This wasn’t Reynald’s sword or Everard’s usual weapon. The books had described Everard’s sword in excruciating detail. The Emerald Blaze had a blade like a longsword, with a basket hilt like a rapier, and it was about forty-three inches long. When Everard fought, speed and precision were most important, and protection was his weakness. That hilt guarded his hand, because if he dropped his sword, the battle would be over for everyone.
The monstrosity in his hands right now was at least fifty-five inches long, with a guard that looked like something that should be growing on a longhorn bull’s head. He would have to swing it with two hands. That wasn’t how Everard fought.
The intruders spotted him and fanned out. Two of them, carrying short, brutal-looking spears, moved to the front.
Everard gripped his sword with both hands, leaned back on his left foot, and raised the weapon to his eye level, holding the massive blade parallel to the floor, pointing at his enemy. His wrists were crossed.
What the hell was going on? Was he going to take them all on by himself?
Behind Everard, the door thudded, and the Magnar brothers tore out, weapons in hand. Lute was half dressed—his tunic loose—and pale, gripping his sword. Will looked like he hadn’t even gone to bed.
Everard didn’t pay them any mind.
Gort burst out of the door.
The brothers flanked Everard, weapons ready.
“Harst!” Gort snarled.
Will and Lute backed away in unison, falling into a loose stance by the wine tree. Will caught the shaft of his axe with his left hand, while Lute rested his blade on his shoulder.
A battle command. All soldiers in Rellas drilled to instantly obey them, and that one meant hold position. Gort had been a kir, a sergeant, first in the King’s Army and then as a mercenary. When he barked an order, disobeying wasn’t an option. They wouldn’t move until Gort told them to.
One of the intruders stopped just like the brothers.
“Gort?” he asked, his voice uncertain.
Gort turned to him. “Tillmar?”
Tillmar backed away from the group and parked himself by the wall, his sword down.
“What the fuck are you doing?” one of the attackers snarled.
“I’m done,” Tillmar told him.
“The fuck you are!”
“Today,” Everard snapped.
The eight remaining intruders charged.
They came at Everard in a pack, like wolves trying to encircle a deer, the two spearmen in the lead.
The taller spearman lunged, aiming for Everard’s stomach. The Sleepless Duke knocked the spear to the left with his arm and drove the point of his sword into the man’s face. The second spearman thrust from the side, and Everard shoved the first intruder at him. The second attacker stumbled, trying to avoid the body. The point of his spear dipped. Everard smashed the flat of his sword against it. The spear touched the ground. Everard stepped on it. The spearman bent his knees, trying to wrench the weapon up, and Everard stabbed at his neck, lightning fast.
It happened so quick, less than two seconds, and then the two spearmen collapsed, while Everard was on his feet in a circle of attackers.
He dropped the point of his sword down, almost touching the ground.
A large man charged at him, swinging a longsword in a devastating overhand strike. Everard stepped to the side, redirecting the descending sword with the flat of his blade. The swordsman realized he was exposed and tried to jerk his arm to the right, but Everard’s sword was faster. He struck. The man’s head drooped, barely connected to his neck by a sliver of flesh. He took another step then crashed down to the stone floor.
An axeman chopped at Everard from the left. He shied back. The axe whistled by, but another swordsman on the right was waiting, and their blade grazed Everard’s back.
Oh god.
Everard thrust at the swordsman, too fast to follow. The swordsman’s back was to us, and I didn’t see exactly what happened, but Everard’s blade slid either into his throat or his upper chest. The swordsman stumbled away, clutching at himself, folded in half, and fell.
The axeman came at Everard swinging. Everard dodged, left, right, floating like his body was made of water. His sword sliced, and the axeman dropped the axe, clenched their arm, and tried to back away. Everard thrust and recovered in a fraction of a second. The axeman went down.
