Eyes shining, Edmond seized the knife. “Where—”
“You and I are supposed to stay here—me a little back from Gervase’s left, you a trifle further back, on his right.” Looking at Gervase’s broad-shouldered back, Edmond shuffled back a fraction. Madeline nodded. “Yes—like that. Now we’re in position to make sure no one attacks him while he’s defending us.”
Edmond nodded, eyes on the writhing mass of bodies, flailing and flinging themselves at each other. The clang of metal on metal sang over the waves’ roar; for a moment, Madeline felt detached, as if the pitched battle were a dream she was observing from a safe distance…then two men staggered back from the pack.
Large, heavyset, they weren’t locals. She saw them exchange a glance, a few snarled words, then they left the group and came running up the beach, churning through the sand toward her and Edmond, with Gervase ranged before them. The men targeted Gervase, focused their fury and fear on him. They looked set to fling themselves, blades flashing, on him—but in the instant before they did, he fluidly shifted; his sword swung out in a powerful arc, slicing one of the men’s upper arm.
The man yelped; both dropped back. Their eyes gleamed as they took stock, licked their lips.
Crouching, they circled.
Gervase beckoned them forward. “Come on—don’t be shy.”
Behind him, her own sword held out of sight parallel to her leg, Madeline bit her lip; he sounded entirely relaxed, tauntingly confident.
Another man fell back from the melee in the center. He saw his two cronies, guessed their tack, and came to join them.
“Gervase…” Madeline warned.
“Yes. Time to change tactics.”
That was all the warning he gave before launching a ferocious attack on the two before him, driving them back.
But other nonlocals had now seen. Understanding their value—hers and Edmond’s as hostages—in desperation they scrambled away from the fighting and came rushing to secure what might be their only way to win free.
She heard Gervase swear; with a swinging slash, he cut down one of the two he was engaged with, leaving him whimpering in the sand clutching his arm, and fell back. Poised with sword drawn, he stood between her and Edmond and the onrush of men.
Charles had seen but was surrounded by heaving bodies; he couldn’t immediately come to their aid. Dalziel was far to their right; his task was to find the traitor and seize him, or, failing that, cut off all escape from the beach by taking and holding the only path up the cliff. Glancing across, she glimpsed him on the lower reaches of the path, sword slashing as he drove back men desperately seeking to flee. With nothing to lose, they redoubled their efforts, but the relentless ferocity with which he met them kept sending them reeling back.
Looking back at the men charging toward them, fanning out to come at Gervase from multiple angles, Madeline felt her heart thud heavily; her lungs had long ago seized. She swallowed, tightened her grip on her sword, drew her long knife from her boot, and edged closer to Edmond. “Follow my lead.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Edmond nod. Like her, he was watching the men advance; unlike her, there was not an ounce of fear in his heart.
The jackals circled, then two launched a ferocious frontal attack; Gervase met it, flung them back, but was immediately engaged by another. Meanwhile, two men slunk in, one on either side.
Seeing them advancing, Madeline stooped, picked up a handful of sand and flung it in the face of the ogre to their left; leaving him swearing and stumbling, pawing at his eyes, she stepped across Edmond, brought up her sword and thrust at the smaller man sneaking in on Gervase’s right.
The man leapt back, eyes wide, his expression scandalized. “The bitch has a blade!”
Madeline wanted to follow him, but didn’t dare leave Gervase’s back unprotected—then Gervase shifted, engaging the smaller man. She pulled back, glanced to her left—in time to see the ogre lift his short sword.
He went for Gervase.
She got her blade up in time to deflect the thrust, gasped when the force of it reverberated up her arm
; crossing her knife with her sword, catching his blade in the V, she heaved, and sent the ogre staggering back. Mean, piggy-bright eyes fixed on her; with a roar he lifted his sword high and came at her.
She got her crossed blades up, caught his—
Then he yelled and toppled sideways.
She glanced down to see Edmond—he was clutching the back of her jacket—pull his knife from the man’s beefy thigh, just above his knee. She nodded in approval; as one they whirled away, leaving the ogre howling and cursing and rolling in the sand—he was large enough to effectively block others from rushing in from that direction—and swung to protect Gervase’s other side.
Just in time.
Gervase had accounted for two more—all nonlocals—but three more desperate men had arrived, determined to seize them. Two had engaged Gervase, drawing him forward; the other waited, then rushed in from his left—
Again she swung her blade, caught the man’s thrust and swung his blade over to lock between hers…but this time the man had the agility and momentum to turn with her—to shift his attack from Gervase to her.