Sicarius waved the eyeball before the readeron the wall, but this shimmering field did not fade away. Heplucked a piece of lint from the floor and tossed it at thebarrier. It burst into flame and disappeared.
Basilard stepped back,
The chair rotated, and Basilard jumped. Hehad not realized anyone was sitting in it. A tall, gray-haired manin a white coat scowled at them. The navigator, perhaps, and maybea practitioner as well. Though he bore no weapons openly, he showedno fear at the prospect of intruders on his threshold.
Sicarius decided it was the time to engage ina staring contest. Maybe he thought the practitioner would witherunder an unrelenting gaze-or at least come over and open thedoor.
The gray-haired man lifted a hand. Acrackling yellow ball formed in the air before his fingertips.
Basilard backed further. That could only be aweapon, and if it could go through the barrier…
Sicarius crouched, ready to spring. He mustbelieve the barrier had to drop for the man to launch theweapon.
Boots pounded in the corridor behind them.Basilard gripped his knife and nodded to let Sicarius know he wouldprovide time for him-if he could. He did not know how he woulddodge pistols in the tight corridor.
He ran down the passage anyway.
Before he reached the ladder, two guardsstomped into view, one behind the other. In the narrow space,Basilard almost missed spotting a gray-haired woman in ablood-spattered white coat striding after them. She toted atwo-foot-long cone, and, judging by the way she held it over theguards’ shoulders, trying to target Basilard, it was a weapon. Hehad to focus on the first problem: the two guards and the pistolsin their hands.
The first man dropped to one knee, pointinghis firearm at Basilard, while the second remained standing andaimed over the first’s head. The distance between Basilard and themwas too far to charge before they could fire.
He focused on their fingers, trying to watchand anticipate when they would pull the triggers. One tensed.Basilard hurled his knife and threw himself into a forwardroll.
Pistols fired.
One shot clanged off the metal floor, butanother hammered into the back of Basilard’s shoulder. Pain searedthrough him, as if someone had thrust a hot iron into his flesh. Hegasped, eyes clenched shut, but managed to finish the roll and comeup running. He had to, or they would have him.
The closest guard was on his knees, hunchedagainst the wall, trying to work Basilard’s knife free of his upperarm. The man in back dropped his pistol and drew a serrated daggerwith a ten-inch blade.
“Move, Fiks,” the woman barked in accentedTurgonian. “Let me-”
Basilard charged. The second guard had onefoot in the air to step past his comrade, and one ear toward thewoman. It was Basilard’s best chance, to attack before the men hadtime to plan something.
The guard wasn’t as distracted as heappeared. He slashed at Basilard to keep him at bay, then yanked asmaller pistol out of his belt behind his back.
Caught off guard, Basilard was the one whohad no time to do anything but react. He lunged in and grabbed thedowned man, yanking him to his feet. The injured guard roared insurprise and pain. Basilard punched him in the face, hoping to stunhim and keep him as an obstacle. The movements stirred fresh agonyin his shoulder, and he nearly dropped from the pain. He forced itaside and yanked his knife free from the man’s arm, elicitinganother howl.
The rearmost guard thrust his pistol over hiscomrade’s shoulder. Basilard ducked and hurled his knife around theinjured man’s ribs. The awkward position gave the throw littlepower, but it was enough to slice into his target’s thigh. The manbellowed and dropped the pistol.
Further up the corridor, Sicarius shouted,“Down!” in Mangdorian.
Basilard hesitated. To drop to the floorwould be to put himself at a disadvantage.
Light flared down the corridor, as brilliantas a sunburst. Basilard dropped to the floor, dragging the closestguard with him for cover. Heat roiled down the passage, andbrightness burned his eyes, even through the lids. The man abovehim screamed. The scent of burning hair and singed flesh floodedBasilard’s nostrils.
He expected screams from the woman and theother guard but heard nothing. Had they been quick enough to hurlthemselves to the floor?
The light blazing against his lids lessened,and he pried an eye open, hoping to find his opponents vanquished.The woman had not moved, except to fiddle with something at herbelt. A transparent barrier, the same streaky yellow as those usedin the corridors, hovered around her and the guard. Heat shimmeringin the air parted around the defensive shield like water flowingpast a boulder in a stream.
Safe behind the barrier, the guard clenchedhis knife and glowered at Basilard. Blood dripped from his thighand splashed onto the floor.
Further up the corridor, Sicarius droppedfrom the ceiling where he had hung like a spider to avoid theblast.
Basilard scrambled out from beneath thesinged-and now quite dead-man. Every movement brought fire from thepistol wound; he could feel that ball in his flesh, grindingagainst the bone of his shoulder blade, but he gritted his teethand told himself he could deal with it later.
The remaining guard charged out of theprotective barrier and slashed at Basilard’s neck with the serratedknife.
Basilard had lost his own blade when he threwit, but he skittered back from the attack without trouble. He hadfaced many knife wielders without the benefit of a weapon. Hewatched the man’s collarbone-not the eyes; the eyes could lie-andkept the blade and free hand in his peripheral vision.
The man stabbed at Basilard’s chest. He sawthe feint for what it was. The man’s body wasn’t behind it; hewasn’t committed. Three more feints came, and Basilard began towonder if the man would attack in earnest. Then he committed, legscrouched to spring and dart in close behind a swipe.
Basilard crouched low and blocked thestriking arm, knocking it upward. He grabbed the man’s wrist,pulling it toward him as he stepped closer. His other elbow swungup, pounding the underside of the guard’s jaw. The man’s headwhipped backward with a crunch.
Basilard could have finished him on his own,but Sicarius slashed the man’s throat and shoved him to the floorso he could leap over him and spring toward the woman.
Before he reached her, an invisible blastslammed him in the chest. The edge of it caught Basilard as well, astiff blast of air so rigid it had the force of a battering ram,and it sent him stumbling against the wall. It hurled Sicarius adozen feet. Despite the power of the blow, he twisted and landed onhis feet, light as a cat.
Basilard crept close to the woman and tappedthe shield with the tip of his dagger. It buzzed and hissed at him.Hadn’t Akstyr once said a practitioner could not attack and defendat the same time? The dual task certainly wasn’t bothering thiswoman. Maybe because she was using a tool to attack instead of herown mind?
Sicarius sprinted back toward Basilard andthe woman. “Go by her,” he barked in Mangdorian. “Down the nextladder.”
The woman flipped a lever on her cone.Sicarius saw the attack coming and dove to his belly this time.That had to hurt without clothes on, but it worked. He skiddedunder the cone’s field of influence, and the wave did no more thanruffle his hair.
He jumped up, inches from the shield andjerked his arms up as if to attack, but he exaggerated themovements. Trying to startle her? To break her concentration so theshield would drop?
She watched him without flinching, thenominously reached for the lever on her weapon again. He tapped thebarrier with his knife. It buzzed at him. He stalked about theshield, like a prowling tiger checking his cage for a weakness.
Basilard picked up his knife and tried topass the woman in the corridor. The edges of the barrier extendedto the walls, so he had to slither on his belly to find anunblocked spot.
A string of words came down the hall.Basilard did not understand the language, but it sounded like aquestion. Without taking her eyes from Sicarius, the gray-hairedwoman answered in the same tongue.
