Clarissa give a loud cry of alarm. In an instant I was down again, across the vestibule, and back out through the door. My companion was standing against the autocarriage. Blood was streaming from her left shoulder. She was swinging a large spanner back and forth, and the three Aristocrats were crouched in front of her. They’d pulled swords from beneath their jackets.
“What in the Saviour’s name do you think you’re doing?” I yelled, striding toward them.
In answer, one of them threw himself at me, chopping downward with his blade. My training took over. Without thinking, I pivoted, and his weapon flashed past less than two inches from my face. In the same instant the tip of his sword clanged on the cobbles, I drew my own and, in doing so, slammed my forearm into his neck. His head snapped back, his top hat rolled away, and he stumbled from me, giving me the space to slash at him. His hand went flying, still clutching his weapon. With a scream of pain, he squatted and scuttled out of reach, clutching at his spurting stump.
A wave of revulsion hit me as I felt my inner demon squirm with sick delight, rejoicing at the damage I’d inflicted upon the attacker. I lowered my sword, stepped back, and stammered, “I’m—I’m sorry.” I was torn, as if two personalities were grappling for dominance of me. One would not hesitate to take a life in order to protect Clarissa. The other could barely lift the blade, so afraid was it that if I started killing I’d not be able to stop.
I teetered backward as one of the other Yatsill came at me, but as I did so, I saw the third creature take a swipe at Clarissa, who barely managed to block his blade with her spanner. My sword came up automatically and I parried my new opponent’s first swing, then—with my body rather than my mind in control—slashed at one of his legs, slicing it off beneath the first knee joint.
I leaped away from him to defend my companion.
The third Yatsill saw me coming and scurried backward into the square, giving himself more room to manoeuvre. I realised at once that this creature knew what he was doing. His stance spoke of someone well practised with the sword, though how he came by such skill was a mystery, for only the Working Class trained as guardsmen. Even before we engaged, this appreciation of his ability sent a thrill of fear through me. Crossing blades when you are well padded and your opponent is under strict instructions only to aim at that padding and not hit hard is one thing, but facing a foe who’s under no such compulsion is quite another. I’d seen for myself how readily these Ptallayan swords could sink into the hard wood of tree stumps. Wielded with strength, they could easily slice straight through a limb, as I’d already found.
Had I been alone, perhaps I would have succumbed to the insistent part of me that wanted to drop my weapon and take to my heels. As it was, I couldn’t possibly leave Clarissa, so my only option was to fight.
The Aristocrat stepped in and swung at me. Our blades met and, after a shimmering sizzle as they slid along each other’s length, were immediately whirling so fast that an unpractised eye would see nothing but flashes as they again and again reflected the light of the twin suns. The square echoed with clangs and clashes. My enemy was terrifyingly fast and vigorous, setting me on the defensive from the outset. Somehow, somewhere, he’d worked long and hard to acquire such skill. It had given him confidence and a technique that, by Yatsill standards, couldn’t be faulted. In addition, his only concern was to cause my demise, while I was distracted by the knowledge that his companions were nearby, nursing their wounds, and capable at any moment of attacking me from the rear or, worse, of plunging their swords into Clarissa. In addition, while he obviously held no compunction about murder, my fear of killing caused me to frequently miss opportunities to turn the attack on him.
That initial flurry of passes and parries ended with a clumsy lunge on my part. It was diverted with such ease that my opponent actually stepped back and made the clicking noise I knew to be a Yatsill laugh as I tottered sideways, only just regaining my footing.
The burst of rage this incited was immediately