Kyle's hand moved to his belt. Fear Blade was still there. But against two enemies? A dagger wasn't enough.
`My sword... Where did it land?`
He scanned the ground. There—twenty feet away. Half-hidden in the mist.
He pushed himself up.
The swordsman saw him move. "Don't let him—"
Kyle ran.
Not toward his sword. Toward the stocky man!
The man's eyes widened. He quickly raised his fists.
Kyle slid at the last second, ducking under a wild punch. His dagger slashed across the man's thigh. Red blood sprayed.
Not deep. But enough.
The stocky man roared—not in pain, but in fury. He swung his other arm. Kyle couldn't dodge in time. The fist caught his side, sending him stumbling.
He rolled with the impact and came up near his sword. His hand closed around the hilt.
The swordsman stood up already. But he was shocked by his friend's action. He had helped their enemy to get close to his sword!
He sighed and took off quickly. His blade was coming down.
