“Move!” Bram barked, his heavy boots slamming into the wet flags. He stepped directly into the center of the lane.
The court guard didn’t wait for the double to close the gap. He dropped his shoulder, planting his left heel to anchor his balance point. Then he brought his hardwood truncheon up in a vicious, rising slanted aimed straight at the creature’s leading knee. It was the standard street-clearing sweep of the town watch, designed to shatter the kneecap of an advancing rioter before his driving force could carry him inside a guard’s reach.
“No!” Len shouted, his sound right hand shooting out, his fingers catching the thick leather strap of Bram’s breastplate. “Pull back! Don’t swing at it! It has Surefoot! It will pivot on your strike and break your collarbone!”
The warning came half a second too late.
The double was already crossing the twenty paces of open alley. It didn’t sprint with the heavy, surging hard effort of a living man. There was no laboring rise and fall of its shoulders, no spray of grit kicked up by iron-shod soles. Through the blessing of Burdenless Step, the creature moved with a silent, terrifying fluidity that made the damp cobblestones look like smooth river ice. Its boots barely kissed the surface of the buckled flags, gliding over the slimy ridges and sunken mortar joints without losing a fraction of an inch of forward drive.
