Bann whirled around, shoving Cor to the floor by the island as glass showered down. With a grunt, he buried his blade in the chest of the nearest Fir Bolg, punching through skin and bone and muscle with a satisfying pop. Yanking the knife free just in time, he ducked as another attacked with a spear. White-hot pain ripped through his bicep. His weapon flew from his hand, spinning past Shay’s head a few feet away. The Healer was backing into the living room, dueling knife to knife with a third Fir Bolg while Max was busy ravaging the legs of a fourth. As the spearman lifted his weapon for the killing stroke, Bann lowered his shoulder and plowed into the assailant. The Fir Bolg’s feet left the ground; sailing through the air, he crashed onto the kitchen table. It collapsed beneath him, trapping one of his arms. The spear fell from his hand. “Dad!” Still on the floor next to the island, Cor scrambled for the spear. One-handed, he sent it skidding across the tile toward his father.
