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glad of help. His confidence had been shaken, but now it was restored. His shield slipped a little sideways and, sword raised to strike, he paused to call to those he believed to be his men. |
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From the time the door burst open, Walter had had no time to think. He had reacted as a trained fighter, making all the right moves. Rational thought processes were too slow for the physical responses necessary. Motions, shadows, sounds, all seemed to go directly from eyes and ears to the muscles that countered the threats. At no time had Walter worried about dying. What small part of his mind was free of the necessary ingrained process of defense, almost as automatic as breathing to him, recorded successes. He had disarmed one man and wounded another. Although there were still three against him, one of those was slow, owing to his wound, and the unarmed man was often in the way of the others as he tried to retrieve his weapon. |
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Even when he was beaten to his knees and wounded, Walter felt no despair. The cut that severed an ankle took another man out of the fight, immediately and for good. He was subliminally aware of Heribert somewhat behind and to his right, preparing to strike again, and he got one foot beneath him, ready to turn and dodge. But when he heard the voices in the outer room, he gave up hope. And since he would die anyway, he was determined to take his enemy with him. |
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With no further thought of protecting himself, Walter shook off his shield as he twisted and came up from the floor, seized his sword in both hands, and drove the point into Heribert's gut with such force that it not only pierced through his mail but slit it upward and finally lodged in the breastbone. Walter knew there was no freeing his sword in time to parry any blow, and he no longer had a shield to present against the two men behind him. Now, in the endless instant in which he waited for a deathwound, he understood the trap Marie had set. |
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But there was no deathwound. Behind him he heard new shrieks of pain and fear rise above the moans of the man he had maimed. The screams were brief. Sybelle's men made short work of the others who were already tired, hurt, and thunderstruck at the death of their master. |
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A trained fighter may expect to die, but his body goes on |
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