He might be drunk but he sure fights well.
In fact, he was keeping up amazingly well with his two opponents, each by himself twice Kai's size. One of them had a gashed and bleeding wrist; Kai was still untouched.
In fact, Kai was having the time of his life.
He wanted this to happen. Just like 1 thought. Alaire flushed with sudden anger. When he got hold of Kai, he'd beat the living daylights out of him!
But first he had to survive this brawl....
To do that, he had to stay calm and think his way out. Easy, now. Anger and fear are the mind clouders.
He calmed, as Naitachal had taught him; concentrated everything on the moment of now. His opponent seemed to slow -- and Alaire saw the disadvantages of that odd little sword.
The moment of opportunity opened, and Alaire struck for it.
This time Alaire bound the toughs blade, and pulled it away; it dropped to the floor between them.
Before the sailor could reach for it, Alaire kicked it into hidden shadows under the tables. Weaponless, the man lost all the courage that ale had given him. He turned and fled, leaving Alaire to find another oppo- nent.
Get these two off Kai, he thought. But there were five. Where'd the othe A sword flashed at the edge of his vision, and he ducked out of the way just in time, the shwwoooosh of the blade loud in his ears.
In the corner, the harpist was manfully trying to play on, singing "I'll Go No More Roving" as a strange counterpoint to the dance of death in the front of the tavern.
Alaire did not even bother to reflect on how close that last strike had come, for this new opponent had committed a little too much to the stroke and was off- balance. Before he could recover, Alaire slapped his blade aside, and thrust. It was not even a serious attack, but it caused the other to stagger hastily back- wards, tripping and falling backwards over one of the frail little stools. In an effort to save himself, arms flail- ing wildly, the man fell into three tables, knocking their contents, wooden steins, mostly, clanking and splashing in all directions. With a roar of anger, one of the customers grabbed his emptied stein and broke it over the toughs head, taking him out of the fight com- pletely.
Kai! Wher He glanced frantically around, at first unable to see his companion. Then, the white blur reappeared from the shadows, an angry little whirlwind that showed no sign of exhaustion.
By now half the bar's customers had cleared out, prudently, but a fair number remained, some waging bets that Kai would come out unscratched. Amazingly, this lot acted as if the fight was some kind of entertain- ment staged for their benefit. Almost as if they had expected it.
That little maniac, Alaire seethed. He wasn't fighting two anymore, but three. And they were huge -- but their size was a handicap in the bar's compact interior. Kai was still wearing that grin of sardonic enjoyment, and he had already given them a few bloody nicks.
Alaire paused at that, before throwing himse Kai's rescue. Is he playing with them? he wondered.
Kai had a wild, feral look on his face, no sign of fear, only pleasure of the most animal sort.
Instead of flinging himself into the fight, Alaire joined the spectators for a moment. Given the Alaire had seen him display so far, he came to the con- clusion the Crown Prince could have killed all of the toughs by now, if he had truly wanted to. He was in no danger; he never had been in any danger, not from the very first! He was enjoying this!
And that explained the relaxed attitude of the onlookers. Probably regulars, and familiar wit Prince, they had known this was going to happen the moment Kai walked into the bar!
Alaire was angry all over again. His attitude really stinks. Reckless, foolish, starting fights when he has no business doing so, and pulling me right along with him! He didn't know I could fight! He could have got- ten me killed!
"All right! Break it up!" a loud, authoritative voice boomed behind him.
Alaire turned to see three uniformed men, guards of some kind, standing in the doorway. They wore gray cloaks with gold braid, shiny, black boots and a single, silver star badge over the breast. And disapproving looks.
The Watch, Alaire thought. Constables. Wonderful.
Now he's going to get us thrown into the local gaol!