Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Patrick LeClerc
wanted. When I would produce them, he cut me in for a better share than usual. That's how I found out about this job. It's not really a contract, just a statement that so and so would pay a lot of money for such and such. I took the jobs I wanted.”
* * *
All hell broke loose. Bells rang in the house above as the thief worked at the lock. Conn waited patiently, the tightness in his throat and the racing of his pulse fading as he directed the rush of energy into a disciplined defense. He had learned early that a warrior must master his emotions, not serve them.
Within moments, the door at the head of the stairs was thrown open and guards boiled down the steps.
Conn saw about a half dozen in the dimly lit cellar. Most wore some armor over their heads and torsos and carried long, slashing swords and small shields. They held up for a moment, seeing the defenses the Aeransman had arranged.
One of the guards carried a short-handled axe. He studied the scenario carefully.
Conn didn't want to give him time to come up with a good plan, but each moment gave Trilisean more time with the lock. The man gave directions to the others to fan out. “Take the girl alive. Kill the man if you have to.”
The man hurled his axe and shouted “Now!” whipping out his sword. The guards surged forward.
Conn batted the axe aside with his shield. He didn't catch it on the face of the buckler. If it stuck, it would unbalance his left arm, and the handle would provide a grip for someone to pull his shield aside. He squared himself to face the onslaught.
The first guard cut at the Aeransman's head. Conn deflected the cut and slashed at the man's sword arm. His heavy blade cut to the bone. The man screamed and dropped his sword, clutching the bleeding gash. Conn didn't strike again, as the wounded soldier was in the way of his comrades.
As the wounded guard staggered aside, another tried to forced his way in. Conn blocked a cut on his shield. The guardsman blocked Conn's counterattack on his own buckler and stepped in close, trying to shove him back away from the entrance so that more guards could push through and overwhelm this invader.
Conn ducked, bringing his shield down quickly at the man's leg and slicing across his foe's thigh with the point of his dirk. As the soldier's leg buckled, the former mercenary punched with his shield, shoved the man off balance and jammed the point of his sword into the guard's ribs. His enemy crumpled and fell to the floor, coughing and choking.
A comrade seized the wounded man's arm and dragged him out of the way. The remaining guards stood back, warily considering their next move. Hurry up with the damn lock , Conn thought.
The next man aimed a cut at Conn’s head then switched to a low slash at his shin. Conn just managed to snap his leg up over the blade. The enemy were using the greater reach of their long swords to try to wound him, cut away at him and then overwhelm him when he weakened. Conn was trained and armed for close quarters fighting, excellent in a tight infantry formation or in the narrow confines he had created, but his reach was less than his enemies'. His thoughts came in a desperate rush. If he fell back, they'd drive through the opening in the shelves and he'd have to fight two or three. If he pushed forward to bring his own weapon into reach, he'd have to face their numbers. If he stayed and fought a defensive fight, sooner or later, one cut would land, then another until he weakened and died beneath their rush.
He decided on a risky tactic. When his foe slashed at him, he turned sideways as he parried with his shield and lunged forward on his right foot, driving his sword into the man's chest, just below his throat. The guard staggered back, coughing blood, but his sword glanced off the edge of Conn's shield and drew a shallow cut along his left shoulder.
The Aeransman cursed. The cut was minor. He was used to fighting in armor, and even a leather jerkin would have
* * *
All hell broke loose. Bells rang in the house above as the thief worked at the lock. Conn waited patiently, the tightness in his throat and the racing of his pulse fading as he directed the rush of energy into a disciplined defense. He had learned early that a warrior must master his emotions, not serve them.
Within moments, the door at the head of the stairs was thrown open and guards boiled down the steps.
Conn saw about a half dozen in the dimly lit cellar. Most wore some armor over their heads and torsos and carried long, slashing swords and small shields. They held up for a moment, seeing the defenses the Aeransman had arranged.
One of the guards carried a short-handled axe. He studied the scenario carefully.
Conn didn't want to give him time to come up with a good plan, but each moment gave Trilisean more time with the lock. The man gave directions to the others to fan out. “Take the girl alive. Kill the man if you have to.”
The man hurled his axe and shouted “Now!” whipping out his sword. The guards surged forward.
Conn batted the axe aside with his shield. He didn't catch it on the face of the buckler. If it stuck, it would unbalance his left arm, and the handle would provide a grip for someone to pull his shield aside. He squared himself to face the onslaught.
The first guard cut at the Aeransman's head. Conn deflected the cut and slashed at the man's sword arm. His heavy blade cut to the bone. The man screamed and dropped his sword, clutching the bleeding gash. Conn didn't strike again, as the wounded soldier was in the way of his comrades.
As the wounded guard staggered aside, another tried to forced his way in. Conn blocked a cut on his shield. The guardsman blocked Conn's counterattack on his own buckler and stepped in close, trying to shove him back away from the entrance so that more guards could push through and overwhelm this invader.
Conn ducked, bringing his shield down quickly at the man's leg and slicing across his foe's thigh with the point of his dirk. As the soldier's leg buckled, the former mercenary punched with his shield, shoved the man off balance and jammed the point of his sword into the guard's ribs. His enemy crumpled and fell to the floor, coughing and choking.
A comrade seized the wounded man's arm and dragged him out of the way. The remaining guards stood back, warily considering their next move. Hurry up with the damn lock , Conn thought.
The next man aimed a cut at Conn’s head then switched to a low slash at his shin. Conn just managed to snap his leg up over the blade. The enemy were using the greater reach of their long swords to try to wound him, cut away at him and then overwhelm him when he weakened. Conn was trained and armed for close quarters fighting, excellent in a tight infantry formation or in the narrow confines he had created, but his reach was less than his enemies'. His thoughts came in a desperate rush. If he fell back, they'd drive through the opening in the shelves and he'd have to fight two or three. If he pushed forward to bring his own weapon into reach, he'd have to face their numbers. If he stayed and fought a defensive fight, sooner or later, one cut would land, then another until he weakened and died beneath their rush.
He decided on a risky tactic. When his foe slashed at him, he turned sideways as he parried with his shield and lunged forward on his right foot, driving his sword into the man's chest, just below his throat. The guard staggered back, coughing blood, but his sword glanced off the edge of Conn's shield and drew a shallow cut along his left shoulder.
The Aeransman cursed. The cut was minor. He was used to fighting in armor, and even a leather jerkin would have
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