stallion stood still as a stone, his head high. I assumed that if I jumped onto his back he would take off like a rocket again. My ears strained for some indication that Kvitch wasn’t alone but I couldn’t hear anything.
“So, what is your game plan, Kvitch?” I asked him.
“My what?” he asked.
American slang – I needed to watch that. “An expression from where I am from,” I explained. “You don’t seem like you are just making idle chat.”
“No,” he said, smiling. “Not with a Man, anyway. My problem is that if you take that horse south there will come a steady stream of Men and Uman from Sental and Volkhydro with the idea that the Herd Which Cannot be Tamed is now changed somehow. I also don’t think you came here with that sword and no sheath, but that you found it in my nation. That makes it the property of the Simple People.”
“Ah,” I said, nodding. “So you plan to take them both, I imagine.”
“That is the plan, yes,” he told me.
I had finally placed the stand of archers. About three of them, behind a rise, twenty yards straight to my left. One had creaked his bow while Kvitch talked, another had dropped an arrow at the same time, and now I could hear one speaking softly in his own language. Another legacy of my Navy experience: engine-room ears. The same ability that let a watch supervisor hear a steam turbine generator dip two hertz while three big men beat a piece of steel decking with a hammer. I could hear the small sounds over the big ones.
“And your archers over that rise, are going to help you with that?” I asked him.
“What archers?” he asked me. “Since when do Dwarves have archers?”
“What are Dwarves?” I asked him.
You know, you can be too clever. Yes, three men hid on the other side of the rise, but they just happened to be here at the same time as me.
Kvitch had reflexes like a cat, surprising in one built so thick. From behind the rise one tall, thin man, dressed in beige leathers, pulled a feathered shaft back on a long bow as he stood. His two friends charged from either side of the rise. The Dwarf whipped out a circular disk and threw it in their direction. The thing spun through the air and took the archer in the stomach before he could react. By then Kvitch had his mace up and had squared off on the three of us.
I might have picked the side of the other two men if one hadn’t charged me with a short, double-edged sword raised. I had my sword up in a stance that I had learned from fighting in events at the Renaissance Fair. I put my side to the opponent, sword up in an angle over my head, blade pointed down. I positioned my left hand straight down, ready to come up for a punch or, if possible, to grab his shield or another of my weapons.
He didn’t have a shield and I didn’t have another weapon. He looked at me and stopped dead in his tracks, obviously wondering what I was doing. I took the initiative and struck the first blow, sweeping the sword in a wide arc. In this stance, all of the power would come from turning my hips. I thought that, by holding the blade parallel to the ground, I could take him in his neck.
The blade was light, true and strong, and I swung it as hard as I could. Even though he brought his own blade up at the last second, the blow aimed for his neck glanced from his weapon and caught him in the side of his unprotected head. Brains and blood spattered and his sword rang as it flipped end-over-end to one side. I spun on my heel, totally off balance, and crashed backwards into the stallion’s side.
The huge stallion nickered and leaned against me. When I had gotten my balance back, I looked to my left and saw Kvitch trying to keep a bigger man at bay. The length of the man’s sword made it more effective than
“So, what is your game plan, Kvitch?” I asked him.
“My what?” he asked.
American slang – I needed to watch that. “An expression from where I am from,” I explained. “You don’t seem like you are just making idle chat.”
“No,” he said, smiling. “Not with a Man, anyway. My problem is that if you take that horse south there will come a steady stream of Men and Uman from Sental and Volkhydro with the idea that the Herd Which Cannot be Tamed is now changed somehow. I also don’t think you came here with that sword and no sheath, but that you found it in my nation. That makes it the property of the Simple People.”
“Ah,” I said, nodding. “So you plan to take them both, I imagine.”
“That is the plan, yes,” he told me.
I had finally placed the stand of archers. About three of them, behind a rise, twenty yards straight to my left. One had creaked his bow while Kvitch talked, another had dropped an arrow at the same time, and now I could hear one speaking softly in his own language. Another legacy of my Navy experience: engine-room ears. The same ability that let a watch supervisor hear a steam turbine generator dip two hertz while three big men beat a piece of steel decking with a hammer. I could hear the small sounds over the big ones.
“And your archers over that rise, are going to help you with that?” I asked him.
“What archers?” he asked me. “Since when do Dwarves have archers?”
“What are Dwarves?” I asked him.
You know, you can be too clever. Yes, three men hid on the other side of the rise, but they just happened to be here at the same time as me.
Kvitch had reflexes like a cat, surprising in one built so thick. From behind the rise one tall, thin man, dressed in beige leathers, pulled a feathered shaft back on a long bow as he stood. His two friends charged from either side of the rise. The Dwarf whipped out a circular disk and threw it in their direction. The thing spun through the air and took the archer in the stomach before he could react. By then Kvitch had his mace up and had squared off on the three of us.
I might have picked the side of the other two men if one hadn’t charged me with a short, double-edged sword raised. I had my sword up in a stance that I had learned from fighting in events at the Renaissance Fair. I put my side to the opponent, sword up in an angle over my head, blade pointed down. I positioned my left hand straight down, ready to come up for a punch or, if possible, to grab his shield or another of my weapons.
He didn’t have a shield and I didn’t have another weapon. He looked at me and stopped dead in his tracks, obviously wondering what I was doing. I took the initiative and struck the first blow, sweeping the sword in a wide arc. In this stance, all of the power would come from turning my hips. I thought that, by holding the blade parallel to the ground, I could take him in his neck.
The blade was light, true and strong, and I swung it as hard as I could. Even though he brought his own blade up at the last second, the blow aimed for his neck glanced from his weapon and caught him in the side of his unprotected head. Brains and blood spattered and his sword rang as it flipped end-over-end to one side. I spun on my heel, totally off balance, and crashed backwards into the stallion’s side.
The huge stallion nickered and leaned against me. When I had gotten my balance back, I looked to my left and saw Kvitch trying to keep a bigger man at bay. The length of the man’s sword made it more effective than
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