Deadly Games

The two men argued with each other in theirown tongue. Another explosion went off, this one too far from theporthole to view the flash, but Amaranthe felt its power in thetremors that rocked the vessel. The accompanying groans and creaksof the structure sounded ominous. How much damage was thefortress-no, laboratory was the better term-designed totake?

“We agree,” Spectacles told Amaranthe. “Youcan have your two men, but we will keep the rest of the testsubjects.”

If you can find them, Amaranthe thought, butshe kept her sneer inward and shrugged. “I’m only concerned aboutmy people.”

Spectacles strode to the barrier again. Heleaned into the box, and the field winked out again. “You first,”he said.

“Very well.” Amaranthe lifted her helmet andfastened it as if it were a typical Turgonian thing to do. Shecaught Maldynado’s eye and gave him a nod. He put his helmet on aswell.

Spectacles watched with a frown. “What areyou doing? We’re not going outside to get to the engine room.”

Amaranthe pointed at the ceiling. “With thosemarines dropping charges, I’m not taking any chances. What if onelands right on top of us?”

The men gave her exasperated looks. That wasfine. So long as they didn’t find her suspicious.

“Mind if we collect our weapons?” she askedbefore the group started down the corridor.

“Yes,” Maldynado said. “It’d be unforgivableto leave my fine blade on that grungy floor.”

“No weapons,” Spectacles said. “Walk.”

Though the two practitioners stood more thanan arm’s length away from her, Amaranthe felt a nudge of pressureagainst her back. The sensation sent an uneasy tingle down herspine, and she worried they could do much more than “nudge” herwith their powers.

When they reached the ladder, Amaranthe wavedfor Maldynado to descend first. The helmets made it hard to seeone’s feet, and she had little trouble feigning a clumsy climb. Atthe bottom, she deliberately missed a rung and tumbled intoMaldynado. He caught her and pressed a vial into her hand. Thankhis ancestors for hiding a brain beneath all that arrogance.

She straightened before the practitionersreached the bottom. “Perhaps donning the helmets wasn’t such a goodidea after all.”

“Nah,” Maldynado said. “This way if you tripand hit your noggin, it’ll be protected.”

“Stop dawdling,” Spectacles growled.

Amaranthe headed for the intersection. Low,excited voices came from around the corner. She imagined theforeigners saying, “We’re almost in….”

She stopped to wait for the two practitionersto pass her, but Spectacles said, “You first,” and applied anotherinvisible nudge of force.

Unwilling to walk into a den of wizardsunannounced, Amaranthe called out, “New allies coming around thecorner. Don’t shoot or incinerate us or do other unpleasantwizard-ish things, please.”

That drew snorts from the men behind her.Arms spread, and the vial pressed to the underside of her hand withher thumb, she stepped around the corner.

Six faces stared at her. Sixpractitioners’ faces, she reminded herself. Suddenly herplan with the vial seemed ridiculously simple and doomed tofailure. As soon as she dropped it, they would figure it out andraise magical defenses.

“Good morning, all,” Amaranthe said. “I heardyou could use help getting a couple of pesky escaped prisoners outof there.”

“Just talk to your men,” Spectaclesgrowled.

The practitioners parted to let her pass. Theman closest to the door held some sort of baton that was spouting astream of fire. It had burned three sides of an access panel intothe hatch, leaving smoke drifting from perforated singe marks.

Amaranthe tried to see through one of thetiny holes, but the room appeared dark behind it. Or maybesomething else blocked the door. If her men were barricaded inside,it would take time for them to come out and help if a fracasstarted. She had to assume she and Maldynado were on their own forthis.

As she drew closer to the door, she wiggledthe cork loose with her thumb. The gloves stole some of herdexterity, and she fumbled, almost dropping the vial.

Inside the stuffy helmet, a bead of sweatrolled down her nose. Too bad she had no way to wipe it.

The cork came free in her hand. Yellow smokecurled between her fingers, and she lowered her arm, swinging it tohide the evidence.

She pointed at the hatch. “Should Iknock?”

“Stop him,” someone blurted behind her, thenswitched to another language.

Cursed ancestors, they must have seenMaldynado opening his vial. Two men reached for him, and a womanstepped back, her eyes growing glazed.

Amaranthe threw the vial at her nose. Itbopped her between the eyes, breaking her concentration. The twomen had tried to grab Maldynado’s arms, but he thrust them away. Hedid tower like a behemoth over these people. Too bad itwasn’t going to be a solely physical confrontation. But if theycould keep the practitioners busy until the smoke kicked in…

A man grabbed Amaranthe’s wrist even as aprickle on the back of her neck alerted her to a magical attackfrom elsewhere. She kicked her captor’s shin and twisted her arm,yanking it free from the man’s grip. She jammed her knee into hisgroin and spun about, seeking the practitioner targeting her.

The man with the baton torch lunged at her.She ducked and whipped her arm up in a hard block. The baton flewfrom the man’s grip, hit a wall, and spun into the fray. Someonescreamed.

Nearby, a glassy-eyed male practitionerraised a hand toward Amaranthe. She lunged and launched a punch,twisting her hip to put her whole body into the maneuver. Her fistsmashed into the man’s nose with bone- crunching force. He hadn’tmade an attempt to block, and he went down like a brick. He wasn’tthe only one with slow reflexes.

The vials. They were working.

Relief welled and caught in her throat. No,not relief. Something was tightening her airway. Though the helmetprotected her neck, a force pressed in from all sides, as ifsomeone were strangling her.

Amaranthe stumbled back, fighting the urge toclutch at her throat. That would do nothing. She whirled about,searching for her attacker.

Six of the eight practitioners were sprawledon the deck. Maldynado had crumpled to his knees, his facecontorted in a rictus of pain behind his mask.

The rangy navigator stood in theintersection, his focus on Maldynado. A gray-haired woman had afist clenched as she stared at Amaranthe with fierce concentration.Neither appeared affected by the smoke that wafted from thevials.

Lightheadedness swept over Amaranthe. Lack ofair scattered her thoughts, and desperation crept in. She wheezed,groping for a plan while her body cried out for oxygen.

She tried to stalk toward her attacker, tostop the assault, but she bounced off a barrier protecting thewoman. Hadn’t Akstyr always said practitioners could onlyconcentrate on one thing at a time? That they couldn’t attack anddefend simultaneously? That was why Arbitan Losk had conjured upthat deadly soul construct to watch his back. Maybe someone downhere was working on protection tools-artifacts, that’s whatSicarius called such things-and the woman had some physical objectthat could be destroyed.

Blackness crept into the edges of Amaranthe’svision as she squinted, searching for some sign of a tool on thewoman’s person. There. A blocky square jutting against the fabricinside her jacket. Little good the knowledge did. As long as thetool was inside the barrier, Amaranthe could do nothing toit.

A tight smile curved the woman’s lips. Shehad Amaranthe and she knew it.

We’ll see, Amaranthe thought. She glancedtoward the fire baton. It had gone out when it hit the deck, butmaybe she could turn it on again. And maybe one artifact couldfight another.

She dropped to one knee, pretending defeat-itwasn’t much of a pretense-and rested her hand near the torch. Shegripped the smooth material, using her body to hide the action.

Involuntary gasps for air tore through her,but they were ineffective and nothing could pass her