Iron and Magic (The Iron Covenant #1)(64)

Elara gripped the sword and pulled it free.

Hugh was on her right, the two fighters on her left. The one closest to her bled from his nose, his eyes swelling into slits. Hugh charged the fighter with the broken nose. Broken Nose cut at him in a fast, wild slash. Hugh leaned back, and Broken Nose’s sword sliced air. Before he could recover, Hugh cut at the fighter’s extended arm. The man let out a short guttural howl. His sword fell to the ground. His right arm hung limp, useless. The warrior grabbed his wounded arm with his left hand and stumbled back. The other fighter slashed at Hugh’s back. The blade connected. Hugh spun about, parrying the next strike, and attacked, driving the shorter man back.

Elara ran three steps forward and thrust the sword into Broken Nose’s armored back.

It didn’t penetrate.

The fighter turned around, swinging his blade. Elara rammed him, throwing all of her weight into him and his bleeding arm. He tripped and sprawled on the ground. She thrust her sword straight down into his chest and threw herself onto it.

The blade sank a couple of inches, screeching against the armor. The fighter screamed and clawed at the skirt of her dress with his remaining hand. Elara strained, digging her feet into the ground. She wished she still had the rock, so she could hammer the sword into his body.

The man screamed, staring straight at her. Blood poured from his mouth in a thick red gush. The metallic stench hit her. She had to finish it. Elara strained, summoning every last reserve she had. Something cracked in the man’s chest and the blade slid in. He jerked one last time and lay still.

Elara straightened. Blood dripped from her hands.

Hugh and the other man danced between the trees, their swords a blur. Steel clanged. She could barely see the blades. How in the world was Hugh even parrying that?

The weapons clashed, the two men throwing all their strength and speed into their strikes. The magic was down, but Hugh moved with insane precision: fast, flexible, strong, anticipating his opponent’s movements.

The warrior attacked him in an elaborate slash. Hugh parried and charged, raining blows on his opponent. The shorter warrior backed up. His blade danced, blocking, but his hand shook every time he countered a blow. Hugh was beating on him with methodical savagery. There was something almost business-like about it. Killing was a job, something that had to be done, and Hugh was an expert in it. He would get it done. The other man wouldn’t last long.

The warrior must’ve realized it. He launched a counterattack, bringing his sword in a wide arc from the left, blindingly fast. Hugh parried before the sword could bite into his side. The warrior reversed the swing and cut at him from the right. Hugh stepped into it, blocking the swing, his sword pointing down. The warrior lunged at him, closing the distance. The two men struggled, locked, face to face, Hugh’s sword on top of the warrior’s, both pushing, blades immobile.

Hugh planted his feet and shoved.

The warrior stumbled back.

Hugh sliced his opponent’s arm from left to right. The warrior jerked back and clamped his left hand over his shoulder. Blood seeped between his fingers. He passed the sword into his left hand and gave it a light swing, his eyes fixed on Hugh.

A furry shape tore out of the bushes. The warrior tried to turn toward it, but it was too late. One hundred and twenty pounds of hound hit him in the chest. Canine teeth flashed and bit down. The warrior toppled over, Cedric on top of him, snarling and biting.

“Damn it,” Hugh swore.

Blood wet the dog’s mouth. He bit the man again, ripping chunks of flesh from the ruined throat.

“Enough,” Hugh ordered.

Cedric ignored him, tearing into the body like he was rabid.

“I said enough!” Hugh grabbed the hound by the collar and hauled him back. Cedric strained, snarling, bloody foam dripping from his jaws. She’d never seen the dog that upset.

Cedric gave up on snarling and howled.

Hugh jerked him upright, stared into his eyes, and said calmly, “Shut up.”

The massive dog struggled a moment longer, then closed his mouth and sat back.

The three corpses lay on the forest floor in their identical armor.

“You were right,” she said. “There is an army out there.”

And they had just killed three of their soldiers. Someone would come looking.

They moved at the same time. Hugh ducked behind the tree where they’d left Alex and picked him up like he weighed nothing and whistled. Bucky pushed through the brush.

Elara grabbed the fallen man’s sword. The man’s neck looked like raw hamburger. Acid shot into her throat. She swallowed it back down and stepped over to the first corpse. Elara brought the sword down in a sharp chop. The blade severed the thin shred of muscle and skin that attached the head to the body. It fell with a thump. She picked it up, helmet and all. If the army came to retrieve the bodies, at least they would have something. You could do a lot with flesh and a little magic.

Hugh threw Alex over the saddle.

A stray thought came to her. Elara froze.

“What?” Hugh asked.

“Us. When he…” Prayed to me. “He said save us.”

Hugh turned, studying the woods. Bushes trembled to the right. He snapped toward it. She put her hand onto his forearm and stepped forward.

“It’s alright,” she said softly. “We’ll protect you. We’ll keep you safe. You don’t want to stay here in the dark all alone.”