Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,13

movement, but he didn’t dare risk incapacitating himself. He relied on the noise of the rain to cover his approach, and he was no slouch at moving quietly when he needed to. Will sped up and began to close ground.

The stranger was getting closer to Laina as well, and as the man passed under a streetlamp at the next intersection Will saw a flash of metal. Will charged.

The shadowy figure was less than ten feet from Laina’s unsuspecting back when Will reached him. The man heard him splash through a puddle at the last moment, and Will saw a flash of bright eyes and thin brows above a cloth mask as the man turned and ducked his first punch.

The fellow failed to avoid the second, simultaneous swing, which connected with the his midsection. The man folded slightly, the air rushing from his lungs, while Will felt a sharp pain shoot up his arm. The assassin had been wearing some sort of armor.

Will’s opponent had fallen to the ground, but the man rolled out of the way before Will could bring his foot down. Glancing up, Will felt a sense of relief as he saw that Laina had already noticed the fight and was wisely running away. He focused on her assailant. It was time to get some answers.

The man had already gotten back to his feet, and now that he had time to observe the fellow he could see that the man was rather short with a slim build. This will be quick. He moved in and was surprised when his foe spun, turning his back on him, something only a fool would do. When the man leapt from the ground and continued the spin, Will was almost caught off-guard by the heavy boot that came rushing at his head.

Will threw himself to the side, robbing the kick of some of its sting, but he still fell hard. He caught himself on one hand and pushed himself back toward the man, who was following up the kick with a lunging stomp. His sudden change of direction put him inside the fellow’s attack, and he took advantage by driving his fist into the man’s groin as the stranger stomped at the place where he’d expected Will to be.

The man let out a brief grunt of pain but didn’t fall, even though Will was sure he’d connected solidly. His opponent took a step back, but Will pressed his attack, creating a point-defense shield to trip his foe.

Or rather, he tried to do so. A crashing wave of pain overwhelmed him and for a moment he couldn’t see. It was followed by a more familiar sort of pain as his opponent took advantage of the moment and drove an elbow into the side of his head. Will fell sideways and caught a boot to the belly as he tried to cover his head. Then his vision cleared, and he saw a flash as a long-bladed knife appeared in the stranger’s hand.

The world slowed to a crawl as Will tried to move in time, but his body wouldn’t respond quickly enough. A sharp pain took his breath away, and then his head slammed into the cobblestones. Everything went black.

Sometime later he became aware of something striking his face at irregular intervals. Raindrops. With a groan he pried his eyes open. His head hurt fiercely, and he appeared to be lying in the gutter. A small river of rainwater flowed around his shoulder and along his back.

Cautiously, Will sat up, inspecting himself for the stab wounds he expected to find on his torso. He didn’t find any, but his head pounded every time he turned it to look this way or that. “I’m alive,” he muttered. “Why am I alive?”

“Because you’re damned lucky,” said a male voice. Will recognized it immediately; it was Blake Word. Glancing back, he saw the manservant leaning against the wall behind him. Blake was breathing heavily, as though he’d been running.

“What happened?”

“I only saw the last of it. It looked as though you took a hell of a beating and then the fellow finished it off by slamming the pommel of his dagger into the side of your head. I chased him off before he could do anything