licked his chops, dropping as far as his chin. Lust for her body and blood filled his eyes.
"Men," he said to his four companions. "Kill the boy. Keep the girl alive. We'll have our fun with her."
The four soldiers eyed her, no less hunger in their eyes, and raised their swords. They approached Bayrin, their firegems crackling; in the flickering light, they looked like demons of shadow and fire.
Mori raised her sword and prayed.
BAYRIN
Cold sweat washed him, and his fingers shook, but he forced himself to grin—a terrified, trembling grin.
"So, dear friends." He forced the words through stiff lips. "Thank you so much for visiting Requiem. We do love visitors up here in the north. I hope you enjoyed our tour, but now we really must be on our way."
The Tirans kept advancing toward him, sabres raised. They bared their teeth. Their faces became demonic masks in the light of the firegems.
Bayrin gulped, his own sword raised. His limbs throbbed. His every instinct called for him to retreat into the corner, to press his back against the wall, to move as far as he could from these men—even if that meant retreating only a foot. He forced himself to step forward instead, feet numb. With his left hand, he pushed Mori behind him, shielding her with his body.
Stars, he thought. What had that rabid, leathery-faced Acribus meant? Are you ready for more, weredragon? he had asked. Nausea filled Bayrin. Had he meant that… had this man met Mori before… and hurt her? Even now the Tiran eyed her with lust, that white tongue of his licking his lips and dripping drool.
"Well," he said to the five Tiran soldiers. He forced a laugh, sweat dripping down his forehead. "I suppose now is the time that you try to stab me, and I try to stab you, and swords clang and blood pours. I do love swordplay—I'm quite good at it too—but I suppose I'll show some mercy, and I'll offer you a chance to settle this over a nice game of dice. What do you say?"
The Tirans laughed.
One lashed his sword at him.
Bayrin parried, and steel clanged, and he couldn't help but yelp. That drew more laughter from the Tirans. They formed a semicircle around him, like vultures over prey.
His heart hammered so powerfully, Bayrin thought it would burst from his mouth. His belly roiled. How had he come to this? He was no warrior like his father. He knew no swordplay like his sister. He… he was only Bayrin the prankster, the fool, the young man nobody expected anything of. And yet here he was, in a dark dungeon, defending his princess against five soldiers.
A Tiran swiped his sabre, and Bayrin parried madly, holding his sword with two hands. The Tirans laughed again, and Bayrin realized they were toying with him. They knew he was no fighter.
"The boy wants to play dice!" one said and laughed, a hoarse sound, almost inhuman. "Maybe we'll carve dice from his bones."
His comrades laughed, and one swung his sabre so fast, Bayrin could not parry. The blade sliced his shoulder, blood sprayed, and Mori screamed.
"We'll play with his bones after we play with the girl," said another Tiran, voice a deep growl. "I haven't had a girl since we left home."
Two more swords flew. Bayrin parried left and right. He thrust his weapon, trying to kill a man, but the Tiran parried and nearly yanked the sword from Bayrin's hand.
None of this should have happened, he thought. The scrolls should have taken them to safety. They should have been on their way to find the Moondisk now. It should have been King Olasar fighting, or Prince Orin, or…
He gritted his teeth. But they're dead, Bay. They're dead, and you're alive, so man up and defend your princess.
With a wordless cry, he thrust his blade at Lord Acribus.
The Tiran swung his sword, blocking the blow. His left hand drove forward, and his fist slammed into Bayrin's face.
"Bayrin!" Mori screamed behind him.
White light flooded him. He fell back, hit Mori, and she screamed. He swung his sword blindly, pain suffusing him. A blade bit his left arm, and a chill washed him. Another blade flashed, and Bayrin raised his sword, blocking most of the blow. But the sabre still sliced along his arm, cutting his sleeve and skin. Another sword slashed. Bayrin parried and tripped on a fallen brick. He fell down hard, knocking the breath out of him.
He spat out a glob of blood, coughed,