Free Demands of Honor by Kevin Ryan Page A

Gurn, who held his own sword feebly in front of him. Slicing downward, Gorath knocked the
mek’leth
out of the coward’s hand and lifted his own blade again to bring it down one more time to end Gurn’s pitiful life.
    As he swung his sword, he was aware of movement behind him. Someone was rushing him. The prudent move would be to turn and defend himself. Of course, the odds were still four to one, and Gorath might not get another chance at Gurn. He ignored the man behind him and completed his attack on the traitorous clan leader.
    As the blade came down, Gorath was pleased to see the terror in Gurn’s eyes. However, an instant before he made contact, someone knocked into him from behind. Apparently, in a surprising burst of courage, one of Gurn’s thugs had simply thrown themselves at Gorath to protect his clan leader.
    Still, Gorath tried to complete the blow, bringing his blade down with all his strength as he felt himself thrown forward. Though strong, his aim was off and Gorath could see the blade make only glancing contact with Gurn’s face and shoulder.
    Then he was rolling on the ground, with someone still clutching him from behind. He rolled on his left shoulder, which screamed in pain, but it allowed him to keep hold of his
mek’leth.
As he sprang back to his feet, he slashed back with his weapon, trusting his hunter’s instincts to guide the blade. They did not fail him. He turned to see the man clutching his stomach. It was a deep wound and would likely be fatal. Most important, however, the man was out of the fight for now.
    The other two guards were eyeing him warily and keeping a respectful distance. Gurn was clutching his face, which wore an expression of pain and disbelief.
    When Gorath spoke, he directed himself to the guards. “End this foolishness. This is not a man you can follow. We are a proud people. We defeated the green-skins, wecan defeat the work of a coward in our midst. Do not let him poison you against your own kind.” Gorath saw the beginnings of shame in the men’s eyes. That was something. If they could be shamed, they might again know something of honor.
    â€œNow you wish to talk?” Gurn said.
    â€œNot to you, coward,” Gorath said.
    â€œEither way, talk will not save you today. There are three of us,” Gurn said, holding up his
mek’leth.
    â€œAnd a moment ago there were five.”
    â€œBut you are injured,” Gurn said.
    Gorath gave a glance to his left arm. The blow had struck him in the back, but he could see blood running freely down to his hand and then the ground. He tried to lift his left hand and found that it would not easily obey his commands.
    Gurn was giving him an unpleasant smile.
    â€œI need only one hand to finish you,” Gorath said.
    After a quick hand gesture from Gurn, the two guards approached him slowly from either side. Gorath realized that they were lost. Whatever Gurn had offered them was worth more to them then their honor.
    Gurn raised his own blade and said, “Strike him at the same time.” That was it. Gorath knew he needed to act quickly. He could still get to Gurn before they stopped him, and killing Gurn meant everything now. Gorath’s people were depending on him—his son was depending on him. He felt a growing sadness that he would not see Adon again, would not see him grow to a man. Ultimately, Gorath had to push away his son’s image. He could not be distracted now.
    He prepared for a final leap to Gurn, planning hismove. However, when he began, he found his body slow, sluggish.
I’m losing too much blood,
he realized. Still he made the effort and moved forward with all the speed he could muster.
    It was almost enough.
    He sensed the blows coming and struck out with his
mek’leth,
the blade that had been his father’s and his grandfather’s. The sword had felled many beasts and a number of green-skins. It was well made and true. In skilled