Amaryllis

contents of the overflowing trash container.

'Lucas?'

Lucas heard her quick, sharp intake of breath. 'Stay between me and the wall. Understand?'

'Yes,' she whispered.

The first man emerged from the alley. He moved with the sinuous glide of a practiced street predator. He was followed by a slightly shorter man who approached with a crablike gait. In the weak light of the streetlamps Lucas saw that both men were dressed in Western Islands gear. Each wore his long, greasy hair tied with a leather thong. The first man wore the designer version of the fashion look. He was covered with an array of zippers, pockets, epaulets, and gadget loops.

But the smaller man wore the real thing.

Lucas glanced at the knives in the men's hands, and then he concentrated on watching their eyes.

'Nice outfits,' Lucas offered politely.

'Ain't they, though?' The tall man in the fancy gear snaked closer. 'Me and Dancer pride ourselves on being stylish, don't we, Dancer?'

'Yeah, Rand, stylish. That's us.' Dancer's teeth glinted in a savage grin.

'Something we can do for you two fashionable gentle- men?' Lucas asked.

'Well, now that you mention it, there surely is.' Rand motioned with the knife. 'You can start by handin' over your wallet.'

'And then you can hand over the lady.' Dancer licked his lips. 'Been a long time since I had a chance to crawl between the legs of a pretty little thing like her.'

'What a disgusting little creep you are,' Amaryllis said loudly.

'Quiet, Amaryllis.' Lucas did not take his eyes off the approaching men.

Dancer spit on the sidewalk. 'Don't worry, I like 'em feisty. More fun that way.'

'You are both a disgrace to the clothes you wear,' Amaryllis informed Dancer and Rand.

'Hub?' Dancer's face screwed up into a tight frown.

'You're wearing Western Islands frontier gear, but it's obvious that neither of you has ever been anywhere near the islands. I suspect you wouldn't last five minutes in a real jungle. You lack the fortitude to live on the frontier.'

Rand scowled at Lucas. 'You better shut her up real fast.'

Lucas shrugged. 'That's easier said than done.'

'You're frauds, both of you,' Amaryllis declared. 'A couple of city street punks playing at being real brave frontiersmen.'

'Stop her right now.' Dancer's voice rose with alarming suddenness. In the blink of an eye he was losing whatever control he possessed. 'Hear me? Make her be quiet.'

Rand cast an uneasy sidelong glance at his companion. Then he grimaced. 'Better do as he says,' he advised Lucas.

'Sorry,' Lucas said briefly. 'I've got better things to do.'

He knew that this was the best chance he was going to get. He summoned energy and poured it into the illusion.

He had no way to focus, so he could not generate a solid, substantial image, just a ghostly apparition. Without a prism he could not make it last for more than a few seconds. But after all the years of practice, he had enough control and enough power to create a brief distraction. With any luck, that was all he and Amaryllis would need.

Lucas readied himself. He felt the stirring of a cold wind. It was a familiar sensation. It often preceded his use of talent, especially when he was attempting to control it without the assistance of a prism.

'What the hell?' Rand swung toward the figure of a policeman that had coalesced in the shadows near a gate. 'Where did he come from?'

'What are you talkin' about?' Dancer shifted his attention toward the figure in the shadows. 'I don't see nothin'.'

The policeman winked out of existence. Lucas moved at the same instant that he lost the ghostly image. He lashed out with his foot and connected with Rand's knife hand. Bone cracked.

Rand grunted with pain and dropped his weapon. He clutched at his injured wrist and stared at Lucas, eyes slitted with fury. 'Get him, Dancer. Get the bastard. Hurry. We got money ridin' on this.'

Dancer was already moving forward with his peculiar gait. His knife wove an intricate pattern in the air. Lucas recognized the fighting style. And the talent.

'You were wrong, Amaryllis,' he said softly. 'Dancer has spent some time in the islands. Long enough to pick up the Knife Dance. Isn't that right. Dancer?'

'Damn right. I was there three years ago.' Dancer's eyes glinted. 'Nearly took the islands, we did. If it hadn't been for you, Trent, me and the others would've been runnin' the whole show by now.'

'He knows who you are,' Amaryllis whispered.

'Stop talkin' and rip him open,' Rand screamed. 'We won't get paid if we don't finish this.'

'With pleasure. Link.' Dancer leaped at Lucas. The knife darted about in dazzling, almost hypnotic movements.

Lucas estimated that Dancer was a class-five or perhaps a six talent. He was more than just a skilled knife dancer. He had a gift for hand-to-hand fighting techniques. Rand was obviously working as his prism tonight.

'Dear God.' Amaryllis had apparently just realized that they were facing a talent-prism fighting team.

'Run,' Lucas ordered. He kept his full attention on Dancer. 'Get out of here, Amaryllis. Head for the strip.'

The trick to dealing with a knife dancer was to ignore the blade. The movements were calculated to be simultaneously terrifying and entrancing. The snakelike motions held the attention of the victim until the dancer was ready to slash.

Lucas edged back a few steps. He switched his gaze to Dancer's feet in order to avoid the entrancing movements of the knife. He groped for and found the metal lid of the garbage can.

Lucas swept the can lid around in a wide arc just as Dancer leaped. The knife blade clashed dissonantly against the makeshift metal shield.

Dancer hissed and tried to scramble back out of reach. Lucas gave him no chance to recover his balance. He went in low and fast, using the lid as both armor and weapon.

'Bastard. I'm gonna kill you, Trent.' Dancer tried and failed to sidestep the garbage can lid. It caught him on the shoulder with enough force to cause him to stumble.

Lucas discarded the lid and seized Dancer's knife arm. He twisted hard. Something cracked.

Dancer screamed in pain. The knife clattered to the pavement. Lucas slammed a fist into Dancer's jaw. The knife dancer crumpled.

'Lucas,' Amaryllis called. 'Behind you.'

A roar of rage made Lucas spin around. He saw Rand bearing down on him. The irrational glitter in the man's eyes was visible even in the weak light. Rand's face was contorted into a grotesque mask. He had another knife in his fist. Must have grabbed it from his boot, Lucas thought.

Lucas braced himself, but at that moment Amaryllis took a step forward, away from the brick wall. She raised a large object that she had apparently retrieved from the garbage can. It looked like a small wooden packing crate.

She waited until Rand's maddened charge had carried him one step past where she stood. She raised the packing crate on high and then brought it down hard against the back of Rand's skull.

Rand lost his footing and sprawled forward. His face made forceful contact with the sidewalk. He twitched but did not move.

Lucas glanced at Rand, aware of the adrenaline flowing through his veins. He remembered the sensation all too well. He looked at Amaryllis and grinned. 'We make a good team.'

Amaryllis ignored him. Her gaze was riveted at a point just beyond Lucas's shoulder. 'Lucas.'

Lucas heard them. He turned his head to glance briefly at the three figures who were sauntering cautiously out of the shadows of a doorway. The noise of the skirmish had drawn would-be opportunists in the same way that