Chapter 32Aeneas ducked, and Pyrrhos’s spear sliced through the air above his head. It grazed the mast and clattered to the deck.
Snarling like a wounded lion, Pyrrhos drew his sword.
Aeneas didn’t remember drawing his blade, but it was already in hand. With one swipe he severed his safety line. He crouched, eyes narrowed, and he cast his own spear. It flew through the air, thudded into Pyrrhos’s round shield. It pierced the layers of leather and stuck there. Muttering a curse, Pyrrhos checked his steps to try to break off the shaft. While he was distracted, Aeneas danced backward and glanced around.
Twilight had come early, bleeding colour from the scene. The Middle Sea rose and fell in sheets of iron-grey, and the horizontal raindrops were like throwing daggers. The storm was a typhoo
