Knights of the Blood by Katherine Kurtz, Scott MacMillan

the confines of the chapel, and Brandstadter had to grasp his axe by the middle of the haft in order to wield it.
    Joffre had his sword wrenched away in the struggle and was easily overpowered by his foe, who forced the stocky Breton to his knees as though he were a child, bashing his face to pulp with his bare fist. Joffre fought with all his strength to break free, but despite punching and kicking in every direction he could think of, he was unable to escape the beating he was receiving. As Joffre slipped in blood on the floor, he instinctively threw out his arm to catch himself. His hand found a conical spiked helmet, and picking it up, he rammed it into the Turk’s chest.
    Joffre felt the Turk’s grip on his throat weaken as the spike drove into flesh, and the Turk staggered back. Winded, Joffre wrenched himself free, dropping to all fours, gasping for breath. As he looked up at the Turk in the dim light, one eye blinded by blood, he froze in astonished horror as the Turk reached up to his chest, grabbed the helmet with both hands, and slowly withdrew the bloody spike from his chest. Before Joffre could even throw himself to one side, the Turk rammed the spike of the helmet down on Joffre’s back, killing him instantly.
    But with Joffre out of the way, de Beq was able to swing his sword in a round—house blow at the Turk’s neck. Sensing the motion, the Turk tried to duck, and instead of beheading the Turk, de Beq’s sword took off the top of the Turk’s head. The Turk screamed but kept coming, even with his brain exposed, dashing forward and tripping over Joffre’s body. De Beq slipped in the growing slick of blood on the floor of the chapel, but still managed to launch himself after the Turk and aim another slash at him, this time burying his blade deep in the shoulder of his opponent.
    The Turk turned with such sudden ferocity that de Beq’s sword was torn from his hands. With the sword still deeply embedded in his shoulder, the Turk sprang at de Beg, his hands grabbing the edge of his chain mail coif, tightening it around the knight’s neck as he tried to choke him to death. The blood roared in de Beq’s ears, and a blackness seemed to be overtaking him, coming from far behind his eyes, as he twisted and struggled to break free of the Turk’s viselike grip. Repeatedly de Beq drove his knee into the Turk’s groin, but failed to loosen the Turk’s choking hold on his throat.
    De Beq felt his legs begin to buckle as he started to lose consciousness. In desperation, he began to flail wildly against the Turk, his weakening blows pummeling the man’s back and sides without effect. The Turk pulled de Beq closer to his mouth, going for the jugular with sharpened yellow teeth. The intended bite became but a nip as de Beq flinched away, his iron—mitted fingers trying desperately to gouge the Turk’s eyes. The Turk reflexively turned his head aside, escaping the mailed mitt that tried to blind him, and de Beq’s fingers connected with his brain.
    De Beq dug in harder as the pressure on his throat relented and he realized the Turk was going into spasms. He gritted his teeth and dug harder still, and the Turk let go with a deflated gurgle and collapsed completely, leaving the horrified de Beq holding a fistful of brain.
    De Beq fell into a seated position, gasping for air as the roaring in his ears and the great blackness that had engulfed him both receded into the pain of his badly bruised throat. All around him, the battle still was raging. Flinging away what was in his hand, de Beq looked around to see who needed help next and saw Brandstadter’s axe methodically rising and falling—and for the first time was conscious of the German serjeant’s screamed curses as he hacked one of the Turks to bits. Struggling to his feet, de Beq staggered over to where Brandstadter was kneeling in a growing pool of his own blood, bringing his axe down on a nearly limbless form. The object of his attentions screamed in rage