Read Online The Price of the Stars: Book One of Mageworlds by Debra Doyle, James D. MacDonald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Debra Doyle, James D. MacDonald
Ads: Link
intruders before they could secure that final barrier against unexpected interruption. As Ari reached the last step, a body flew out the open door and slammed against the opposite wall.
From the looks of it, Munngralla was still fighting. Ari hefted the pugil stick, let loose his own version of Ferrda’s fighting-roar, and charged in.
The Selvaur stood with his back to the far wall of a cabinet-lined workroom, swinging a length of metal shelving in murderous arcs that kept his attackers from closing. Munngralla’s enemies—whoever they might be—hadn’t stinted on the manpower. Not counting the casualty out in the hallway, Ari saw at least five humans still pressing the fight with clubs and knives.
He swiped the butt end of his pugil stick across the back of the nearest skull. The man collapsed onto the tile floor, fouling the footwork of two other attackers as he fell. Munngralla caught one of them along the side of the head with his length of shelving, and Ari heard the crack of shattering bone. That man also went down, his head bloody. The leading edge of Munngralla’s piece of shelving showed a red stain.
One of the men turned and came at Ari with a knife angled low to slash across the gut. Ari blocked with the butt of the pugil stick, striking the knife man’s forearm so hard that the wood shivered against his hands like an electronic shock.
The knife hit the floor with a metallic clatter. The man went grey-white but kept coming forward.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Ari, who had no desire to get the man’s left-hand knife in the belly at close quarters. He smashed the haft of the pugil stick against the man’s nose. The knife man screamed once before going down.
Blood from the man’s broken face made the stick slippery under Ari’s fingers. He shifted his grip a little and moved in toward the only attacker still standing. Munngralla swung his piece of shelving into the man’s ribs as Ari cracked the same man over the head from behind.
Then the sound and heat and smell of a blaster bolt tore through the air, and Munngralla let out a roar of pain.
Ari swore. They’d both forgotten the second of the two men who had stumbled earlier. Smaller than the others, and possibly more prudent, he’d rolled sideways and come up under one of the worktables. Firing from that refuge, he managed to get off a second shot, but the bolt went wild as Ari tore the table loose from the floor and hit him with it.
Nobody fired any more blasters after that, and only Munngralla moved. The big Selvaur dragged himself to his feet, and Ari saw that most of the grey-green scales along his left arm and side had been burned away.
“It’s going to be a day or so in accelerated healing for you, I’m afraid,” Ari said, as soon as he had breath.
*Never mind that,* growled Munngralla. *We have to get out of here fast.* “You think somebody called Security?”
*I know what was on the shelf that idiot hit with his second bolt,* said the Selvaur. *Heat starts the reaction—we’ve got about five minutes before it all explodes.*
“I wondered why they held off so long with the fireworks,” said Ari. Habit already had him checking to see if any of their fallen adversaries were alive. Most of them looked past help, but both his first victim and the man he and Munngralla had taken out together were still breathing. “We can’t leave these two here.”
*Why not?*
*Because I said not,* snarled Ari, in Selvauran. *Are the Forest Lords hunters, or do they murder like the thin-skins? *
The Selvaur grumbled an obscenity, but nevertheless picked up one of the survivors with his good arm, as lightly as if the limp body were a rag doll. Ari knelt to lift the second surviving attacker. It took more of an effort than he’d expected, and his head spun as he rose again to his feet. He closed his eyes for a second or so, and the dizziness subsided.
That’s what you get for mixing Galcenian brandy with Nammerin beer , he told himself.
From the looks of it, Munngralla was still fighting. Ari hefted the pugil stick, let loose his own version of Ferrda’s fighting-roar, and charged in.
The Selvaur stood with his back to the far wall of a cabinet-lined workroom, swinging a length of metal shelving in murderous arcs that kept his attackers from closing. Munngralla’s enemies—whoever they might be—hadn’t stinted on the manpower. Not counting the casualty out in the hallway, Ari saw at least five humans still pressing the fight with clubs and knives.
He swiped the butt end of his pugil stick across the back of the nearest skull. The man collapsed onto the tile floor, fouling the footwork of two other attackers as he fell. Munngralla caught one of them along the side of the head with his length of shelving, and Ari heard the crack of shattering bone. That man also went down, his head bloody. The leading edge of Munngralla’s piece of shelving showed a red stain.
One of the men turned and came at Ari with a knife angled low to slash across the gut. Ari blocked with the butt of the pugil stick, striking the knife man’s forearm so hard that the wood shivered against his hands like an electronic shock.
The knife hit the floor with a metallic clatter. The man went grey-white but kept coming forward.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” said Ari, who had no desire to get the man’s left-hand knife in the belly at close quarters. He smashed the haft of the pugil stick against the man’s nose. The knife man screamed once before going down.
Blood from the man’s broken face made the stick slippery under Ari’s fingers. He shifted his grip a little and moved in toward the only attacker still standing. Munngralla swung his piece of shelving into the man’s ribs as Ari cracked the same man over the head from behind.
Then the sound and heat and smell of a blaster bolt tore through the air, and Munngralla let out a roar of pain.
Ari swore. They’d both forgotten the second of the two men who had stumbled earlier. Smaller than the others, and possibly more prudent, he’d rolled sideways and come up under one of the worktables. Firing from that refuge, he managed to get off a second shot, but the bolt went wild as Ari tore the table loose from the floor and hit him with it.
Nobody fired any more blasters after that, and only Munngralla moved. The big Selvaur dragged himself to his feet, and Ari saw that most of the grey-green scales along his left arm and side had been burned away.
“It’s going to be a day or so in accelerated healing for you, I’m afraid,” Ari said, as soon as he had breath.
*Never mind that,* growled Munngralla. *We have to get out of here fast.* “You think somebody called Security?”
*I know what was on the shelf that idiot hit with his second bolt,* said the Selvaur. *Heat starts the reaction—we’ve got about five minutes before it all explodes.*
“I wondered why they held off so long with the fireworks,” said Ari. Habit already had him checking to see if any of their fallen adversaries were alive. Most of them looked past help, but both his first victim and the man he and Munngralla had taken out together were still breathing. “We can’t leave these two here.”
*Why not?*
*Because I said not,* snarled Ari, in Selvauran. *Are the Forest Lords hunters, or do they murder like the thin-skins? *
The Selvaur grumbled an obscenity, but nevertheless picked up one of the survivors with his good arm, as lightly as if the limp body were a rag doll. Ari knelt to lift the second surviving attacker. It took more of an effort than he’d expected, and his head spun as he rose again to his feet. He closed his eyes for a second or so, and the dizziness subsided.
That’s what you get for mixing Galcenian brandy with Nammerin beer , he told himself.
Similar Books
