[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

had dropped the ebony case to his swordstick, and flourished the rapier blade
by its silver, lion's-head hilt; Krysty had borrowed J.B.'s broad, saw-edged
Tekna knife.
The Vikings stood in a loose circle around the open door, staring at the
inferno of flames and smoke. There were six men, the youngest of whom looked
at least forty. Two held battered sawed-off scatterguns. The rest carried axes
or swords.
Ryan was first out, his fighter's eye spotting the two blasters. He went for
the closer bearded Norseman who was leveling his weapon.
If either Viking got off a shot, the noise would carry miles on a quiet
windless night. And that would be the end of Mildred.
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During their discussions, when Ryan outlined his plan, he'd made it clear that
if anything went wrong at this stage in the ville, it would mean every man for
himself.
His panga thudded home against the side of the man's throat, with a satisfying
jar that ran clear to Ryan's shoulder. The edge of the blade grated between
the vertebrae, nearly slicing all the way through.
The carotid artery was severed and hot blood fountained in the air,
brilliantly lit by the backdrop of the flames.
J.B. took out the second warrior who held a shotgun. Pushing aside the blaster
with his left hand, the slightly built Armorer jammed his stiletto deep into
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the man's guts, twisting his wrist with a savage determination. A great gash
ripped through the man's jerkin, as well as through skin and muscle. J.B. felt
the heat of spilled intestines against his wrist as he withdrew the blade and
pushed the dying
Norseman away from him.
A third man started to back away as he saw the dreaded figure of Doc Tanner,
running toward him with his rapier, his frock coat flying open.
Despite Doc's age, the old-timer was fast enough over a short distance. He
reached the Viking and killed him with a single, careful thrust through the
heart.
The man dropped to the earth, his sword falling from his fingers. Doc withdrew
his own blade and bowed slightly. "Touche."
Krysty, with hair so red in the glow of the blazing hut that it seemed as if
her head were on fire, charged at her chosen victim. Since she was last into
the open, the three remaining guards had been given a few precious heartbeats
to ready themselves.
But the elderly warrior who faced her was totally unprepared for the lightning
speed and demonic ferocity of the tall, emerald-eyed valkyrie who came
charging at him. "Odin!" he began to yell, his great ax half-lifted.
Krysty sent him to meet his gods with that prayer frozen on his lips. The
Tekna
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opened him from breastbone to groin. The bloodied blade hacked at his throat
as he fell to his knees, clutching his ghastly wound, his ax ringing on stones
near his feet.
Krysty stood breathing hard by the dying man, edging back a few paces to
prevent the scarlet stream from dappling the toes of her boots.
Ryan had followed through onto the fifth of the old warriors, brushing away
the feeble lunge of a shaking sword. He pushed the stubby end of his own blade
into the man's open mouth. Teeth shattered like frail icicles. The edge of the
steel panga opened the lips several inches wider on the right.
Ryan pulled out the cleaver and aimed a short, chopping blow at the side of
his opponent's head. The Viking's skull split open like a dry gourd, and he
fell to the ground.
Ryan turned, checking to see if J.B. needed help with the sixth and last of
the sentries. The Armorer was kneeling astride his man, cutting his throat as
calmly as if he were hacking himself off a slice of breakfast ham at a
riverside camp meeting.
"That's it," Ryan said. "Let's go get our blasters."
THE IRON CHAINS were cold against Mildred's skin. The Vikings had stretched
her out, ankles secured to the bottom corners of the great slab, wrists pulled
far apart and manacled at the top. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]