Warrior's Heart (Book 1 of The Warrior Chronicles)

Chapter 19

A commotion to her right drew her attention. The players at one of the tables closest to the wide staircase were now all on their feet, shouting unintelligible words while two brawny men in grey uniforms rushed towards them. So that was security.

The guards were not much taller than her, but a fair bit wider. Leyla sized up their weapons: two daggers on either side of the belts, and a thick rectangular shield strapped to their backs. Their shields were too cumbersome and thin to do much good against her sword, but they would probably work against those pick-axes many of the customers seemed to be carrying.

"Ar Dis Ick !" The bulkier of the two guards growled as he took hold of the crouching body beneath the table. The rest of the table shook their fists, obviously pleased with the guards actions. Another moment went by before the guard managed to pull the figure out into the open and Leyla was surprised to see how short and thin the boy was. The brown sleeves of his shirt fell back, revealing pale white skin as he struggled to escape his assailant. Michael? She waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, but the other guard took his second arm and he was dragged towards the stairs while the customers at the table resumed their seats.

Before Leyla could decide what to do, the little boy let out a cry and yanked at his captors, managing to knock the shorter one off balance. The guard tumbled down five sets of stairs before he managed to catch the slim railings. The taller guard backhanded the boy in anger, sending him flying back towards the opposite railing. That move clinched it for Leyla.

In four strides, she had the smaller guard by the cuff and was flinging him down the rest of the steps. The bigger guard gaped at the sight of her, his eyes flitting from her sword to her face. She didn't need a weapon to make short work of him. "RUD!" he barked, pulling out his knife. Leyla took two steps, grabbed his wrist as he swung the sharp blade down, pushed up on his elbow and twisted the weapon out of his hands. Two short jabs at his shocked face and he went rolling down to accompany his friend at the bottom of the stairs.

"Ler Te Shek." The soft voice belonged to the boy at the railing. His gentle features were scrunched up in pain, his grey eyes grateful. Leyla scanned the mud smeared visage, noting the light brown hair that stuck out from under the ugly brown hat atop his head. Small though he was, he wasn't short enough to be a 9-year old, nor did he have the right colouring.

"RUD!" The sound came from above. Leyla looked up to find another ten guards rushing down from the top floor, knives in hand. Bloody Diya. Grabbing the boy by the hand, she pulled him down the steps and shoved him under the closest table. By now, every eye in the establishment was on the action and the players moved hastily towards the walls. She turned back to face the staircase, her hand itching to grab her bow and arrow and finish this quickly, but she didn't. Neither did she reach for her sword. She had to sort this with as little harm to these men as possible is she wanted the owner of the establishment to help her find Michael.

"AAHHH!" Two guards reached her at once, shouting as the sliced with their knives. Leyla moved out of their way easily, rolled behind one of them and grabbed his weapon. While he spun, she kicked back and up, disarming the second man before whisking his shield off of his back. Both men stared bemused as Leyla raised the shield to ward off the second wave of attack. Three blades lodged into the thin metal and before the attackers could pull them out, Leyla pushed the rectangle sideways and slammed it sharply into their soft stomaches. They doubled over, receiving her side-kick on their faces before toppling like lumber.

Five down, another five to go. Leyla stood her ground, balancing her body and sizing up the last guards who were wearily circling her.

"RET YE!" The command was followed by complete silence as a short man wearing a black eyepatch appeared at the top step of the fourth floor. Judging by the silver cuffs on his wrists and the fancy embroidery on his red tunic, this had to be the establishment boss. It was impossible to tell what colour the eye was that stared at her across the gambling den, but the meaning of his hand gesture was clear. Come here.