"Frankly," Corvis said with a shrug, "we were more concerned about any Cephiran operatives looking for the pair of us traveling together. I wasn't even thinking of you."
It was a petty sting to the baron's pride, but Corvis could tell from the twitch of the other man's jaw that it landed. "Be that as it may," Jassion growled, "in a village this size, any newcomer draws attention. We identified her easily enough." He offered a dismissive wave, and Corvis found his eyes drawn to the green glint on Jassion's finger.
"I'm surprised you're still wearing that ring, Jassion. As I recall, it got you in a bit of hot water during the Serpent's War."
But if he'd hoped to rile the baron further, reminding him of the universal suspicion he'd brought upon himself with his behavior, he was doomed to disappointment. "It's an heirloom, Rebaine. It should belong to Tyannon, really, but I understand you gave her another ring to replace it." His lips curled in a vicious, mocking leer. "I also understand she's not wearing it anymore. Maybe I should consider giving her mine, at that."
Sunder's blade slowly rotated as the haft twisted in Corvis's trembling fist. "I'll do it for you. Would you like her to have it with or without the finger?"
"Ah. Is that about enough, do you think, Rebaine?" Jassion asked, mockery squirming like weevils through his words. "Have we spent long enough nattering on like bickering fishwives?"
"I certainly hope so," Corvis told him. "I'm looking forward to lancing you like a boil and watching you shrivel." He shoved the room's table aside with a juddering crash. The cramped room made for a poor arena-especially given the oversized weapons each man carried-but it was the best readily available. "What are you waiting for, Baron? Too cowardly to attack when Kaleb's not around to hold your hand?"
Corvis's mention of a name he should have had no way of knowing was apparently lost upon Jassion, washed away in a flood of fury along with whatever satisfaction the baron had hoped to obtain by prolonging the confrontation. He crossed the room in a handful of steps, Talon raised high and gouging a path of splinters from the ceiling above. Nothing but murder remained in his sweating, twisted face, and Corvis could not have said whether it was the pounding of his boots, or his inhuman cry, that made the flimsy chamber tremble.
And then he was upon Corvis, and through Corvis. Braced for an impact that never occurred, Jassion slammed hard against the windowsill, arms flailing awkwardly as he tried both to keep hold of Talon with one hand and to keep himself from toppling headfirst through the open window.
Corvis-who had made swift use of Jassion's grandstanding, sidling slowly from the window beneath a cloak of subtle illusion-stepped in from the side, looming behind his startled and unsteady foe. Sunder whirled once, twice, as he neared, then swept through an arc that would have left little but empty air between Jassion's gut and his ribs.
But for all his maddened fury and shock, Jassion had clearly lost neither his speed nor his senses. The narrow window allowed no room to parry or to dodge, but that still left one avenue of escape. Even as Sunder blurred toward him, the baron shifted his weight, letting gravity have its way. He toppled from the window, the Kholben Shiar passing inches above his twisting body, and landed with a bone-jarring thump on the packed earth of the road below.
I guess, Corvis reflected as he leaned outward to study his groaning foe, that it was too much to hope he'd fall on Talon or break his neck.
'You want everything just handed to you the easy way, don't you? No wonder I had to do all the hard work myself.'
Corvis vaulted the sill and dropped, twin clouds of dust puffing outward as his boot heels struck the earth. Jassion scrabbled madly backward like a drunken spider and lurched to his feet. The little finger on his left hand protruded at a curious angle, and he winced visibly with every step, but neither the demon-forged sword nor his hate-tempered gaze ever wavered.
They came together, Jassion unslowed by his injuries, and the crash of the Kholben Shiar was the shriek of a thousand tortured angels. Talon's edge pressed hard on Sunder's haft as the warlord and the baron leaned into each other, feet shifting as they circled. Around them, the already sparsely populated street rapidly emptied, men and women fleeing from the gale of violence blowing through their midst. By fits and starts, the din from the restaurant faded as the folk within recognized that something was amiss.
Jassion brought a knee up viciously, driving for his opponent's groin, but Corvis twisted to take the blow on his thigh instead. He staggered, limping for only a step or two, and swept Sunder in a fearsome parry. Again the demon-forged weapons slammed together, and again after that. Feet sidestepped and bodies twisted with a dancer's skill, even as heavy blades chopped and slashed with a force and a fury more brutish than elegant.
Corvis ducked under a high, arcing swipe, and knew only too late that he'd walked into a trap. Jassion continued his spin, carried by the momentum of his swing, coiling his body low and lashing out in a sweeping kick. Corvis felt his ankles shoot out from under him and toppled like a felled oak. The air escaped his lungs as though fleeing for its life, and the world grew fuzzy as he struggled to breathe.
The moon disappeared from the nighttime clouds as Jassion loomed above, Talon clasped underhanded. The Kholben Shiar plunged earthward as though eager to return to hell, and Corvis could not possibly lift Sunder in time to parry.
Acting on nothing but primal instinct, he slapped desperately at the flat of the blade with a bare hand. And as Talon jerked aside, sinking deep into the dirt mere inches from his ribs, Corvis knew that he owed a dozen prayers to Panare Luck-Bringer.
Startled and off-balance, his sword sticking more than a foot into the earth, Jassion could not twist aside as Corvis kicked out with both legs. The baron bent double around the impact, hurtling backward to slam against the restaurant's outer wall. Corvis scrambled to his feet, breath coming a little easier, whispering through a hoarse and ragged throat.
The tiny sprouts and sprigs protruding from the soil began to wiggle, desperate to escape the confines of their earthen prison. With a speed seemingly impossible for one so badly beaten, Jassion had risen and crossed half the distance between himself and his foe when the first of the tendrils wrapped around his ankle, yanking him to a halt. A second strand, and then a third-roots and stems, blades of grass and winding weeds-wove themselves over his feet, binding him to the spot until he might as well have been one of those plants himself.
Corvis lunged, but Jassion was already gone. Talon swept downward, severing the plants that held him, and he was twisting aside, all so swiftly that he appeared little more than a blot upon the scenery, a blurred silhouette glimpsed through a thick fog or a filthy pane of glass. And Corvis, no matter how he hated the thought, knew that he must do the same.
As Jassion had clearly already done-as he himself had dared a few days before-he drank once more from the well of power bubbling in the depths of the Kholben Shiar. And again he recoiled, fighting to keep tight rein on his own emotions lest they be swept aside and lost amid the exultation and bloodlust within the demon-forged blade.
The bulk of the village disappeared, his vision closing in on the street immediately before him. The clouds of dust resolved themselves into individual specks and particles; the stars in the firmament ceased to twinkle. He heard the shouts of distant citizens, too terrified to draw near; the sharp breaths of patrons watching through the restaurant's windows; even the beating of his own heart, and Jassion's as well, now slowed to a casual cadence.