What’s more, the swordsman from the fighting pit is just as skilled as my Aurelian triad – using the cold steel of his rapier to cut down Peter’s henchmen with agile and lethal grace.
It takes Peter just a second to see where the course of the battle will lead – and then he sprints away, running towards the Bullfrogs that he must hope will protect him.
Don Sloor grabs my leash and yanks me closer to his bulk. His three Bullfrogs subordinates move to his side, adopting combat positions. All of them draw wickedly curved knives from the belts of their wetsuits – blades that drip with an almost-glowing green venom.
They’re clearly ready for battle – and as formidable as my three Aurelians are, I know these Bullfrogs won’t go down easily.
Shameless in his cowardice, Peter runs behind the looming Bullfrogs, naked fear in his eyes as he cowers behind their fleshy bulk.
Suddenly, the room is filled with silence.
There’s only the drip-drip-drip of a broken wine bottle, that slowly spills blood-red liquid onto the carpet.
All of Peter’s men are dead.
Don Sloor pulls me tightly to his bulk, and almost presses the blade of his knife against my throat. He doesn’t quite rest the blade against my skin, though – and I know why. I can smell the sour stink of the venom coating the blade. It fills my nostrils, and brings bile to my throat.
I want to wretch at the reek of the foul liquid, but I force myself to stay stock-still. If my body convulses – if I even breath too hard – I might be nicked by that poisoned steel… And if the venom is what I think it is – drawn from the tail of a deadly Scorp – I know it will be the last thing I do before I twist and writhe in agony on the floor.
But while I’m as still as stone, the blade shudders in front of me. Don Sloor is clearly panicking, and I’m terrified he might accidentally cut me open.
Across the room, the three Aurelians stop moving. They stand like marble statues, their Orb-Blades humming and clean.
That’s not because they haven’t tasted blood – oh, no, quite the opposite. Enough blood to fill a swimming pool has been spilled, but as I watch – the shimmering blue-black energy of those otherworldly blades seems to consume the blood.
I know, in my head, that the heat of the Orb-material is just searing the blood into smoke…
…but it almost looks like the Orb-Blades are drinking it.
Behind the three Aurelians, Draven rests on the balls of his feet – eagerly waiting to see what happens next.
“Let us go,” Don Sloor growls, “or we’ll cut the bitch’s throat – and trust me, when this blade breaks her skin, that’ll be the least of her worries.”
Evander takes one step forward. Don Sloor tenses, and Evander stops sharply.
The leader of my triad growls: “We have no quarrel with you, Bullfrog. We want only the girl.”
Draven snarls: “The girl, and Peter Paradooli.”
Don Sloor pauses. “Him? You can have him – and the girl. But I need to know I’m getting out of here safe, first. I don’t trust the word of an Aurelian.”
Evander cocks his head. “We’re not cheaters or liars. You know that – despite what you might have claimed to Paradooli.”
Don Sloor snorts humorlessly.
“Aye. You did beat me fair and square. So, let’s live and let live – rather than live and let die. Let one of my men bring our ship here, through those doors you blasted open. Then I’ll let her go, and you can have Peter.”
Augustus growls. “Do it.”
“Wait! No!” It’s Peter. “Let me free, and there’ll be riches in it for you. Untold riches!” He’s clearly panicked. “Please, what have I ever done to you?”
One of Don Sloor’s subordinates grabs Peter, hauling him in front of us. As he’s thrown to the floor, the worthless man pleads and begs for his life – but it’s not my Aurelian triad he needs to be begging.
No, it’s that swordfighter.
Draven steps forward, and looks down at Peter Paradooli with cold hatred in his eyes.
“You don’t even remember what you did, do you?”
Peter looks up at him blankly.
“I was thirteen. You took my sister from my house, kicking and screaming, and you murdered her in front of the whole town.”
Peter blinks, utterly confused.
“It was on Palanarus 17, the ore-planet. You were hired to quell a mining rebellion there.”
Peter’s eyes widen, and he clearly remembers.
The desperate man stammers: “That… That was over ten years ago! Please! That’s not who I am now! That’s not the business I’m in! Spare me, and I’ll give you…
Peter Paradooli never finishes that sentence.
Sixteen inches of gleaming steel slides down his throat, and suddenly Peter is no more – sinking to the flagstones as blood fills his lungs.
A man was just murdered right in front of him, but my triad doesn’t seem to care. In fact, Evander hasn’t taken his eyes from the blade at my throat the whole time.
“Lower the blade,” he hisses at Don Sloor. “I don’t want your hand to flinch.”
The blade slowly lowers – just enough to prevent any accidental nicks.
The moment Don Sloor lower the knife, Evander nods – signaling his subordinate to go and collect their vessel.
I’ve never seen a Bullfrog move so fast. Don Sloor’s subordinate scurries from the room, waddling as fast as his greasy legs will take him.
A moment later, we hear the rumble of engines as their ship hovers outside the shattered main doors.
Don Sloor yanks my leash tightly and marches me towards the door. As me near the exit, he suddenly kicks me – hard in my rump.
I stumble forward, and the moment I do, Don Sloor takes the opportunity and practically hops through the doorway – up into the open hatch of the waiting vessel.
The engines surge, and the craft roars upwards into the night sky; taking with it the four Bullfrogs.
Then, there’s silence.
I’m finally
