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He knew, however, that it was going to be a momentary thing.
“Come on, Tom,” he said under his breath, “some Zen wisdom would be good right about now.”
Tom did not say a word, and Benny could imagine his brother doing a face-palm and walking away in embarrassed disgust.
“Thanks,” muttered Benny.
Three of the reapers were hurt, two badly. They reeled away from their fellows, one clutching an arm that had been laid open from biceps to wrist, the other clamping hands over a chest wound that pumped bright blood.
That left five, one of whom had a deep cut on his forearm, but that didn’t seem to keep him from gripping his ax with fierce intent.
Benny’s mind raced through the countless hours of warrior-smart training, the endless scenarios Tom had drilled into Benny, Nix, Lilah, Chong, and Morgie. Solo attacks, group attacks, all sorts of variations.
One of Tom’s most important rules started shouting at him inside his head.
Stay in motion.
Suddenly Benny felt himself move, felt his arms lift, felt the sword come alive in his hands. It was an illusion, of course; it was the training kicking in, those hours of repetition. It was muscle memory and reflex and his deepest need to survive.
Fight a single enemy, never a group.
He rushed at the closest reaper and battered aside the fall of a butcher knife that was aimed for his heart. As he parried it, Benny stepped to the side so that for a moment the reaper was between him and the others.
Isolate an enemy and engage.
Benny cut the man across the upper shoulder, aiming to wound rather than kill. The reaper shrieked in pain and staggered back. Right into the arms of two others who’d been trying to circle him to get at Benny.
If retreat is impossible, attack without hesitation.
Benny lunged to one side, going behind the tangle of reapers, chopping and slashing at their arms and thighs. Two of the three reapers buckled, falling into the third and bearing him to the ground. Benny leaped over the closest reaper and then leaped backward as another of the killers hacked at him with a meat cleaver. As the big blade sliced downward an inch from his nose, Benny pivoted and kicked him sharply in the knee. As the man crumpled, Benny kicked him again, this time in the chest, knocking him backward against a woman reaper who had a pair of hatchets. One of the blades flew straight up into the air, and Benny struck the other with his sword, taking it and part of the woman’s hand in one slice.
Out of the corner of his eye, Benny saw the leader come charging at him with the scythe.
Benny began to smile. He was winning this.
He was going to win.
He rushed forward into the attack, bringing his sword up in a graceful, powerful sweep, his body set and balanced for the parry and the counter-cut that would destroy this reaper.
Sword met scythe blade.
Benny felt the shock of the impact shiver through his hands and vibrate along his arms. The force was ten times what he’d expected, and he found himself falling backward, the sword dropping from nerveless fingers. It clanged onto the hard ground, and Benny thumped down onto his back.
The reaper with the scythe stood over him, panting with fury.
Benny twisted and kicked out, aiming for the man’s knee with a ground-fighting kick Tom had taught him.
With a snarl of contempt the reaper moved his leg, and as Benny’s foot shot past, the man snapped out with a kick of his own. It caught Benny in the back of the calf. The man pivoted on the ball of his foot and side-kicked Benny in the chest, knocking him flat and breathless.
Benny tried to roll over to hands and knees. But couldn’t.
He tried to reach for his fallen sword. But couldn’t.
Tried to come up with one of Tom’s rules for a situation like this. For anything that would save him.
But couldn’t.
The scythe rose into the air. The other reapers—those who could still stand—clustered around to watch him die. The blade reached the apex of its lift, and golden sunlight ignited along the wickedly sharp edge.
