“You bastard!” the leader snarled, coming at Seregil in earnest this time, having the measure of his foe now. He was skilled, and drove Seregil back with brute force until he nearly collided with Alec. Seregil stepped awkwardly, lost his footing in the mud and went down, still clutching his sword. Before he could raise it, the man came at him with a killing blow, only to be struck in the side of the head by Alec, who quickly wrenched his blade free of the skull and whirled back in time to run a man through.

The dying man collapsed without a sound on top of Seregil, knocking the breath out of him and impaling himself awkwardly on Seregil’s upraised blade in the process. Heaving the man off, Seregil rolled to his knees in time to miss being skewered by the third man on his side. The fellow overreached and Seregil got past his guard and stabbed him through the heart, getting a face full of blood for his trouble.

Scrambling to his feet, he wiped it from his eyes, pulled his sword from the body at his feet, and turned to help Alec.

Two others already lay in the mud in front of the younger man. Years of practice against the likes of Seregil and Micum Cavish had made a good swordsman of him, very nearly Seregil’s equal these days. But he was still fighting two at once and being driven back. Beyond them, more men were coming, attracted by the sound of the fight.

“Shit!” Seregil hissed between clenched teeth. “Run!”

And they ran, as fast as the mud allowed. They were both good at this, too. Dodging nimbly between shacks at random, they quickly left their pursuers behind.

“Bilairy’s Balls!” Alec gasped as they took cover in a deserted shanty and collapsed side by side against a wall, panting. Looking Seregil over, he let out a short laugh. “You’re a mess.”

Indeed he was, covered in mud and blood, and Alec wasn’t much better. Seregil wiped his hands on his muddy jerkin in a futile effort to clean off the worst of it. Alec had managed to avoid the mud, but his left shoulder was covered in blood. Blood that was running down to stain the arm of his filthy tunic. Too much of it.

Seregil pulled the oilskin cloak away from Alec’s shoulder and found the sleeve of his tunic cut open just below the seam, along with the flesh underneath. It was a shallow cut, fortunately, but it was still bleeding.

“It’s just a scratch, Seregil.”

“A bleeding scratch. Come on.”

The cleanest thing they had for a bandage was the scarf holding down Seregil’s hat. Somehow that had stayed free of mud. Seregil wrapped it tightly around Alec’s arm and tied it. “That takes care of that, but you’re still a bloody mess.”