Chapter thirteenFweygo’s circle of death meant that I could not stand shoulder to shoulder with him. As he whirled creating a spray of blood about him so he retreated slowly. I ran down and instantly was engaged in a savage combat with four of them, four ugly fellows with their short red capes flying as they pranced about.
They had to be dealt with sharply. One of their braxters was grabbed up and I swung that into action at once, only to see it snap across at the second blow.
The broken hilt went hurling across to mangle a man’s face.
Fweygo snapped out: “You have it?”
I chopped a fellow left, ducked and sliced his companion before I snarled back: “No. The box held a scorpion only.”
The Kildoi said nothing; but his skilled swordcraft sharpened up. We reached the open door with the Re
