There were op- portunities for displays of raw power when the opponents held toe- to-toe, testing strength until one would get clever and shear off the wood, trying to come under and rap the shins or, better, sweep the feet. He and Malachi were well matched physically. Comparable heights and builds, almost equal training, though he suspected this was not Malachi's preferred weapon. He was trying to pull the sharp end into play more often than not, quickly telling Jacob the man meant to do him some damage as part of his Master's bidding, not just beat him. He was equally aware of a gathering crowd. The singularity of the sound of wood hitting wood told him other sports, both the sensual and physical, were coming to a halt to watch theirs. Which likely meant they had the attention of the upper verandah as well. Of course. They wanted to see what this new servant of Lyssa's could do. Malachi's javelin rolled, jerked back and turned faster than Jacob expected, rapping his knuckles hard enough to knock his hand off the upper part of the staff. Jacob dropped to one knee, took the brunt of the next strike along his weapon one-armed. The impact sang down the length of it and reverberated in his shoulder joint. When Malachi flipped the javelin to thrust with the point, Jacob dove into his legs, taking them both down. He didn't agonize over the mixing of weapons practice with hand-to-hand. This wasn't a match. Mala- chi was spoiling for an out-and-out fight. They rolled over the ground. The sudden wetness of soft sand told him they'd made it to the shoreline. Malachi drove his elbow in hard under his rib cage, and Jacob retaliated by getting a leg under him and connecting to his face with a yell and a strong uppercut that knocked his opponent back from him, making him stumble in the wet sand. Both men scrambled for their staffs, and Jacob spun in time to knock away the spear point that would have gone through his face below his left eye.
Not a fight then. Something deadlier. With a snarl, he rammed Malachi full body now, taking him into the water and rolling him, bringing the weapon into play to hold him under. After a satisfying moment on top of the struggling man, he shoved away, flipped and came back up in the same crouch as before. Only this time he had both spears, one balanced in each hand. Malachi got to his feet, his lip cut and bleeding. "You've fought to the death before. " He spat. Jacob raised a brow. "You want to push this that far?" Malachi's gaze flickered, just enough. Jacob spun in time to be struck a glancing blow on the temple by the Viking's javelin staff, instead of taking the full swing that could have compromised his skull. Malachi lunged forward, seized his spear and yanked, recov- ering it, though Jacob managed to hold on to his own weapon. He fell backward, bringing the two of them into his range, creating a melee of arms, legs, thrown punches. When a point grazed his thigh, he heard Malachi's curse as he missed the penetration angle. Jacob propelled himself to his feet with a roar and used his bare fist to strike Malachi as the man rushed him. Spinning, he engaged the Viking behind him, ducking under his guard and thrusting up- ward to deliver a sharp blow into his throat, again with his fist. The man stumbled back, wheezing. One out, back to one-on-one. Jacob, do not engage further. Back off and surrender. Malachi will cease. He is only seeking for you to concede dominance to placate his Master. He can wait for that until Hell freezes over. Jacob, obey me. This is important, for reasons more than your ego. Jacob gauged his opponent. I don't think that's going to do the trick, my lady. I know what Belizar seeks in this. I know my opponent. As he knew his. Jacob. He bit off a snarl. Knowing it was a mistake, and one galling to the point he thought it might choke him, he spread his arms, an open gesture.
Reluctantly he tossed the spear to the watching Aussie, whom he'd noted had not been one of the ones who'd tried to unbal- ance the struggle. "Your match. " He gave a slight bow, though he didn't take his eyes off Malachi. "My lady sends her high regards for your skill. " Malachi nodded, wiped his brow with the back of his hand and turned to offer his gasping mate a hand out of the water. Diplomacy. Jacob managed to create a mask of it as he turned to the Australian, though from the man's look he suspected he wasn't concealing his expression of murderous fury well enough. "So, this drink--" "Watch out!" The man shouted it a mere second after Jacob sensed it and spun. The movement kept the spear from going through his kidney. Instead, it tore into the meat of his thigh, the blade end as razor sharp as a sword. He had time to see the red spurt of blood, telling him Malachi had hit a vital artery. But that thought was immediately consumed by a surge of bloodlust so strong, he knew it didn't come all from him. Perhaps most of it didn't. Malachi and the Viking charged, slammed into his body and took him down into the water. Struggling for control of emotions not his own, plus the male fury that was, he reached out to her. My lady? Kill him. Every man had a reservoir of primal rage. He'd learned that in fighting at Gideon's side. When opened, fear disappeared, and there was only blood. Propelled by the force of his lady's reaction, it con- sumed everything but instinct now. The solid spike of fury in her response confirmed the source of the nuclear rage boiling through his blood. It made him understand why she commanded so much fear and respect. If she turned even a tenth of what was rushing through him on her enemies, none of them would survive it. Surging up, he seized the neck of the staff and twisted it deci- sively. Malachi had no opportunity to let go, crying out as Jacob broke his wrist and followed it up with a jab that shattered his nose.
His vision was graying, his leg going numb. Oh, no you don't, Ja- cob silently snarled to his weakening body. Not until we do our lady's bidding. He dispatched the Viking as an afterthought with a second pre- cisely aimed blow to the windpipe that crushed his airway com- pletely, if the sudden look of panic and clutching of the throat were any indication. Jacob flipped the spear as Malachi stumbled back to a fighting stance and raised his own,but Jacob's point was already against his chest, inside his guard. "Two against one . . . Some code of honor, " Jacob spat, noting that the knee-deep water in which he was standing was swirling with his blood. His leg was slick with it. "We have no honor other than what our Masters permit us to have. " Malachi dropped his weapon and went to his knees. Jacob had to give him points for bravado. His expression was cool and indifferent, though his chest was laboring, a tremor running through his hands. "My Master concedes the match. On his honor and mine, which serves his will, may his life be forfeit to your lady if he lies. " It was a mouthful to get out while facing the fatal end of a spear. Jacob forced himself to still his forward motion while keeping enough pressure to create a trickle of blood down the man's stom- ach. He was getting dizzier and didn't dare grip it harder or he'd betray himself by impaling the man. My lady? "Let him go, Jacob. " She spoke just behind him. When he tilted his head, he saw she was in the water with him. The surf made her skirts float in rippling waves around her calves and bare feet. Jacob managed five steps toward her before the spear fell from his fingertips. He barely felt it. His knees gave way, mortifying him, but she caught him, easing him to his back. The hands of the Austra- lian were on him as well, taking him to the wet sand, his friendly face and concerned hazel green eyes just to the left of his lady as he stepped back and gave Lyssa a respectful distance. His hands were red with blood. So were hers. Looking down at himself hazily, Jacob saw as fast as the water was washing it away, the blood was still spurting.