That is soldier’s armor. And how could you confuse me for the Lord Commander?”
“You intruded on my home,” Lommy said with a glare. “It should be me questioning you, bitch.”
“Don’t you dare speak with Moira Elren in such a way!” shouted Willer.
She silenced him with a look, as appreciative of his defense as she was.
“Humor me,” she told Lommy once Willer had calmed.
“Keep your dogs on a leash,” the man replied. “As for the armor, isn’t it obvious? We were soldiers, taken from our homes in Brent months ago and brought to the delta to serve under your sister.”
My sister? Then Avila was Lord Commander now? She wondered at that, at what was happening within Karak’s Army. . and amazingly enough, she felt concern for her brutal sister.
“You left?” she asked, turning her thoughts away from family.
He nodded. “Deserted. Many have. Turned around during a dust storm after we crossed into Paradise.”
“And what of him?” Moira asked, gesturing to the fool, who was still curled up on the ground. “Did he desert with you as well?”
Lommy glanced down. “Him? One of Cornwall’s protégés. He was useful, until he decided to send word to Veldaren.” He leaned over the fool. “A lot of good that’ll do you!” he shouted, making the man further curl into a ball. “The crown’s dead and no one’s left to hear your pleas.” He looked back up at Moira. “He’ll soon join the others in hanging. We wanted to have our fun with him first.”
He was testing her reaction, and there was an obvious threat to it as well. If she protested, or desired to stop them, she would just as easily hang like the others. Well, as far as Lommy thought, anyway. .
“Then let me do as I came to do, so you men may get back to your. . fun,” she said. “I was to deliver a message to Cornwall Lawrence.”
“Give it here,” the man said, taking a step toward her and reaching out his hand. His ugly face brightened. “If Brennan wishes to make a deal with the master of this house, that would be me.”
“Sorry,” Moira said. “The letter was for the head of House Lawrence alone.” She eyed Lommy and the rest of them carefully, trying to be nonchalant about it. Lommy still had his sword sheathed on his belt and two others held theirs, while the remaining men lingered by their chairs, smiling and seemingly oblivious to the danger they were in. Good.
“I am the rightful master here!” Lommy shouted. His right hand fell to his sword. “If Matthew wishes to speak, he will speak with me!”
Moira turned around, faced her five sellswords. Rodin and Willer looked ready to explode, while Danco grinned mischievously and Tabar twiddled the frayed edge of his tunic. Gull stood up straight, expressionless. Moira flicked her eyes to the side and nodded to him.
“You are not the master here,” Gull told Lommy in that stoic, emotionless way of his. In the past Moira had rolled her eyes at his manner of speech, but now she found it perfectly chilling. “The gods granted us gifts and gave us honor, and you have spoiled both. You turned your back on your responsibilities and murdered women and children to sate your petty desires. Your mothers would weep if they could see you now, and your fathers would wish they’d spilled their seed across their palms instead.”
Angry curses sounded from behind Moira. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” she heard Lommy shout.
She spun around, fire in her eyes, eagerness in her smile. “Your executioners.”
Gull’s speech had done its job, for as they seethed with rage, they’d remained standing instead of making for their tables and armor. Moira drew her twin swords as behind her the Movers readied their own weapons. Lommy’s eyes widened, and she saw the hint of fear. They were outnumbered, and she knew a man like Lommy would not think her dangerous, but they would soon discover what true skill meant in the face of cowards and wretches.
Tabar and Rodin acted first, their swords raised, crossing the twenty feet between them and the former soldiers in a heartbeat. Men fumbled for their weapons, a couple clanking on the ground. The two who’d held their swords leapt in front of Lommy, meeting the dash head-on. Steel clashed with steel.
Moira followed closely behind, both her blades drawn. Men were screaming now, cursing and grunting. She whirled around Rodin and plunged the sword in her right hand into the belly of a pale-faced man. The tip pierced his leather armor with ease, sinking in to the hilt. The man gaped in surprise, a hot stream of stinking breath gushing from his mouth as he reeled away from her. She lost hold of the handle as he did so.
Moira sensed someone behind her and ducked, a sword flashing just over her shoulder. The clang of steel followed, and the screaming and curses continued. When she turned back around again, holding her remaining sword with both hands and lashing out, she saw her Movers hacking and slashing their way through the enemy. One of Lommy’s men shrieked as Rodin drove a blade into his gut. Another of them scampered away from Danco, tears running down his cheeks, his right arm hanging by a thread. It was chaos all around, clashing swords and animalistic grunts, while Lommy’s voice shouted directions to his men. Moira used that to her advantage, slipping her sword around the neck of a man battling with Gull and slitting his throat.
A beefy man turned away from trading blows with Willer, his gaze falling upon her. She ducked beneath another slash from her side and saw the large man charge. He raised his sword above his head, ready to come down on her with full force.
He was five feet away from Moira when she tried to evade the blow, but she was pinned on both sides by fighting men. Instead, she gathered herself and leapt straight up, using the back of the man to her left as a springboard to vault her higher. She did a split in midair, the beefy man’s downward lunge missing her crotch by a sliver, and then she kicked off the shoulder of the soldier fighting on the other side of her and leapt over his head. It was a strategy Corton had taught her early on in training; to use her lightness and agility to outmaneuver an attacker rather than meeting them head on, which brings certain defeat.
As she fell, she angled her sword downward. The tip pierced the back of the beefy man’s neck, and he arched his spine. Moira fell against the sword’s handle, driving it deeper into his flesh. He took the brunt of her weight and fell to the floor in a spasm. Moira rolled off his shaking corpse, leaving the sword embedded in it, just before another blade smacked against the floor.
Blood filled the air along with the screams of the dying. Moira spun around the next man to attack her, colliding with Rodin, who was engaged in his own skirmish. Instead of faltering, Rodin looped his arm around her and spun her low so that she slid between his opened legs. On the other side she picked up a discarded blade and then spun back around Rodin, parrying a killing blow before it took off his face. She then kicked the attacker in the groin and hacked at the back of his neck when he doubled over. The flesh split, spilling blood all over her leather boots.
“Thanks,” Rodin said with a grin, and then pressed his opponent into the corner.
Moira was a whirl of motion, flipping this way and that, thankful that her new sword, a short one, was only slightly heavier than her own twin blades. She cut through ankles, stabbed into stomachs, and left everyone who confronted her bloodied. The men they fought were certainly skilled, but she and her Movers were still their betters. . and they had the advantage of actually having their armor on their backs instead of heaped on tables. Of all the blows she suffered, only one-a slash to the forearm-drew blood.