But both swords were free of their scabbards, and before she could draw another breath the blades met with a clang. So close was she, the reverberation shivered through her.
Hands gripped her and pulled her from the line of danger.
Chapter Twenty-Four
This combat wasunlike any Bradana had ever seen. Quick, sharp, and without mercy, the blades met and struck at each other again and again. If but once that metal should fail to strike metal and instead meet flesh…
Barely breathing, she stood within the circle of Maeve’s arms—for it was her friend who had yanked her out of danger’s reach—and watched the deadly dance. Those who would have been wedding guests ranged all around them. Bradana still did not see Kendrick, the one man who might stop this madness. But Mican stood at the forefront watching his son with what appeared to be satisfaction.
For, aye, at first glance the battle did not seem an equal one. Though the two men were nearly of a height, Earrach had twice Adair’s bulk, and the sheer power of the blows he delivered—in the manner of a smith hammering at the forge—argued naught could stand before him for long.
Adair, lighter, quicker, must soon tire and falter—and one miss at turning back that relentless assault must earn death.
Yet he did not miss. And a glint of green fire came to his eyes as he leaped and dodged, seeming to take his opponent’s measure.
They circled as Bradana’s ears cried out for release from the crashing, and her heart cried for mercy from the terror of it all. Och, what had she done? She’d thought to save him, even more than herself, by speaking out. Now…
A flurry and an abrupt change in the dance, and a line of red appeared on Earrach’s right forearm. The one that held the sword. He tossed up his head even as Bradana’s heart bounded, and he came on.
As if the sight of first blood was a signal, the pace of the fight quickened. Someone pulled in close beside Bradana and Maeve.
Kerr, with Toren at his elbow. Both their faces avid.
“He’ll ne’er take him down, our cousin,” Kerr said. “Earrach is a monster wi’ the—”
Another flurry. A second line of red on the monster’s sword arm. He shook himself and roared, aye, like an enraged beast.
Kerr swore. Adair’s blade had been too quick to follow with the eye.
But Earrach raised his sword above his head and came in howling. Neither man had a shield, and when that treacherous blow landed, it turned Adair’s sword aside. His feet shuffled in the grass furiously. He nearly went down.
Heat drenched Bradana and her heart leaped to her throat. He could not withstand many such blows, her Adair could not.
Would she stand here and watch him slain? She must stop this mad dance.
But Maeve’s arms enfolded her, and if she ran forward now, the distraction might be enough to give Earrach the advantage he needed.
Upon the thought, Earrach struck again and Adair whirled, barely in time. Earrach’s blade caught his shoulder as he spun. Now the blood started upon Adair’s tunic.
“Stop this!” Bradana cried, frantic. “Someone stop this!” No one heard. No one listened. She turned to Kerr and seized his arm in both hands. “Stop them.”
Kerr’s eyes met hers. They had never been what she might consider friends, but they’d grown up together. He must heed her.
“Please, Kerr.”
He started forward, but hesitated. How could he move between those whirling, crashing blades? For the pace of the combat had increased again. Earrach, standing firm with his feet planted in the grass, struck faster and harder. Adair danced around him, his braids flying out behind him in a flurry as he searched for an in, an opening for a deadly strike.
One of these two men would fall to the grass and likely rise no more.
Both of them were tired now and sweating heavily. Adair’s strikes were perhaps not so bright, Earrach’s not so powerful. Their breath came in gasps. All it would take was one mistake.
And then it came. Adair, dancing, whirled around to face his opponent. Earrach turned and his sword came up—not quite fast enough. Adair’s blade swooped in to kiss the side of Earrach’s neck.
For an instant everything froze. Not a sound pierced the afternoon. No one breathed nor cried out. Even the clouds seemed to pause overhead.
Earrach did not immediately fall. Instead, legs still planted wide, he stared into Adair’s face. Not until Adair, poised like a shard of quicksilver, withdrew his sword did the bigger man begin to go down, crumpling slowly as his legs failed him and he crashed to the grass in a shower of blood.
“My son! My son!” Mican bellowed, leaping forward to go down in the grass beside Earrach.
