Peino Starhand gladly ceded control of the female gangster to Lafitte. Seeing her freeze with the eorman’s heavy blade at her throat, her blade slowly dropping, the selkie prince turned all his attention to the man standing at the point of his sword.
Rain beat loud and hard on their hats and the shoulders of their cloaks. It cascaded down the close walls and off the awnings in torrents. Peino in his pearly white mask, eyes fixed on his opponent’s, tilted his head slightly as if to ask, “Well?”
The answer came suddenly, but not surprisingly. The shift of the black mask as the man’s jaw clenched signaled it. The short sword thrust at his face — not so very short, actually; how did it get that name? Peino parried, swept the blade downward and aside, thrusting his dagger into the open space. The Sesan stumbled away from the two points — forcing bystanders even tighter against the walls — and Peino followed, the clash of steel ringing through the storm.
— — —
The woman took advantage of the burst of action to stomp her boot heel down hard on the instep of the man who held her from behind. With his cursing flinch, she dropped from his grasp, crouching and slashing back at his legs as she rolled free. A dagger in each hand, she was up and coming at the eorman in an instant.
— — —
Jeneyeru Nightwise’s very interesting conversation with the faerie enchanter was interrupted by the zing and ring of swordplay in the rain.
“Did you hear that?” he said. “I wonder…”
Opening the shop door, he stopped short of stepping out into the downpour, but peered out to see his brother and Lafitte and the two others.
“Oh, bother. Mistress Enchanter, those two in the dark cloaks — would they happen to be…”
“Aye, Master Nightwise, they would indeed. Two of them, at any rate.”
“Ah. May I ask you to keep my hat dry?”
Leaving his lavender hat with the other wizard, the selkie magus, who didn’t mind getting wet himself, so long as the fancy plume of his head-wear was kept safe, stepped out into the storm.