The Spine of the World - By R. A. Salvatore Page 0,23

his gaze and his jaw, ready to trade hit for hit, but this ruffian had a chain wrapped around his fist. A flash of burning pain exploded on Wulfgar's face, and the taste of blood came thick in his mouth. Out pumped the dazed Wulfgar's arm, his fist just clipping the attacker's shoulder.

Another man dipped his shoulder in full charge, slamming Wulfgar's side, but the braced barbarian didn't budge. A second chain-wrapped punch came at his face-he saw the links gleaming red with his own blood-but he managed to duck the brunt of this one, though he still got a fair-sized gash across his cheek.

The other man, who had bounced off him harmlessly, leaped onto Wulfgar's side with a heavy flying tackle, but Wulfgar, with a defiant roar, held fast his footing. He twisted and wriggled his left arm up under the clinging man's shoulder and grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head.

Ahead strode the barbarian, roaring, punching again and again with his free right hand, while tugging with his left to keep the clinging man in check. The chain-fisted ruffian backed defensively, using his left arm to deflect the blows. He saw an opening he couldn't resist and came forward hard to land another solid blow on Wulfgar, clipping the barbarian's collar bone. The ruffian should have continued retreating, though, for Wulfgar had his footing and his balance now, enough to put all his weight behind one great hooking right.

The chain-fisted ruffian's blocking arm barely deflected the heavy blow. Wulfgar's fist smashed through the defenses and came crashing down against the side of the ruffian's face, spinning him in a downward spiral to the floor.

*****

Morik sat at his table in the far corner, every now and then dodging a flying bottle or body, unperturbed as he sipped his drink. Despite his calm facade, the rogue was worried for his friend and for the Cutlass, for he could not believe the brutality of the row this night. It seemed as if all of Luskan's thugs had risen up in this one great opportunity to brawl in a tavern that had been relatively fight-free since Wulfgar had arrived, scaring off or quickly beating up any potential ruffians.

Morik winced as the chain slammed into Wulfgar's face, splattering blood. The rogue considered going to his friend's aid, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Morik was a clever information gatherer, a thief who survived through his wiles and his weapons, neither of which would help him in a common tavern brawl.

So he sat at his table, watching the tumult around him. Nearly everyone in the common room was into it now. One man came by, dragging a woman by her long, dark hair, heading for the door. He had hardly gone past Morik, though, when another man smashed a chair over his head, dropping him to the floor.

When that rescuer turned to the woman, she promptly smashed a bottle across the smile on his face, then turned and ran back to the melee, leaping atop one man and bearing him down, her fingernails raking his face.

Morik studied the woman more intently, marking well her features and thinking that her feisty spirit might prove quite enjoyable in some future private engagement.

Seeing movement from his right, Morik moved fast to slide his chair back and lift both his mug and bottle as two men came sailing across his table, smashing it and taking away the pieces with their brawl.

Morik merely shrugged, crossed his legs, leaned against the wall, and took another sip.

*****

Wulfgar found a temporary reprieve after dropping the chain-fisted man, but another quickly took his place, pressing in harder, hanging on Wulfgar's side. He finally gave up trying to wrestle away the powerful barbarian's arm. Instead he latched onto Wulfgar's face with two clawing hands and tried to pull the barbarian's head toward him, biting at his ear.

Yelping with pain, roaring with outrage, Wulfgar yanked hard on the man's hair, jerking his head and a small piece of Wulfgar's ear away. Wulfgar brought his right hand under the man's left arm, rolled it over and out, twisting the arm until breaking the hold on Wulfgar's shirt. He grabbed hard to the inside of the man's biceps. A twist turned Wulfgar square to the bar, and he drove both his arms down toward it hard, slamming the man's head against the wood so forcefully that the planking cracked. Wulfgar pulled the man back up. Hardly noticing that all struggling had abruptly ceased,