to try it, to hold his own instead of bouncing about. Maddeningly, he didn’t take it. Stern dropped to one knee, blocking the lower slash from his left and letting the right sail over his head. Immediately after blocking he rolled to the side. Ghost chased, but each slash smashed only floor. Time was no longer on his side. The others would be up soon, groggy and heads full of fog, perhaps, but still up.
How much concentration did it take to turn someone into a toad, Ghost wondered.
Stern at last had nowhere to run. His back was to the wall. To his left were the stairs, and the right, the main door. His eyes flicked from both, deciding. Ghost gave him no time, rushing in while keeping his swords close. He would block a retreat with his own body, and let his blades do the work. Stern had no chance matching strength, and without retreat, dying would be his only option left.
It seemed Stern knew this as well. His eyes widened, and he appeared pressed to the very edge of his control by adrenaline and fear. The look of a cornered animal. Ghost knew Stern would not roll onto his back and hope for mercy. He’d lunge, mad, vicious. And that’s just what he did. Ghost feared those first few seconds as the maces came crashing in, slamming into his swords with shocking impact. He felt kicks strike his body, at one point an elbow, and still the maces looped and struck. But they were fighting Ghost’s fight now, close up and animalistic. He blocked a swipe from the side, then savagely struck its length with his other blade, knocking it from Stern’s hand. Stern’s other weapon came around, straight for his head. Instead of ducking, he stepped closer, chest to chest. The side of Stern’s arm hit his face, but that was far better than the sharp edges of the mace.
One sword slashed his arm, making him drop his weapon. The other thrust into his belly and twisted.
“Shit,” Stern grunted, clutching Ghost’s wrist with both hands. His whole body shook, and his face rapidly paled. Ghost pulled his weapon free, breaking Stern’s grip as if it were that of a child. The man slid along the wall, blood pouring across his hands and down his legs. He held the wound with his palms, slowing the bleeding.
“Should have surrendered,” Ghost said. “Though I respect your defense of your friends, this was all unnecessary.”
He left him there, stepped over Brug, and climbed the stairs. The short fighter was moaning still, conscious but only just. He was no threat. Ghost found the wizard first, glad to see him still out. Unwrapping the rope he’d looped about his waist, he cut a length of it and bound Tarlak’s hands. Thinking for a moment, he cut a smaller length, wedged a piece of the wizard’s own robe into his mouth, and then tied it into a gag. Hefting him onto his shoulder, he carried him back down the stairs and deposited him in a chair. Stern watched him with glazed eyes from where he lay.
Last was the girl. She opened her eyes when he stepped inside, but she showed no recognition, nor any signs of fear. Concussion, he figured. She probably didn’t know the difference between him and the King of Ker.
“To your feet,” he said. “I’d hate to strike you again.”
He grabbed her wrists and held them tight as he escorted her down the stairs. Once she was tied to another chair, he kicked Brug to see how he was faring.
“Damn it,” Brug muttered, his eyes suddenly focusing. “What was that for?”
He saw Ghost standing over him, and then he tried to reach for his weapons. Instead, Ghost slammed his heel onto his throat and pushed him back.
“I’d recommend you behave,” he said, the tip of his sword dangling before an eye. “Otherwise I might just let go.”
Brug ground his teeth, glanced about, then nodded. Ghost bound his hands and feet and then dumped him on the floor beside the others.
“Well, that was disappointingly easy,” Ghost said, sheathing his swords. “I hope the Watcher proves more challenging than you four.”
Stern said something, but his voice was too weak to hear. Ghost stepped closer and leaned down.
“You’ll find out when he kills you,” Stern said, then made a sound like the cross of a cough and a laugh. Ghost slapped the side of his face, the gesture almost playful.
“At least you put up a