The Broken Blade (Dark Sun: Chronicles of Athas 3)

Kieran bent to pick up one of the fighting sticks, but before he could grab a second one, the big mercenary moved quickly and kicked it away into the crowd.

“Kieran!” someone in the crowd shouted, and in the next instant, a fighting stick came sailing toward him.

Kieran snatched it out of the air and glanced to see who had thrown it. He spotted the man and nodded his thanks, then smiled.

“It’s been a few years,” he said. “The war with Urik, wasn’t it?”

Sorak saw Drom break out in a surprised grin.

Kieran looked down and experimentally hefted the sticks. “These really aren’t balanced very well,” he said, and in that moment, the big mercenary struck. Kieran raised his sticks, almost casually, without even seeming to look, and they moved in a rapid blur, with an accompanying rat-a-tat-tat of wood as he blocked the mercenary’s blows. The big man retreated quickly, and Kieran looked up, as if with surprise. “Oh, have we started?”

The big mercenary snarled and came back at him. The sticks moved so quickly it was almost impossible to make out the individual blows as both men struck and parried, crossing their arms in front of them as it they were batting away insects, and the clatter of the sticks against each other sounded like a rapid drum roll. Then they sprang apart as the crowd cheered in approval of the display.

“You’re good, I’ll give you that,” the big mercenary said grudgingly.

Kieran shrugged. “I’m a little out of practice.”

With a growl, the mercenary came at him again. There was a blur of sticks, a clattering tattoo of wood on wood, and then one of the mercenary’s sticks flew from his grasp. The big man sprang back, shaking his hand with pain.

“You dropped something,” Kieran said. He pointed with one of his sticks. “It’s over there. Go on, pick it up. I’ll wait.”

The mercenary stared at him with loathing, then went to pick up the dropped stick.

Kieran shrugged his shoulders several times, rolling them as if working out some kinks. “Bit stiff, but I think I’m starting to warm up.”

“You bastard,” the mercenary said, and moved in again. The sticks whirled, clattered, moving with blinding speed, and then there was the sharp crack of a stick on bone and the mercenary cried out and staggered, bringing one of his hands, still clutching the stick, up to the side of his head.

“Sorry,” Kieran said. “Clumsy of me.”

Roaring, the mercenary charged him. Kieran sidestepped the rush, simultaneously sweeping the mercenary’s legs out from under him and rapping quickly on his head as he fell.

“Watch out for that spilled ale,” he said. “It makes the floor slippery.”

Stunned, the mercenary slowly got back up to his feet, pure murder in his eyes. With a sudden motion, he hurled one of the sticks at Kieran, who raised both his sticks and, with a quick flourish, batted the missile away.

“You want to use just one?” he asked, then shrugged. “Suits me.” And he tossed one of his sticks away.

The mercenary screamed with rage and charged once again, bringing his stick down in a vicio

us, sweeping blow. Kieran parried with a circular motion and hooked his stick under the charging mercenary’s arm as he sidestepped and somehow the man was suddenly flipped and flying through the air. The crowd parted quickly as he landed on his back with a loud crash on a table, which broke under his weight. The crowd broke out in cheers and applause.

Kieran looked at the motionless figure of the mercenary for a moment, shrugged, and tossed his stick aside, then went over to Cricket and offered her a hand, helping her up. Turin came rushing up to them.

“Magnificent!” he said, effusively. “Truly magnificent! I have never seen anything like it! Whatever you wish, it’s on the house tonight! And I’m sure Cricket will be happy to give you a private dance in one of our comfortable rooms upstairs, won’t you, Cricket?”

“No, I won’t,” she said, firmly. “I quit!”

Turin chuckled awkwardly. “There, there, now, you’re upset, and I can certainly understand, under the circumstances, but this gentleman has just fought on your behalf and surely you wouldn’t be so ungrateful as to refuse him?”

“The lady owes me nothing,” Kieran said. “Scum like that give my profession a bad name. I acted on my own behalf.”

“Well, it is very gallant of you to say that,” Turin replied, “but I am certain once Cricket gets over her shock and has some time to think things over, she’ll want to be properly appreciative.”

“Do not misunderstand,” Cricket said to Kieran, “I am very grateful for what you did, and if there is some way I can repay you, I will try. But not… that way. I… I cannot.”

“I understand,” said Kieran. “I would never wish a woman to lie with me out of a sense of obligation. And, as I said, I did not do it for you. You owe me nothing.”

“I owe you my thanks, at the very least,” said Cricket, “but I am leaving this place tonight. The caravan is departing for Altaruk tomorrow and I am going with it.”