Altair could hardly believe how fast his wrist moved to push Sarrin to intercept the arc of annihilating sword light that bore him through the wall behind him. Blood spewed from his mouth as his body tumbled and rolled across the bailey. He stabbed Sarrin into the earth to slow his roll, picking his gaze up to glare at the elderly Ninth Circle, three meters away, then to the river of blood gathered from out the foyer where a scar rested across the stone.
Effortlessly, he stood to his feet, with no hope that anyone would survive that blade but Ian. From the sounds of screaming inside and the clanking of metal, he knew it was true.
Amar Du Vadica shook, the saber in his arms trembling as if it was too heavy to hold. "You survived that?"
