Blood sprayed as he tugged the weapon free and darted into the tent’s doorway.
Wards collapsed around him.
Within the threshold he reloaded the crossbow and affixed it in the brace on his wrist-beneath the voluminous sleeves. Then did the same with the other one on his left wrist.
The main chamber before him held but a lone occupant, a grey-robed assassin who spun at Kalam’s arrival, a pair of hooked Kethra knives flashing into guard position. The face within the hood was expressionless, a narrow, sun-darkened visage tattooed in the Pardu style, the swirling artistry broken by a far heavier sigil branded into the man’s forehead-a talon.
The grey-clad assassin suddenly smiled. ‘Kalam Mekhar. I suppose you don’t remember me.’
In answer Kalam drew out his second long-knife and attacked.
Sparks bit the air as the blades clashed and whispered, the Pardu driven back two steps until, with a sweeping backslash, he leapt to the right and sidestepped round to give himself more space. Kalam maintained the pressure, weapons flashing as they darted out, keeping the Talon on the defensive.
He had skill with those heavy Kethra knives, and both quickness and strength. Kalam’s blades took blocking blows that reverberated up the bones of his arms. Clearly, the Pardu was seeking to break the thinner weapons, and, well made as they were, nicks and notches were being driven into the edges.
Further, Kalam knew he was running out of time. The diversion continued, but now, along with the crack of sharpers ripping the air, waves of sorcery had begun rolling in deafening counterpoint. Whatever the nature of the squads attacking the Dogslayers, mages were giving answer.
Worse yet, this Talon didn’t enter here alone.
Kalam suddenly shifted stance, extending the knife in his left hand and drawing his right hand back to take guard position. He led with the point, evading the parries, and, in increments, slowly retracted his left arm, beginning at the shoulder. The faintest pivoting of hips, drawing the lead leg back-
And the Pardu closed the distance with a single step.
Kalam’s right hand shot across, beating aside both Kethra blades, simultaneously lunging high with his left hand.
The Pardu flung both weapons up to parry and trap the thrust.
And Kalam stepped in still closer, stabbing crossways with the long-knife in his right hand. Punching the tip into the man’s lower belly.
A gush of fluids, the edge gouging along the spine, the point then plunging out the other side.