Codename 'Izur': Part 5

    For a split second, the four Azaras stared at each other. The door closed with a distinct click. But doors do not get closed on their own, thought Urcut. Then she really didn’t have time for this, because Sizir screeched, “Kill them! Kill them now!”

    The guard had a short lance in his hands; he lowered it and rushed at Wercur, who stood closer to him. Urcut threw herself forward, intercepting his attack and bodily knocking the guard away. Growling, she slashed her claws across the guard’s face, and blood splattered from the blow. The guard was an experienced soldier, though, for he paid his wound no mind. He punched Urcut in the throat, his elbow landing a heavy strike at her ribs. The Izaran female staggered back, and the guard used that moment to grab the lance he dropped in the fight. The guard stabbed with the lance, and Urcut barely managed to catch it by the haft. She was a strong Azara, but the guard was strong as well. A desperate struggle followed, the guard trying to thrust the lance through Urcut’s chest and her pushing it away from her.

    And all the while Wercur was left to face Sizir alone. A dagger blade appeared in Sizir’s hand, and Wercur backed away till he bumped into a small table. He knew too well that just one strike of this dagger would mean the death of him. Wercur took a deep breath, bushing out his fur and flattening his ears. He could only hope he looked intimidating and not terrified as he had felt.

    “That’s all you can?” Wercur mocked. “Hide behind the poisoned blade? Are you Asharr or k’orresh? Put your toy aside and let’s settle this as a male with a male! Just claws and teeth, just you and me!”

    Sizir laughed. Even now, his voice was smooth and silky. “I wouldn’t have risen to such a high position if I let every fool taunt me. I’d rather let my poisoned toy do all the work.” And he lunged, the dagger aimed for Wercur’s throat.

    Wercur wasn’t naive enough to hope that his provocation would work, though. He just needed a bit of time. Time enough to get a good hold on the tablecloth behind his back.

    The red-and-white Azara stepped aside, deftly yanking the cloth off the table and swinging it before him. Sizir took a good slap with the cloth full in his face, and his outstretched arms got tangled in it in no time. He managed to throw it away from him, but with it he lost his dagger as well: the blade was firmly stuck in the numerous folds of the cloth. Wercur sent the heap of newly torn cloth in the opposite corner of the room with a strong kick.

    “Ha!” Wercur barked out in triumph. “What you going to do now, handsome?”

    Sizir leapt at his with nothing but his teeth and claws. That had taken Wercur by surprise, though it shouldn’t have had. They crashed down on the floor, Sizir on the top, his claws locked on Wercur’s throat. Wercur kicked out. He wasn’t the most athletic Azara around, but constant running left his legs strong. His kick threw Sizir away from him, and the peach colorpoint hit the overturned desk Wercur and Urcut were dragging to the door.

    “Aaaarghh!..”

    “Ur!!” cried Wercur. The guard finally managed to overpower Urcut and stabbed his short lance through her left shoulder. Urcut tried to push him back, but the guard brought all his weight against the haft, driving it deeper. “Ur!!” Wercur grabbed the first thing that got under his hand and smashed it down the guard’s head. The fist thing to get under Wercur’s hand was an inkwell knocked down from the desk during the fight. It was a heavy bronze thing, and the white-and-tabby Azara managed only a strained groan before going limp. 

    Urcut hissed in pain as the guard’s unconscious form pressed atop her. Wercur bowed over her and attempted to move the guard aside, which wasn’t so easily done, for he still grasped the lance’s haft and his claws had to be pried from it. “Urcut? You all right? Say something, Ur!”

    Urcut’s amber eyes widened as she saw what Wercur couldn’t see. “Behind you!” she gasped when Sizir looped his arms over Wercur’s head and caught his neck in a chokehold. The red-and-white Tatharan thrashed about, but Sizir had Wercur’s elbows pinned to his sides with one of his arms while his other arm squeezed the air out of Wercur’s windpipe. Desperate, Wercur bowed over and tried to throw his enemy over his head, but Sizir was strong and well-trained, and Wercur was growing weaker with every breath he couldn’t take.

    Momentarily forgotten, Urcut crawled from under the guard’s body. The lance was still protruding from her shoulder, and the chocolate tabby knew better than to remove it. Besides, she had more important matters at hand. Urcut lunged at Sizir and bit hard in his shoulder. Sizir let half-throttled Wercur go and turned to the new adversary. His eye immediately took in Urcut’s weakest spot. Sizir smiled cruelly and twisted the lance in the wound. Urcut cried out and stumbled back, but Sizir didn’t release his hold on the haft – he jerked and pushed, widening the wound and causing Urcut to retreat.

    Urcut took several steps back… then several more, acutely aware of the window behind her back. When her shortened tail brushed the window sill, she clasped her right hand on Sizir’s mane, grasping a fistful of thick fur, and grabbed Sizir’s leather belt with her left hand. He barely noticed the gesture, probably thinking it the desperate move of a drowning person grasping to the straw.

    He wasn’t prepared when Urcut bodily lifted him off the ground, and once his feet didn’t touch the floor, there wasn’t anything he could do. Urcut turned and swung powerfully, pushing Sizir out of the window and out of the room with all the might she had – and she had a lot of it. Sizir gave out a startled yelp that turned into a horrifying screech, which in its turn ended with a sickening crunch.

    Urcut slumped down on the floor. Her wounded shoulder was on fire, and she was tired, so tired. She could barely hear the pounding on the door – oh yes, the pounding. People tried to get in the room, probably the guards that had seen Wercur in the window. But the door was closed. Wait a minute. Who had closed the door?

    One more thunderous blow, and the door was broken down, torn off its very hinges. A group of armed guards barged in, paused for a moment and rushed at them. Urcut was kicked down onto her back, several more short lances pointed at her throat; next to her she heard Wercur’s voice, rasp and wheezy after Sizir’s assault. “No, wait, we didn’t kill Laztar! We got letters… Aaggh, where’s that casket?..” But the casket was now lost among the bits and pieces of broken furniture and scattered scrolls, the chaos that recently had been the neat study chamber.

    “Kill them!” shouted the white-and-tabby guard, clutching his head with his hands. “They killed Sizir! Kill them!”

    “Sizir?!” One of the new guards gasped, then set his jaw and shook his head. “I wish I could kill that scum, but we cannot. Mizra wants them alive and unharmed. Special orders.”

    Then someone took hold of the lance still sticking out of Urcut’s shoulder and pulled it out. The pain was enough for the world to go black, and Urcut could neither see nor hear anymore.