Cursing loudly, he spun, his sword grating out of its sheath.
Sure enough, two older, grizzled men were halfway out of the undergrowth, their swords drawn, and were advancing on Skye. She spun around with a cry, a moment too late, and the leading man pounced on her.
Or at least, he tried to pounce. She dodged, spinning neatly out of his way with surprising grace.
Gods, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her move like that,Evander thought, biting back a grim smile.
The man snarled, rushing at her again. She darted backwards, as if she were following the steps of a solo dance. The man focused his attention on her. A fatal mistake.
Evander’s blade met him before he could reach her, sinking deep into his chest. The man wheezed, his eyes wide with panic before they rolled back in his head. He sank back, sliding off Evander’s sword.
The second man screamed a wordless curse, diving forward. He wielded a powerful greatsword, and in the open air, without trees or troublesome ceilings to catch the long blade, it was a dangerous weapon indeed.
Evander ducked under the first blow, the edge of the blade whistling past his ear. The man whipped back the blade with impressive strength, swirling around for a second swing. Evander found himself dancing backwards.
Swordplay, after all, was just like dancing. Forward, back, sideways, circle. Two partners in lockstep, with so much grace and strength in their movements that one would never believe what the penalty would be for missing a step.
The man missed a step first. He swung too hard, the point bouncing off the dirt. He staggered, losing his balance for a split second.
A less experienced swordsman would have missed the narrow window, but Evander was not a less experienced swordsman. He moved forward, the steps flowing like water, and drove his blade down through the air and onto the exposed nape of the man’s neck.
The graceful movement had a sickening result. The man’s head separated from his body, both parts thumping limply to the ground.
Two down,Evander thought grimly and turned back to face the boy.
The red-head’s face had gone white. Perhaps he hadn’t expected Evander to dispatch the other two men so quickly.
That indicates that whoever sent him didnae tell him much about me.
In a flash, the boy dived forward, his hand shooting out. He grabbed the arrow embedded in the side of the litter, the onemeant for Skye. Cursing, Evander threw himself forward. The boy nocked the arrow and pulled back the string, aiming at Evander.
He wasn’t fast enough. Evander cannoned into him, knocking him backwards. They tumbled to the ground together, the arrow bouncing away.
A sharpcrackechoed as the bow snapped, and the boy snarled, raking his fingers across Evander’s face. Drawing back his head, Evander delivered a cracking blow. The boy blinked, gasping, and flopped back onto the ground.
Evander heaved himself to his feet, leveling the point of his sword at the boy’s throat.
“I daenae recommend ye continue struggling,” he remarked, as coolly as possible. “Ye have lost, son.”
“Go on, then,” the boy spat. “Kill me.”
“What is yer name?”
He blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“Yer name. What is it?”
For a moment, Evander thought the boy would refuse to answer. Swallowing, he glanced here and there, as if looking for an explanation.
“Jim,” he said, eventually.
Evander narrowed his eyes at him. That was the kind of name a man might choose if he wanted to remain anonymous, like Jack or John.
John Smith, perhaps.
“Well, Jim, I have some questions for ye, and if ye ken what is good for ye, ye will answer them.”
“Questions?” Jim repeated, his eyebrows knitting together. “Kill me and get it done with.”
