She staggered, and he could see real pain in her face. He had a momentary pang of sympathy for her...for, despite the fact that he was hardly as powerful and agile as he normally was, he was certainly mobile. She hardly seemed able to move.
She lunged toward him suddenly, her aim off and the sword jamming into the ground next to him. Their bodies clashed and he automatically reached out to steady her. As they bumped together, almost like two lovers embracing, she whispered, "Help me. Escape."
He stumbled back and whipped his blade around, wondering if he'd heard her correctly...wondering if it were another of her tricks. Her face tightened, her teeth bared in great effort as she lifted her sword and raised it over her head in a stroke that left her body wide-open for his blade.
Chas knew it was his chance, and he realized, as their eyes met when he swung his weapon around, that she knew it. At the last minute, he lowered his blow-which would have easily cleaved hand from wrist, head from neck, and hand from wrist again-and turned the blade to its flat side.
It struck the side of her torso, sending her staggering in the direction of the fire...which was precisely his intent. He came after her, and said, "Just as you saved me?" as he slammed the blade against her rising one.
"Was the only...way..." she muttered, and he saw a wave of effort crease her face.
Chas's knee buckled and he stumbled into the wall, his sword scraping along the floor as he used it to regain his balance. Hell, it was like fighting when he was in his cups. He wondered if the spectators found the sight amusing or entertaining.
They were near the fire now, and he had a decision to make. Trust her, or slay her, which would be easily done. Either way, he had one chance to use the smoke cloud. She seemed to have regained a bit of ferocity, somehow, and was coming at him again. "Please," she said over the clash of their swords.
Her eyes met his in that instant between the silver blades, and he saw pleading there. And desperation. Chas spun away, thinking suddenly of Sonia, and the argument they'd had when he visited her.
Who made you God? she'd said. Who gave you the right to judge who lives and dies? I should think you of all people would understand why they did it.
The pang of conscience, combined with the fear that he'd never see her again, and never be able to set things right-for he'd had his own harsh words: We all have our God-given abilities, and some of us actually use them, Sonia-unlocked something deep inside him.
Narcise was more familiar with the makeup of the house. Having her with him might slow him a bit, but at least he wouldn't get lost.
He could always slay her later if he had to.
"Be ready," he said, parrying sharply at her, lunging at her. The more he fought and moved, the easier it seemed to get. His body was returning...even as hers slowed. Although their conversation was soft, lost in the noise of battle and their distance from the spectators, he took care to keep his face away from Moldavi when he spoke.
She met his eyes, hers wide and hopeful, if glazed, and he reached into the pocket of his breeches with his free hand. "Thank you."
He had the packet, he was lining them up alongside the roaring flames. "Way out?" he asked, slamming his blade against hers to muffle their conversation.
"There," she gasped, her eyes going to the corner as she raised her blade weakly.
She was so slow and clumsy that he sliced along her arm without meaning to, and heard a shout from the dais: "First blood!"
Chas saw a small door in the corner and noted that it was far from the dais. Perfect. He might have a chance after all...as long as Jezebel wasn't leading him into a den of lions or something worse. Like a locked door.
"Locked?" he asked, circling around and creating a vicious thrust that clashed with her sword.
"Don't...think..." she gasped. "No."
He flipped the packet into the fireplace as he eased her toward the corner, waiting for the telltale explosion. Hoping to hell Miro's chemistry worked as well now as it had during their trials.
He was just about to give up when there was a soft muffled boom! and something shot from the fireplace.
Sparks and coals blasted into the room, and in the moment of surprise, he grabbed Narcise, half lifting her against his hip, and ran unsteadily toward the door, sword still in hand.
People were shouting and Moldavi was giving orders, but Chas ignored everything but the door. They had to get around the table and off the dais, and across the room...and he had the element of surprise. The puff of smoke rolled into the chamber, more slowly than he would have liked, but it was effective enough. His legs wobbled, his arms trembled and Narcise was little help in an ambulatory fashion. They fell into the door, the momentum of his running clumsy and imprecise.
She shifted, gave a groan of exertion...then all at once, she was moving. The door opened and they burst out of the room.
Narcise turned, suddenly strong and quick. "Help me," she said, leaning against the door as something slammed against it from the other side. Chas found the wooden bar and fit it across, barring the door, and then she said, "This way," and started down a dim corridor.
She must have lost the feathers along their way through the chamber, or maybe even yanked them off her neck, because now she was faster and more agile than he.
Chas wasn't about to complain; he still had his sword and a partner who seemed able.
They were going to make it.
She ran and he followed, his legs protesting, the aches in his torso screaming, but this was for life-the pain could go to the Devil. He was going to make it.
They came to the end of the corridor-a large, locked door-and just as they approached, a vampir guard turned to see them.
Chas didn't hesitate; it was second nature for him to duck under the attacking man, spin-albeit wobbly-and come back around from behind with the blade of his sword at neck level.
The man's head rolled to the floor in a gush and splash of blood, but Chas didn't hesitate. He went for the door, looking for the lock, and realized that Narcise wasn't with him.
Turning, he saw her, pale-faced, half-collapsed against the wall. The blood. It had to be the blood. He grabbed her arm and towed her toward him, but her eyes were rolling back into her head and she was having trouble breathing.
She collapsed into his arms and he realized it wasn't the blood-vampirs craved it, but it didn't make them faint.
"Where's the key?" he demanded, hearing shouts in the near distance. Damn the vampire sense of smell...they could track them as well as a dog could.
She murmured something he couldn't understand, and saw that she was severely incapacitated. Then he realized, through the intensity of the moment... "Feathers."