Deadly Games

Basilard thumped the wall to get Sicarius’sattention, We should go.

Where to he did not know. If the navigationarea was out, what else could they try?

The woman lifted the weapon at Sicarius’schest again. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but heanticipated the attack. He leaped over the woman, barrier and all,and avoided the blast.

Sicarius joined Basilard and they ran downthe corridor.

Before they reached the ladder, twobronze-skinned men with long, thin braids of black hair came intoview. They wore white coats and toted small canvas bags that bulgedwith balls. Each carried one of the balls in his free hand, palegreen globes with the icy dark depths of a glacier.

The men were on the other side of the ladder,and Basilard thought he could reach it before they did. Heincreased his speed, running ahead of Sicarius. Had they beenguards, Basilard would have challenged them, but he wanted nothingto do with practitioners.

When he reached the ladder, he dropped down,landing in a crouch, knife ready. A pair of guards running towardthe ladder almost crashed into him.

One started to lift a pistol. Basilardknocked the arm up, and the weapon went off, the noise deafening inthe metal corridor. The pistol ball ricocheted off the walls, andthe guard flinched. Basilard feinted toward the man’s face with hisknife, drawing a block, then lowered his blade and thrust towardthe unprotected gut.

The guard had fast reflexes and almostrecovered quickly enough to block the attack, but Basilard wasfaster still. The blade plunged through flesh and organs before hepulled it free again.

He shoved the injured man at his comrade,eliciting a new blast of pain from his shoulder. He need not havebothered. As Sicarius dropped down, he hammered his black bladeinto the top of the man’s skull. Bone crunched, and utter shockstamped the guard’s face-his last expression ever.

“Run!” Sicarius sprinted up the corridor.

As Basilard turned to follow him, two of thepale green balls dropped down from above. Busy running, he did notsee them hit the floor, but he heard cracks like breakingglass.

He hunched his shoulders, expecting anexplosion. But it was a stench that assaulted him. He snorted,trying to expel any intrusive gas from his nostrils. After that, heheld his breath as he raced after Sicarius. He might be fast on theClank Race, but he had the shorter legs, and he fell a few pacesbehind.

The long, twisting corridor seemed to go onforever. Ahead, someone leaned out of a hatchway, a compactcrossbow poised to fire. The attacker probably thought he was safe,that he could duck back behind a barrier as soon as he made theshot, but Sicarius dodged the quarrel and surged forward withstartling speed. He grasped the crossbow wielder’s wrist and yankedhim out before he could duck back. Sicarius spun the man about, ahand going to his head, and broke his neck before he could so muchas shout for help.

Basilard’s lungs burned from holding hisbreath. Sicarius stopped to grab the crossbow and pat the man downfor ammunition. It must be safe to breathe.

Basilard opened his mouth to suck in a gaspof air, but couldn’t. His lungs were frozen. He tried again. Andagain. Nothing. It was as if he had taken a blow to the solarplexus and his system was stunned. He thumped on his chest, notsure what else to try. Panic encroached upon him. Would he die forlack of the air all about him?

Before he reached the dead body, Sicariusrose and headed down the corridor again. Basilard thumped on thewall.

Sicarius stopped and turned. For a moment, hesimply stood there. Trying to ascertain what was wrong? Or thinkingthat, despite his earlier words, he was being given a chance toleave Basilard to die and to end the possibility of a threat?

Blackness crept into the edges of Basilard’svision, and the weight of a thousand pounds of sand filled hislegs. He stumbled and pitched toward the floor.

Hands caught him. Air that Basilard wanted somuch to inhale breezed past as he was hoisted from the floor anddraped over Sicarius’s shoulder. The darkness swallowed more of hisvision, and his pulse throbbed in his ears. Vaguely, he was awareof the floor skimming past as Sicarius continued running down thecorridor. He turned at an intersection and halted.

Another barrier to pass? Did Sicarius stillhave the eye? Basilard could not see, nor could he feel his limbsor move his head.

Metal squealed and they moved again, but onlya few steps. Basilard felt himself being lowered to the floor. Itscool smoothness pressed against his cheek. He wondered if it wouldbe the last thing he ever felt.

Abruptly, a massive spasm coursed through hisbody. His lungs surprised him by coming to life, and he gulped airin so quickly he almost threw up. He was so relieved he did notcare. A temporary paralysis of the lungs, thank God.

Shots rang out nearby. Basilard rolled to hisstomach and tried to get his hands and knees beneath him so hecould help, but his body was too busy breathing to obey. He didmanage to lift his head.

Sicarius stood beside the hatch, reloading apistol. The crossbow leaned against his leg.

White-coated figures milled several metersdown the corridor. One started forward. Sicarius sensed it somehowand leaned out, firing the crossbow. The figures did not even duck.The quarrel bounced off a shield identical to the one thegray-haired woman had used.

Sicarius slammed the hatch shut and spun around wheel, causing a thick bolt to clang into place. Though itsounded sturdy, there was no way to lock it.

Basilard staggered to his feet. He andSicarius were in a chamber dominated by an engine, boiler, andfurnace. Giant pistons pumped, and a flywheel turned, and the placemight have looked purely Turgonian, but unfamiliar tubes andsinuous pipes swept and twisted about the chamber like vinesamongst trees. Domes of various sizes punctuated the dull metal atpoints, emitting orange and red pulses of light. Whatever burnedinside the furnace emitted crimson flames instead of yellowishorange.

Welcome to the engine room, Basilard toldhimself.

Sicarius strode toward the engine controls,lifted a hand, but stopped a few inches shy of touching a lever. Hegazed at it for a long moment, the way Akstyr focused when he wascalling upon his science. Then he shook his head once and backedaway. He grabbed a wrench out of a toolbox and tossed it at thecontrol panel. It bounced off an invisible field and zipped acrossthe cabin. Basilard ducked as it shot over his shoulder. It clangedinto the bulkhead and bounced halfway across the room again beforeclunking to the deck. Singe marks blackened the tip.

If Sicarius had meant to take over theengines, the possibility of succeeding was not looking good.

He tore a pipe from a wall, and steam burstforth. He shoved the pipe through the wheel on the door.

A pipe against three wizards? Basilardsigned.

“Six,” Sicarius said.

What?

“There are six practitioners out there now.At least.”

What’s the plan?

“The plan is to come up with one.”

Basilard searched his face, wondering if thatwas a joke, but no hint of humor softened Sicarius’s stonyexpression.

Amaranthe tugged at the thick water-repellentmaterial pooled around her boots, boots two inches too large. Ifthere were such things as diving suits for women, she had notencountered them yet. Maybe it would not matter. In the water, thematerial ought to float, right? Or it would cause her to becomehopelessly tangled in seaweed where she would be an easy-to-catchsnack for a kraken.

“Less pessimism, girl,” she muttered, thenraised her voice for Maldynado and Akstyr. “How are your suitsfitting?”

They were gearing up around the trapdoor inMs. Setjareth’s warehouse. Amaranthe had agreed to give the woman adiscount on future work in exchange for the use of her building fora couple of hours-a deal to which Setjareth had magnanimouslyagreed, possibly because no shipments had been due in that morning.Fortunately, she was not around to see the pile of harpoons andhand-held launchers sitting next to her trapdoor. The tub labeledSkelith Poison was probably not a typical warehouse store either.Books promised the tar-like substance, which they had smeared onthe harpoon tips, would survive the water, at least for a couple ofhours.

“This thing weighs a thousand pounds.” Akstyrtugged at the collar.