Free The Sellsword by Cam Banks Page B

out of sight.
    “Come on!” shouted one of the two waiting soldiers. “Cut him down!”
    Wet blades flashed; Vanderjack twisted, shifting Lifecleaver into a two-handed grip and disarming both soldiers. They stood there, mouths agape, looking at their empty hands. Vanderjack ran them both through, and they fell with a splash into the puddling rainwater.
    With only two soldiers remaining and the cook nearby, Vanderjack chanced a call back to the man. “Etharion!” he shouted. “Can you possibly lend a hand?”
    Etharion didn’t have anything to say in response. He crouched down even lower behind a crate and watched over it as the last two soldiers cautiously approached Vanderjack.
    “Last chance to run away,” Vanderjack said with a smile he didn’t really feel.
    “Ergothian scum!” one of the soldiers said.
    “Hey now,” Vanderjack said, ducking to one side to avoid the sweeping cut of a scimitar. “I’m only half Ergothian. My mother was a Saifhumi pirate.”
    “Ergothian, Saifhumi, all the same,” said the other soldier.
    “Try telling that to the emperor of Ergoth,” Vanderjack said. He feinted to the left, distracting the second soldier, and freed his right hand to strike out at the first. His balled fist connected squarely with the dragonarmy soldier’s jaw, dropping him. It wouldn’t keep him out for long, but the sellsword circled about, giving himself some room to move.
    The last soldier backed off, looking around. All he had to do was distract the mercenary for a few more seconds and the captain would be on him. Vanderjack was keenly aware of that as he lunged. The soldier barely escaped a sword in the gut, throwing himself to one side and landing right beside the crates.
    Seeing the opportunity, Vanderjack yelled, “Etharion! Push against the crates!” It seemed like a faint hope. But Vanderjack was pleasantly surprised when, with a grunt, the cook threw himself against the crates he’d been hiding behind.
    There was a moment where it seemed nothing would happen; then wooden box after wooden box, filled with glass jars, small sacks of tarbeans, and the gods knew what else toppled and landed with a horrendous crash upon the last soldier and several of his incapacitated companions. The cook looked impressed with himself. “Huh,” he said, grinning at Vanderjack.
    The sellsword didn’t have long to catch his breath. Just as the Cavalier shouted a warning, he whirled in time to duck a swift cut of the captain’s blade. Captain Annaud had finally arrived on the scene, taken in the devastation, and charged Vanderjack.
    Up close, the captain was somewhat more distinctive. His features were sharp and hawklike, witha narrow yet prominent nose, steel-gray hair with a widow’s peak, and a raptor’s eyes. He was Nerakan, probably from the eastern foothills of the Taman Busuk near Estwilde; Vanderjack recognized that predatory look from others he had served with in the Blue Wing, years before.
    “Glad you could make it,” Vanderjack said, glancing around to seek an advantage.
    “Those men will cost you,” Annaud replied, his voice thin and reedy, with a strong Nerakese accent. It sounded practiced to Vanderjack, though. Underneath the sinister tones the captain was affecting, the sell-sword could detect the remnants of Estwilder vowels.
    “I don’t have much money on me at the moment,” said Vanderjack, smoothly turning away the captain’s sword strokes, wondering whether the captain was really trying. “Can you leave me with the bill, and—”
    “Above you!” shouted the Hunter, cutting Vanderjack off. Vanderjack hadn’t expected an attack from that direction, but he knew better than to question the ghost’s warning. He bent low and spun away.
    A hawk’s talons narrowly missed Vanderjack’s scalp. The bird was completely silent, highly trained. Annaud was laughing, still coming forward with the easily defended yet constant swing of his blade. “Impressive,” he said, as Vanderjack