Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) by Lindsay Buroker Page B

lorry.
    The vehicle had indeed found its way onto the highway again. It was waiting for them. At least, Basilard hoped that was the case and that it wasn’t too damaged to move. More of that greenish smoke filled the air, this time in front of the vehicle instead of around it, fortunately. Basilard’s throat and nostrils couldn’t take any more.
    Ashara reached the door first, lunging inside at the same time as one of the big guns fired. A grimbal less than two feet from the front of the lorry flew backward, blood blossoming on its chest. Basilard leaped into the cab at the same time as the vehicle lurched forward. It struck the injured grimbal, knocking it to the side, even though a punishing shudder jolted the frame.
    Basilard pulled the door shut behind him, only to find that it no longer latched all the way.
    “It’s working,” Mahliki yelled from the other side. She was hanging out of that doorway again. This time, it was Maldynado who pulled her back inside. “The smoke slowed them down.”
    “Go, Corporal,” Maldynado ordered. “That won’t keep them busy forever.”
    “I am going,” Jomrik said.
    The vehicle accelerated, but not as smoothly as it had before. Something was clanking, and the wheels no longer seemed aligned, for they listed to one side of the road. Jomrik had to put a lot of effort into pushing the lever to put them back in the middle. Sweat gleamed on his forehead.
    “A little farther, girl,” he crooned, patting the control panel.
    “A little?” Maldynado dashed tears from his eyes. Judging by the snot plastered on the front of his shirt, he had also inhaled some of those awful fumes. “Try about a hundred miles.”
    “We’ll see,” Jomrik said grimly, his gaze fixed on the road, his shoulders tense.
    Basilard grimaced. They might have delivered enough damage to keep three or four of those grimbals from giving chase, but if some shaman was directing the animals and could override their natural instincts, there were others that could follow.
    “We’re outdistancing them,” Maldynado said, his head hanging out the window. “For now. Can we keep up this pace?”
    An ominous clunk came from underneath the vehicle, followed by a scrape and a tink, tink, tink as something fell off and bounced away behind them.
    “I don’t know.” Jomrik glared at Maldynado. He looked like he wanted to strangle him. “I knew my first sergeant was lying when he said, ‘Easy mission, Jom. Just take the Mangdorian ambassador home, then come back. You’ll get to miss those early morning company runs for a few days. You can relax.’ You know how I knew he was lying?”
    Maldynado shook his head.
    “The president was over there chatting with the captain in charge of the motor pool at the same time. Presidents don’t show up to discuss easy missions.”
    “You sound bitter.” Maldynado noticed snot on his own shirt, prodded at it, and grimaced.
    “Up until twenty minutes ago, my baby didn’t have a dent on her. I buffed her out every week, painted any scratches away, took real good care of her. I…” Jomrik’s words disappeared in a snarl, and he focused on the highway ahead.
    Basilard could not imagine being so attached to a mechanical contraption, but he did understand that the repairs would be expensive and time-consuming, if the vehicle would even be capable of making it back to the capital. He regretted that his mission had resulted in so much damage. He hadn’t wanted to cause trouble for the president or anyone else.
    “Are you all right, Ashara?” Mahliki asked, lifting a hand toward the woman.
    Basilard turned, feeling guilty that he had been distracted and had not thought to check on her. His own back ached—even if he hadn’t been ravaged by claws, he had pulled a muscle, at the least—but she must have been injured more badly. Those claws had cut through her shirt, sinking into her flesh.
    “Fine,” Ashara said.
    She was leaning against the wall beside the door, her deep