A Marriage of Swords
Silhouetted against it, she saw Makil, and the saboteur, locked in combat at the tunnel’s mouth.
The man was skilled, desperate. He fought with the pick, its heavy head whirling in the confined space. Makil, with the shorter sword, was defending, but the tunnel gave him no room to maneuver. The man swung the pick in a wild arc. Makil ducked, but the pick head grazed his temple, sending him stumbling back, dazed.
The saboteur raised the pick for a killing blow.
Leigh didn’t shout. She threw the dagger.