I hit the ground on my back, aware of a sudden blur of gray fur as Skirra leaps from the snow beside me, his teeth bared.
He knows how to take down predators—if not by the neck, then by savaging their bellies or underarms where blood will flow quickly. And, once again, Kalith’s right underarm is exposed.
Before Skirra’s teeth can sink into Kalith’s body, Kalith’s boot flies up, smashing into Skirra’s jaw and knocking him back across the snow.
The wolf yelps and tumbles through the powder, kicking up snowflakes, but his efforts were not completely in vain.
The distraction left Kalith’s back exposed for a few seconds—an opportunity my father doesn’t squander.
He throws himself at Kalith’s side, his knife stabbing at Kalith’s lower back where vital organs lie.
Father’s blade connects, but instead of impaling Kalith’s body, there’s aclang.
The blade slides right off Kalith’s back with a ferocious shriek that sounds like metal scraping against metal.
What the…?
Kalith whirls back to my father, again moving so fast, I can hardly follow it.
The torn section of his tunic flaps apart at the back where Father cut through it, revealing copper plating resting against Kalith’s skin beneath his shirt.
More metal.
But this time, it seems to be sitting against his skin like armor, hidden beneath his clothing. There’s a glimmer as it appears to become liquid, moving across his back.
If he can move his metal fast enough, he’ll be able to protect whatever part of his body is vulnerable at any given time.
Father is already slashing with his other knife, moving as fast as I’ve ever seen him move, stabbing at Kalith’s face, but with the upward strike, Father’s right side is exposed.
My heart leaps into my throat as Kalith’s sword swings into that space.
Just in time, Father adjusts his aim, bringing his blade arm down instead of going through with the original strike.
The edge of his knife connects with the top of the sword and he pushes Kalith’s weapon away. The muscles in his neck bunch, indicating how much strength it takes to ram Kalith’s sword off course.
But my father isn’t done.
The moment Kalith’s sword arm flies wide, Father headbutts him.
Smack!
Kalith stumbles back for the first time since the fight started, lurching across the clearing and toward the other Blacksmiths.
They’re all leaning toward the fight, tension simmering in the air around them. They’ve thrown off their cloaks, revealing that each of them is similarly dressed to Kalith in white tunics, pants, and boots.
They don’t appear to wear as many metal bands on their left arms as he does. The men who chained the wolves to the trees only have two bands each on their left biceps. The men on the other side each have three metal bands, also on their left biceps.
I’m starting to see a pattern between them, the way they store their metal on their left arms and use it with their right hands.
There isn’t time to study them further.
Blood streams from Kalith’s nostrils, splattering his white tunic.
The bone at the top of his nose is visibly broken.
He quickly regains his balance, and a savage cruelty enters his voice.
“Fuck this,” he says, his voice taking on a nasal tone now that his nose is broken.
