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to give ground, grasping and clawing with his massive paws to try to grab either his opponent or the weapon that slammed into him over and over.
    Realizing the giant had the strength to crush the life from him with his bare hands, the monk facing Norr was being overly cautious. Instead of darting in to deal an incapacitating blow to the head or face, he was staying on the fringes of the battle and out of the barbarian’s reach. Eventually Norr would succumb to the steady stream of crushing blows, but it would be a long, slow, brutal defeat.
    Jerrod’s focus snapped back to his own predicament just in time to react to an unexpected ploy from his opponent. Thrusting forward with the quarterstaff, the Inquisitor suddenly let go of his weapon and leapt at Jerrod, knowing that if he tackled him to the ground, the others would be able to rush up and join the fray. His fingers closed around the collar of Jerrod’s shirt, clutching tightly as the Inquisitor snapped his head and shoulders back in an effort to yank Jerrod off balance.
    Instead of fighting against it, Jerrod threw himself forward, using the momentum of his foe to transition into a forward flip.At the same time he twisted in the air and brought his fist up into the throat of his enemy. The glancing blow didn’t crush the Inquisitor’s trachea as Jerrod had intended, but it had enough force to make him loosen his grip.
    Jerrod landed on his feet, his enemy prone between his legs, coughing and sputtering for air. But before Jerrod could finish him off, one of the other Inquisitors leapt forward to defend her fallen companion. The quarterstaff whistled as it sliced the air in a series of short, savage arcs aimed at Jerrod’s head. He ducked out of the way and fell into a backward roll, scooping up the abandoned quarterstaff of his first opponent.
    He came up on his knees, the quarterstaff clutched in both hands as he parried a blow meant to cave in his skull. A quick sweep of his leg forced his opponent to spring back, and Jerrod scrambled to his feet.
    The monk came at him again, the quarterstaves clacking and cracking as Jerrod repelled her assault and counterattacked. But even though he was now armed, Jerrod knew the battle was slipping away. Fatigue was already taking its toll on his limbs, and he was facing a fresh opponent. The Inquisitor he’d struck in the throat was back on his feet, coughing and gasping for breath but otherwise unharmed. In another minute he’d be fully recovered and ready to step in again whenever one of his compatriots began to tire.
    They don’t need to break through to the plateau
, Jerrod realized.
They just need to wear us down
.
    In the instant of his grim realization, Norr’s balky leg gave out, and the big man went down. The Inquisitor sprang forward to finish him, only to have the killing blow knocked aside by Vaaler’s blade as the Danaan leapt into the fray. A second later Scythe was there, too.
    Her slim form darted in close, the early-morning sun glittering off the thin blade in each hand. Her knives flickered and dancedand the Inquisitor screamed as Scythe slashed open deep gashes in his face and hands.
    One of the blades sliced across a milky eye; a devastating blow to a normal opponent, but barely more than a superficial wound against one that used the Sight to perceive the world. But the ferocity of her attack drove the Inquisitor back, and Norr was able to regain his feet with Vaaler’s help.
    As Scythe pressed her advantage, Norr and Vaaler fell back, simultaneously giving her room to operate and giving themselves a chance to catch their breath.
    Jerrod and his opponent had fallen into the familiar rhythm of battle—an ebb and flow as she attacked, he parried and countered, only to have her reverse the momentum and attack again. He was fighting on instinct now, falling into patterns ingrained into his muscles by years of training at the Monastery.
    He knew he needed to focus and do something to break the pattern.