The Spell Realm (The Sorcery Code #2)(13)
The two men started laughing. Using their distraction, Barson walked up to his horse and quietly unwrapped his sword, keeping it sheathed and concealed behind his back, but within easy reach. He didn’t have a good feeling about this situation.
“What territory do you belong to, serf?” The first man stopped laughing and stepped up to Barson. “Not Kelvin’s, I bet. He won’t stand for this kind of attitude. You from Blaise’s land?”
“Right, Blaise’s,” Barson gritted out, his jaw clenching tightly at the thought of Augusta’s former lover. His patience was wearing thin. How did commoners deal with this? If it hadn’t been for his need to keep a low profile, he would’ve put these lowlifes in their place a long time ago.
Like wolves scenting prey, the other mercenaries came up to them, forming a large circle around Barson. He counted eighteen of them—all armed with swords and daggers.
“What’s that you got there?” One of them had spotted Barson’s sword behind his back. “You steal a sword from some guard?” When Barson didn’t reply, the man ordered, “Show it to me.”
“You don’t want me to unsheathe this sword,” Barson said quietly, his anger beginning to boil over. “Trust me—you want to continue on your way now.”
“You insolent—”
Without waiting for the man to finish his insult, Barson unsheathed his sword. He was done with subtlety.
Before the mercenaries could react, he swung, and the man who wanted the cured meat was on his knees, clutching the gushing wound on his throat. Without waiting for anyone to understand what happened, Barson swung again, and two more mercenaries were now on the ground, their stomachs sliced open.
Seeing their comrades die had a sobering effect on the rest of Barson’s opponents. The five men nearest him had their swords ready and started to look for an opening. Barson did not provide them with one. Parrying a few weak attempts at an attack, he quickly dispatched the attackers.
The ten survivors stared at him in shock, then attacked him en masse. There was a desperate ferocity to their attacks that Barson didn’t expect, and he staggered backwards before killing two more with a practiced swing of his sword.
Now the tide of the battle turned. Four of the remaining eight soldiers began to back away, abandoning their comrades. Yet another reason why these men would never be on the Guard, Barson thought with contempt. They had no loyalty, no honor.
Switching the sword to his left hand, Barson pulled out a dagger with his right. Slicing through the chest of his leftmost attacker with his sword, he threw the dagger at one of the deserters, spearing him in the back.
Six men left—three of them now running away at full speed.
Barson doubled his efforts, unleashing a brutal attack on the three men who were still fighting him. He needed to deal with them quickly, before their cowardly comrades escaped. He couldn’t afford to leave any survivors—not if he wanted to keep a low profile.
Lifting his sword, he swung in a large arc, leaving his side exposed for a moment. It was a risk worth taking at this point—and it paid off, as his sword cut through all three of his opponents at once.
Panting, he leapt over to his horse, pulling out his bow and arrows from their hiding spot.
Three arrows later, the number of survivors was zero.
*
By the time Barson arrived at his sister’s house, it was close to midnight. Knocking quietly, he waited.
The door opened. Dara stood there, her eyes huge in her pale face. “Barson?” Her voice shook as she reached for him. “You’re . . . you’re alive! I knew those rumors had to be false, I just knew it!”
Laughing softly, Barson hugged her, feeling the tension in her body. “It’s all right, sis. You know they can’t kill me that easily.” Pulling back, he looked down at her. “Larn is fine too.”
She nodded, stepping back. “I knew that—I put a locator spell on him right before he left. But I didn’t put one on you, and when the whole Tower started buzzing with the rumors about the Sorcerer Guard being dead . . .” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I was so worried—”
“You didn’t need to worry,” Barson reassured her, even though it was a lie. For the first time in his life, he had faced a worthy opponent and barely escaped with his life. “I was always going to come back to you.”
“Come inside,” she urged, pulling on his arm. “Tell me what happened. Why do you look like a peasant?”
“It’s a long story,” Barson said, following her toward the kitchen. Without asking, she poured him a glass of milk and pulled out a plate of freshly baked rolls.
Grinning, Barson sat down and started telling Dara about the battle with the strange sorceress—about her fighting skills and the incredibly powerful spells she used. His sister listened, frowning, interrupting only a few times to ask questions.
“So what now?” she asked when he was done. “The Council is up in arms about this. Augusta called an emergency meeting, scaring the entire Tower half to death, and the rumor is that she told them the Guard is dead. They’re supposed to vote on something important soon, but I don’t know the specifics. Jandison is being very closemouthed about the whole thing.”
“I can guess what they’re going to vote about,” Barson said, finishing his third roll. “If I’m right, it would be quite helpful to our cause if they make the right decision.”