Free Black Spice (Book 3) by James R. Sanford Page A

two death guards in what looked like a toga
covered in black mold.  His headdress had nothing of the boar to it.  It was
rimmed by desiccated snakes and topped with the head of a bat, its fanged mouth
wide open.  In one hand, writhing freely, its tail wrapped around his wrist,
lay a blue and yellow viper.
    Immediately,
he stiffened and looked right at them.  Aiyan stepped out from behind a tree
and sighted down the barrels of the wheel-lock.  Ziddgan raised the hand
holding the snake, but Aiyan had already squeezed the first trigger.
    The
wheel spun against the dog, but there was no spark.
    The
sorcerer held the viper against his free hand, and it instantly struck.  Aiyan
suddenly dropped the pistol, crying out pain, his hand twisted into a claw.  Ziddgan
brought the snake up to his neck and it bit him again.  The death guards had
drawn their sabres and were moving, not for the door of the house, but to
protect the sorcerer.
    Mahai
charged right at them, with Kyric a half step behind.  Then another death guard
came around from the back of the house, obviously surprised at what was
happening.  If Kyric charged with Mahai, this man could easily flank them, so
he swerved toward him, hoping to get to him before he could draw his sword.
    But
the fellow moved unnaturally fast, reaching for his sabre and nearly cutting
Kyric on the draw.  Blades clashed as Kyric slid past him and they turned to
face each other.
    Aiyan
took an agonizingly slow step forward, as if in irons.  He drew his sword slowly
with his left hand, raising it like a knife.  The pair of death guards in front
of Ziddgan attacked Mahai together, driving him across the clearing.  He
blocked a slash from one and sprang away to keep the other from getting behind
him.  He couldn’t even get a swing at one of them — it was all he could do to
hold them off.
    The
man in front of Kyric exploded with a fleche attack, usually a bad idea with a
sabre, but it surprised Kyric completely, and he had to backpedal for his life,
his parry thwarted as the Baskillian dipped his point and brought it up on a
new line.  It left a gash in Kyric’s armor as he spun aside, his own blade
slashing only the air as his opponent leapt away from the counter blow.
    Aiyan
and Mahai were in trouble.  Kyric needed to down this man quickly and go to
their aid, but his spirit had been thrown off balance.  This man was no pig
hunter.  He was a skilled swordsman, armored in a silk and leather corselet
beneath his tunic of bones, and he was familiar with the circular style of
fighting.  Every time Kyric seemed to have him, he knew what was coming and
dodged away, daring Kyric to make a more committed attack.
    He
had to end this fight and this man.  He reached for the unseen tether, making
himself a mirror for his enemy.  They moved in the slowest of dances.  Kyric
summoned emptiness.  He raised his sword, pulling the tether, the death guard
mirroring him as they stepped toward each other, swords held high.  Then it was
the eternal moment, and Kyric swung first.  He cut through the man’s headpiece
and into his skull.  The Baskillian collapsed like a broken squeeze-box, but
even so, his sabre glanced off Kyric’s helmet and sliced into the shoulder
piece of his armor.  It had been too close.
    Aiyan
had dropped to one knee, his eyes wide with pain.  He seemed unable to move. 
One of the death guards broke away from the fight with Mahai and circled to
come up on Aiyan’s blind side.
    Kyric
sprinted to intercept him, but he was too late.  Aiyan was able to turn his
head.  The Baskillian raised his sabre.  Unable to move his sword arm, Aiyan
watched his death coming — and he smiled.
    A
sharp crack shattered the quiet.  Lerica stood on the roof of the house in a
plume of smoke, her pistol in her hand.  The sorcerer lay face down on the
ground below, his headdress in bloody disarray and part of his skull missing. 
The snake slid away, into the tall grass.
    Aiyan
spun to