Chapter thirteenSlow, Dray Prescot, I said to myself in biting condemnation. Too damn slow!
I jumped back. For a moment I could avoid that onslaught and sidle around. The pain had not yet struck. Rather, the shock numbed my shoulder. The left hand dagger hadn’t fallen to the floor and I tightened my fingers experimentally. My fingers moved and gripped. So nothing vital had been severed.
How long I’d be able to use the main gauche remained open to serious question. As long as it took to deal with these harpies, by Krun!
Moving now with the speed I’d singularly failed to use before, I plunged back into the fight. The confounded knife stuck in my shoulder waggled like a harpoon in a fish. When the pain hit, it would hit!
These Mothers of c*****e rushed on as though, as they say in Clishdr
