Seeds of Virtue, Dark Descent, Book I

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  Across from Ristil, Vistalas faced three of the thieves. The men, dressed alike, looked a little younger than the others, maybe close to their twentieth year of life, but they moved and brandished their weapons like trained professionals. All of them also started to move toward Vistalas as one, hoping to overwhelm him with their superior numbers. It was a good strategy as Vistalas soon found himself taking a few steps back. Sensing a quick kill, the thieves lunged.

  But that was exactly what Vistalas wanted. Though they appeared as professionals, they had not yet had enough experience to recognize when someone was trying to draw them in. They also had not yet perfected the art of the rouse.

  The one on his right made as if he was going to come forward first, driving Vistalas to the left, but Vistalas saw the feint for what it was, an attempt to push him towards the real attacker. Though he knew what they were trying to do, he took the bait anyway.

  As he moved left, the thief on that side surged forward, a victorious smile on his lips. His sword came around, aiming for a kidney, but at the last second, Vistalas ducked low and avoided the strike. The blade passed inches above his head. The sudden miss pulled the thief off balance and as he stumbled forward, Vistalas twisted around, threw his leg back, and swept the man off his feet. The thief landed with a breathless cry. As he fell, one of the others, the one in the center, jumped forward, swinging his sword downward, hoping to cut Vistalas down the back, but his target continued to twist and turn. The blade went wide and that thief soon found himself also tipping over. Vistalas made another turn and took the man’s legs out with another leg sweep. He crashed to the ground, right near the first thief.

  The man still standing wasted no time and attempted to take advantage of Vistalas’s current position, but before he came close, Vistalas was on his feet and threw out a vicious kick that caught him right in the chest. The hit wasn’t painful but the impact drove him away and threw his chest and head back. The thief quickly recovered but as he brought his body back in line with his opponent, Vistalas’s hand snapped forward and a dagger suddenly sprouted from the thief’s neck. Blood quickly poured from the wound as the thief clutched at his throat, trying to stop the bleeding. As his life slowly faded, Vistalas ran toward him. He threw out a fist as he neared and punched the thief in his face. The man’s head snapped backward. As he ran by, Vistalas grabbed the dagger and ripped it out, sending a spray of red mist into the air. The thief let out one last choked cry as his neck was ripped to pieces. Then he crumbled in a heap.

  Vistalas turned, readying his weapons once more, and waited as the remaining two thieves struggled to their feet. When they got up, they looked at their dead companion in horror then looked to their opponent, who was silently waiting for them just a few yards away. Screaming in rage, they launched themselves at Vistalas with a fury, but the thief of the Chipped Blade was ready for them.

  Sword and dagger blades danced in the air, filling the warehouse with a ballet of steel and reflected light. Vistalas ducked and dodged a dozen strikes in the first few seconds. Though their anger was making them clumsy, it lent them strength and a fair amount of speed and Vistalas was constantly avoiding or parrying dangerous swings and thrusts. He hardly had time to offer attacks of his own but managed a few. Every time his blades connected, they came away bloody, but the wounds were shallow and only seemed to be driving the men into more of a frenzy. He got nicked a couple of times but the cuts barely managed to break his skin or armor. Still, they were getting closer. Vistalas suddenly decided that would be a good thing.

  One of the men growled in anger and thrust his shortsword at Vistalas’s stomach, intending to eviscerate him. Vistalas actually leaned in toward the sword but just before it pierced him, he shifted to the side. The blade slid by and the two men bumped into each other. The other thief, fearing he would skewer his companion, held his attack and maneuvered to the side, trying to find an opening. Vistalas was intent to give him a target, just not himself.

  The Knight locked the tangled thief’s arm under his own, holding him in place. The man struggled to get free and screamed in Vistalas’s face. In response, Vistalas rose onto the tips of his toes and drove his head into the man’s nose. There was a loud crunch and a shower of red. The thief grunted in pain and some of the tension fled his limbs. His outside arm dropped. His fighting partner saw an opening–Vistalas’s exposed shoulder–and swung, but as his sword cam down, Vistalas turned. Having his arm locked in place, the entrapped thief had no choice but to turn, right into his friend’s falling blade.

  Instead of hitting his opponent, the thief’s sword sliced right into the back of his companion’s shoulder, who let out a scream of anger and pain. Before the attacking thief could react, Vistalas let go of the trapped arm and shoved the thief back. The two men collided. The one in back stumbled away and struggled to stay on his feet. His friend managed to steady himself rather quickly, but he was clutching his nose and reeling in pain from the cut in his shoulder. Unfortunately, that arm now dangled uselessly by his side and since the other arm was on his face, nothing stopped Vistalas’s sword from diving into his chest and slicing through his heart. He let out a single bloody gasp and fell to the floor, a surprised look still on his face.

  Vistalas watched him fall then turned his angry eyes on the final thief, whose rage and fury had suddenly given way to shock. His mouth hung agape as he looked to his two companions, now dead. He looked at Vistalas, eyes full of fear, and spun around, intent on running away as far as possible.

  Unfortunately, when he turned his body and stepped away, he had yet to turn his head and never saw Ristil standing in his way. The half-elf’s scimitar slid underneath his ribs and sunk in his heart. The man never even knew what killed his as darkness claimed him.

  “I guess I got three after all,” Ristil said. He met Vistalas’s eyes. The two nodded to one another then went looking for more thieves to kill.