The last seven made the wrong decision.
Two broke for the north arch and the rest came at him together, which meant somebody had decided that dying forward read better in a report than dying running.
It took nine seconds. Maledicta opened a throat, split a shoulder down down to the sternum, and went through a stomach and out the spine. The two at the arch reached the threshold before he crossed the room and finished them there.
He shook the blood off the blade.
Under the plates his body was already working. The cut beneath his arm had stopped opening and started pulling closed, the muscle knitting from the inside out with a hot crawling ache, and the joints where the sub-comander had got through him were sealing at a rate no ordinary man would recognise.
He was still bleeding, but he was bleeding less than he had a minute ago.
Rhavel lifted the butt of his lance out of the floor.
