Patrick’s smile was a harsh grimace. “We all have our faults.”
“So we do,” Fallon agreed.
The exchange put their opponents off-balance, and the first to speak drew his sword in a flashy movement that Fallon would have severely disciplined one of his warriors for trying.
“Let me educate you,” Fallon said, his voice calm. “When planning an ambush, you strike from behind so your opponent doesn’t have time to defend themselves.”
Caden moved, the knife in his hand flashing as he plunged it into the man closet to him. The man gurgled, his eyes wide and surprised.
The other two turned and froze, their faces shocked at the sight of their companion dead on the ground, Caden standing over the corpse with a devilish smile.
“Like that,” Fallon said in a soft voice.
The words broke the spell the men were under.
They rushed forward with cries of fury.
Fallon ducked under one wild swing, knocking the man’s hand away and sending his open palm into the man’s throat. “You don’t rush in without thought.”
Fallon pivoted, dodging the long spear the last opponent stabbed at him. He trapped the wooden length of the spear against his body. His attacker tugged. Fallon didn’t budge.
“Or bring a long-range weapon to a close quarter fight.” Fallon shoved the spear at his opponent, sending it into his stomach.
The first man came from his side and Fallon stepped out of his way, letting the man’s own momentum carry him into the one carrying the spear. Fallon watched with a slight smile as they righted themselves and turned to regard him with caution.
The man bearing the spear dropped it and pulled out two daggers.
“Getting rid of the spear was a good idea, but now you have another problem,” Fallon said, still in that reasonable voice. “Sometimes, more is not better.”
The man slashed at him, whirling his arms to keep Fallon away as he pressed forward.
Fallon blocked one blade away with his forearm and grabbed the other man’s arm, turning his blade on himself, plunging it into his stomach.
“Like now,” Fallon said into the man’s ear.
He yanked the dagger out and watched with dispassionate eyes as his opponent fell to the ground.
“Then there was one,” Caden said from his post against the wall.
Fallon focused eyes filled with death on the remaining attacker. It was the older man, the one who should have known better.
He looked at his fallen comrades, correctly coming to the conclusion that even unarmed, the warlord was not an opponent worth attacking.
Caden blocked his exit, nonchalantly cleaning his blade and looking unruffled.
“Who sent you?” Fallon asked, when the man whirled back to face him.
The man moved so his back was to the wall. He watched the three of them with cold eyes. Fallon had to give him credit. He wasn’t a gibbering mass of panic, which was more than he could say for some of those who had come up against him and lost.
“Owen, this is a disappointment,” Patrick said in a chiding tone.
Owen didn’t answer, his expression not shifting from Fallon.
“Tell us what we want to know and we’ll make it quick,” Fallon promised in a silken voice.
Owen lifted his chin. “There’s a new age coming. You’re on the losing side of a battle you can’t win.”
Fallon gave him an amused smile. “We’ve already established you aren’t the best judge of what battles I can win.”
