Peace Talks (The Dresden Files, #16)(62)

Sanya’s expression, meanwhile, lit up into an even brighter version of his usual smile, and when he turned his eyes back to Butters, they shone brightly.

Butters regarded the other man’s expression warily and then slowly smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

And without a word, the two Knights charged each other, Swords held high.

Once again, the swords clashed, only things were different now. Instead of Sanya dominating the fight, Butters had the edge. Esperacchius darted and whirled, liquid smooth, but as fast as Sanya was with his blade, the steel sword wasn’t weightless.

Fidelacchius, the Sword of Faith, was.

Butters pressed the attack with absolute ruthlessness, never giving the Russian a break once he had the big man back on his heels. Sanya began retreating in earnest, parrying and returning attacks wherever he could—which was seldom, in the face of Butters’s onslaught.

The big Russian tripped on a five-gallon bucket set neatly near an outdoor water spigot, fell back into a roll, and came back to his feet barely in time to catch the Sword of Faith on Esperacchius’s blade. He burst out into laughter as Butters drove him back relentlessly, and his flickering saber shifted to almost total defense. “Is not even fair! This is wonderful!”

Butters gasped out an answering laugh, and when he did, Sanya cheated. The taller Knight kicked some of Michael’s lawn up at Butters’s face, and the smaller man flinched back. Sanya took a risk and bulled in, and his timing was good. He got in close, his blade holding Butters’s back, and swiped at Butters’s head with his off hand.

He’d underestimated the little guy’s reaction speed. Butters moved on pure instinct, shining blade of his sword sweeping to the side.

And directly through Sanya’s wrist.

The big man screamed and fell to his knees, doubled up around his wrist.

“Sanya!” Butters cried. He stared at the shining sword for a moment, his eyes terrified—and then he dropped it. The blade flickered out and vanished as the hilt bounced off the lawn. Then he ran to the big man’s side.

I turned to the house and bellowed, “Medic!” Then I joined Butters beside Sanya.

The big man rocked back and forth, shaking hard, the muscles on his back and shoulders standing out sharply.

“Oh, wow, we were warned and we did not listen,” I muttered. “How many hands did we see go flying off?”

“I know,” Butters said, his voice horrified. “Sanya, come on, man. Let me see it.”

“Is all right,” Sanya said through clenched teeth. “Only need one hand for saber. Can still be Knight.”

“God, I am such an idiot,” Butters said. “I shouldn’t ever take that thing out unless evil’s, like, right here. Let me see, man.”

“Do not blame self, Waldo,” Sanya said gravely. “Cannot see myself as Christian, but they have good ideas about forgiveness. I will forgive you, brother.”

I stood up abruptly and folded my arms, arching an eyebrow.

“God, Sanya,” Butters said. “It was an accident. I am so sorry. I …” He suddenly frowned. “Hey.”

Sanya’s deep voice rolled out in a bubbling laugh that came up from somewhere around his toes and rolled up through his belly and chest before finally spilling out his mouth. He held up the fingers of his “maimed” hand and wiggled them, still laughing.

“Oh,” Butters stammered. “Oh, oh, oh. You jerk.”

Sanya rose, still laughing, and swiped a hand over his shaven head. He went over to the discarded scabbard. He took a cloth from a small case on the scabbard’s belt, wiped down the saber, and slid it neatly away. “Did not think so.”

“Think what?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Was instinct. Did not feel like I was in danger from that sword.”

“Instinct?” Butters demanded. He raked a hand back through his haystack of a hairdo. “For God’s sake, man. If you’d been wrong …”

“Wasn’t,” Sanya pointed out with a smile.

Butters made an exasperated sound and snatched up Fidelacchius’s hilt, but his expression was puzzled. “What just happened?”

“Obviously, it failed to cut him,” I said. “Question is why.” I looked around the backyard. Honestly, there was very little danger of anyone seeing much of what was going on. Between the rosebushes planted along the fences, a few shrubs, an enormous tree, and some actual privacy fencing along the back of the yard, there weren’t many places to see in. Michael had planned ahead.

As if the thought had summoned him, he came out the back door of the house, hurrying along in a heavy limp with his cane, the strap of a large medical kit slung over one shoulder. He slowed as he took in everyone’s body language and gave me a questioning glance.

“Sanya was playing with us,” I said.

“Cannot help it.” Sanya chortled. “You are such simple provincial folk.”

I knuckled him in the arm at the same time Butters kicked his shins. It only made him laugh again.

“What happened?” Michael asked calmly.

Butters told him.

“Huh,” Michael said, lifting his eyebrows. “Have you ever touched the blade of the sword?”

“God no,” Butters said. “I mean … come on, no. Just no.”