reeled back, turning my sword frantically. Then I deliberately over-extended my reach, letting my sword's point drop. He never saw it coming - the swelling blinded him - and even if he had, I don't think he had the strength left to stop it.
My sword's point bit deep into his right foot. I jerked it free, and blood spurted.
Yowling, he slashed wildly. His blade whistled through the air, missing my eyes by inches. When he landed on his bad foot, his leg started to give way. He staggered and almost fell.
Got you! Leaping forward, I caught his frantically windmilling free hand, whirled, and heaved in one smooth motion. He sailed over my shoulder and landed flat on his back ten feet away. The breath whooshed from his lungs. He lay there stunned.
I leaped, pinning his sword-hand beneath my boot. He released his weapon, gasping. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. I kicked the sword away, sending it skittering twenty feet across the stony ground to the very edge of the Pattern.
"This is your last chance," I said with more calmness than I felt. "Yield, Dad, and we'll have a drink and a laugh about it later."
Tired and hurt as he was, he tried to throw me off. I had to give him credit for that - I wouldn't have had the heart to continue the fight. Unarmed, how could he hope to continue?
Suddenly he rolled to one side and made it to his feet in a convulsive movement. Before I could react, he whipped a knife from his belt.
"Die!" he roared. He dove forward and tried to stab me in the chest.
"Dad," I said in a warning tone, dancing back to safety, "give it up! You don't have a chance!"
He growled, so I clouted the right side of his head with the hilt of my sword. It made a meaty thunk . He fell to his knees, stunned.
" Enough !" I kicked the knife away, then booted him in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping hard.
"Sorry, Dad," I said, more heartsick than angry. "But you brought this on yourself."
I punched the side of his head with the hilt of my sword again. He fell face-down, struggling to rise.
"Thellops!" he cried.
Without hesitation, I threw myself onto his back. I got a knee between his shoulder blades and pinned his arms behind his back.
He couldn't possible attack me now - or get up, for that matter.
"Tell me what I did to piss you off," I said in his ear. "What in the seven hells does 'Thellops'
mean, anyway?"
Still growling, he turned his head and bit deep into my left wrist. With a yelp, I jerked free, then punched him twice in the back of his head. He started to whimper again.
"Dad," I said in a hard voice, "I'm going to help you. But you've got to stop trying to hurt me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
He tried to bite my hand again.
After that, I lost my temper. I punched him until he passed out. Father or not, I would only put up with so much. I'd given him more than enough chances.
When I'd caught my breath and regained control of my temper, I tied his wrists with strips of cloth torn from his shirt. I wasn't sure how well they would hold, so I searched him for weapons and removed a second knife, this one with the head of a unicorn worked into the hilt. Very nice. I tucked it into my own belt for safekeeping.
Finished, I stood. The cuts on my hand and forearm had already stopped bleeding; I had always been a fast healer. The bite marks on my wrist would leave a half-moon shaped bruise, but nothing worse. He had gotten far worse than he'd given.
I picked up my sword, sheathed it, then sat down cross-legged next to him to think. What should I do with him? I couldn't cart an unconscious - or worse, wide awake - homicidal lunatic around with me.
He moaned and twitched suddenly. When I glanced over, I found him staring at me through slitted eyes. Great, not a moment's rest. With his face bruised and his nose bloody, he looked more pathetic than dangerous, but I knew better. His jaws slowly worked up and down, but no words came out.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" I said.
"Thellops,"
My sword's point bit deep into his right foot. I jerked it free, and blood spurted.
Yowling, he slashed wildly. His blade whistled through the air, missing my eyes by inches. When he landed on his bad foot, his leg started to give way. He staggered and almost fell.
Got you! Leaping forward, I caught his frantically windmilling free hand, whirled, and heaved in one smooth motion. He sailed over my shoulder and landed flat on his back ten feet away. The breath whooshed from his lungs. He lay there stunned.
I leaped, pinning his sword-hand beneath my boot. He released his weapon, gasping. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. I kicked the sword away, sending it skittering twenty feet across the stony ground to the very edge of the Pattern.
"This is your last chance," I said with more calmness than I felt. "Yield, Dad, and we'll have a drink and a laugh about it later."
Tired and hurt as he was, he tried to throw me off. I had to give him credit for that - I wouldn't have had the heart to continue the fight. Unarmed, how could he hope to continue?
Suddenly he rolled to one side and made it to his feet in a convulsive movement. Before I could react, he whipped a knife from his belt.
"Die!" he roared. He dove forward and tried to stab me in the chest.
"Dad," I said in a warning tone, dancing back to safety, "give it up! You don't have a chance!"
He growled, so I clouted the right side of his head with the hilt of my sword. It made a meaty thunk . He fell to his knees, stunned.
" Enough !" I kicked the knife away, then booted him in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping hard.
"Sorry, Dad," I said, more heartsick than angry. "But you brought this on yourself."
I punched the side of his head with the hilt of my sword again. He fell face-down, struggling to rise.
"Thellops!" he cried.
Without hesitation, I threw myself onto his back. I got a knee between his shoulder blades and pinned his arms behind his back.
He couldn't possible attack me now - or get up, for that matter.
"Tell me what I did to piss you off," I said in his ear. "What in the seven hells does 'Thellops'
mean, anyway?"
Still growling, he turned his head and bit deep into my left wrist. With a yelp, I jerked free, then punched him twice in the back of his head. He started to whimper again.
"Dad," I said in a hard voice, "I'm going to help you. But you've got to stop trying to hurt me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
He tried to bite my hand again.
After that, I lost my temper. I punched him until he passed out. Father or not, I would only put up with so much. I'd given him more than enough chances.
When I'd caught my breath and regained control of my temper, I tied his wrists with strips of cloth torn from his shirt. I wasn't sure how well they would hold, so I searched him for weapons and removed a second knife, this one with the head of a unicorn worked into the hilt. Very nice. I tucked it into my own belt for safekeeping.
Finished, I stood. The cuts on my hand and forearm had already stopped bleeding; I had always been a fast healer. The bite marks on my wrist would leave a half-moon shaped bruise, but nothing worse. He had gotten far worse than he'd given.
I picked up my sword, sheathed it, then sat down cross-legged next to him to think. What should I do with him? I couldn't cart an unconscious - or worse, wide awake - homicidal lunatic around with me.
He moaned and twitched suddenly. When I glanced over, I found him staring at me through slitted eyes. Great, not a moment's rest. With his face bruised and his nose bloody, he looked more pathetic than dangerous, but I knew better. His jaws slowly worked up and down, but no words came out.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" I said.
"Thellops,"
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