Part 78 (1/2)

The problem was, Sam couldn't just run. The Rules said he had to engage in battle or he wasn't actually answering the challenge. The problem was, although he had more pointy bits, he was fighting a Shadowlord with a great big sword.

He zigged.

The Shadowlord zagged.

A great big sword and opposable thumbs.

Dangling by the scruff of his neck, Sam struggled to fold himself in half and get a claw into the hand holding him. Shrieking defiance, he felt the sword begin to descend.

Flash of silver.

He felt the impact reverberate through fingers buried painfully deep in his fur. Hissed and spat as he was thrown aside.

Twisting in the air, he landed on his feet. Tail las.h.i.+ng, singing his challenge, he spun around.

”Let it go, Sam. I am permitted to intervene at the last instant in order to save the life of my champion.” Arthur stared over his blade at the Shadowlord. ”Let's get it on.” When his opponent looked confused, he sighed and translated. ”It's our fight now.”

Not quite human teeth flashed in a brilliant smile. ”I have always killed you.”

”Yeah, yeah. That was then.”

”Fear me.”

”Bite me.”

Sam had to admit the dialogue was less than archetypal. Maybe, hopefully, possibly that would be enough.

Or not.

As swords clashed overhead, hilt caught on hilt, body slammed against body. Eight inches from the floor, his angle unique, Sam saw the Shadowlord pull the dagger from his belt. Saw a black-clad elbow pull back. Slam forward.

My bad.

His failure.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Then the world turned pink.

Really, really, really pink.

When he could see again, the Shadowlord had vanished and Arthur was standing with Excalibur over his head, hips canted back, staring down at a hole in his chest protector.

The circle of mall elves seemed frozen in place as Sam crept forward. ”Are you . . . ? Did he ... ?”

Holding his position, moving only his left arm, Arthur slid a finger into the rent.

Pulled it out again.