Beyond the Sword

[John Lester]

John crashed through the window with a shower of splintered wood and glass. The momentum of his fall carried him across the floor until he slid to a stop at the foot of the staircase. His shirt was filthy and torn and scuffed knees poked through his frayed trousers; fashion statements indicative of an altercation with the unstoppable Marshall Godfrey. Nothing of this was new to him, of course, all the dance steps were the same, only the venue had changed. Then why, he wondered, as he scrambled clumsily to his feet, could he not find his rhythm? And despite his advanced years, Marshall was still hitting his stride, quite literally too, as he closed in with thunderous force through the front door. Chandeliers jangled, pictures were dislodged, and John raised his hands as if the promise of diplomacy would stunt his assailant's advance.

"Now, Marshall, we had an agreement. Not in the h-oof!"

It had been the kind of half-hearted backhand to swat away pestering grandchildren, except John was anything but a child, and yet, the blow swatted him like a fly. He found himself transported to the dining room via the dining table, and as empty plates and silverware clattered around him, he felt the tremor of Marshall's approach. The old man was surprisingly quick, but he was hampered by creaky joints and weathered muscle - John had no such disadvantage. The opponent he faced was tough, not unstoppable. All he had to do was get behind him and- he concealed a steak knife fast against his arm, that was enough.

Yet as John rose to go another round with old Kizin, there was a creak of wood, and in the sliver of space behind the kitchen door he spotted Jace. Mercifully, his presence had gone unnoticed by Marshall, who was living evidence that even the X-Gene was no substitute for a good hearing aid. But, for the first time since he and his old friend started exchanging blows, he was afraid. Protect the Harriman kid - that was his mission. And this intruder had the power to kill him in an instant. It was one instant he'd never get. John threw himself at his opponent and was flattened against the chimney breast for his trouble. But he had Marshall's undivided attention, and in that his plan was a success. Strange, he thought, as his ragdoll body tumbled from the brickwork, it didn't feel like success.