blackness. Their blasters went wild,
chipping away at old stone and nothing else. Lena waited for her night vision
to adjust to the total blackness once again. She felt a brush of wind through
her hair and that laughing voice returned.
You do not truly need the
help, but we will give it anyway. Then all the lights went
out. Hearing the confusion and wild clicking of guns that no longer fired,
Lena smiled and stepped out of her hiding place. No one else had her night
vision, so no one knew when she was even among them until it was too late.
She killed the first
mercenary with his own blade. Took a second weapon, his long sword, out of
still warm dead hands and kept going. She was slashing another opponent behind
the knees when out of the corner of her eye she caught the distant glow of the
stone she had thrown and watched The Collector stumbling towards it in the
blackness.
Another light flickered
somewhere beyond them. She recognized the hum of a teleport and cursed. How
many mercenaries was she going to have to kill? She headed for The Collector,
killing blind mercenaries as she went.
Lena heard something come
out of the darkness she was unprepared for, but had her smiling all the same.
The roar of an angry Prime. She turned and saw both of her men come out fighting
from an area in the far distant cave. She knew Cordan had his own brand of
night vision, but Jackson was human and as blind as the mercenaries. He pulled
out his two swords and started hacking away at enemies while Lo ripped and
rendered. Lena blinked. He was blind fighting; she could tell by the way he
canted his head.
Lena laughed, and headed
for The Collector. Shadow man stepped into her path before she could get there.
Lena planted her feet and lifted her stolen steel, her eyes narrowed on the
man.
He said something in a
language she knew very well, and the unexpectedness of it had her stumbling
before she could return to her usual grace, and face off with her fellow
assassin.
He said, “Even an
immortal needs a head,” in old Pesilian, the language of the Black Hand. Lena
was suddenly fighting for her life again.
***
Jackson had never before
been so thankful that his old sword master was partial to blind fighting to
keep a man sharp, until now. He dispatched a merc and tried again to contact
Lena through the bond. Still nothing, though he could feel her nearby – something
was still blocking their communication. Something in the moon itself, because
in this place he was cut off from Cordan as well. He heard the flurry of
fighting and knew in what general direction to go to find her. Both he and
Cordan moved in that direction, killing as they went. They ran out of mercenaries
long before they got close enough to Lena to hear more than the lightning fast
clashing of swords. Cordan stopped and Jackson listened beside him, his head
canted while he tried to understand the fight he was missing.
“Lena?” he asked, wondering
why they had stopped.
“She fights.”
“Mercenary?”
Cordan watched Lena flip
over the head of a small quick man; he could not make out his face in the
almost total dark of the moon’s belly, but he could see outlines. He watched
the man move with a wicked fast back arch that turned into a high kick. Lena
avoided it by misting one way and then the other, and it occurred to Cordan
that whoever she was fighting was no ordinary mercenary, not if he was fast
enough that Lena had to mist to avoid him. Cordan had seen her fight.
Normally she was quick enough, there and gone before her opponent saw her
coming and that was without the misting.
She misted again in time
to keep her head, when a slice of the other man’s blade went through where her
neck had been a moment before. When it happened again, Cordan growled. This
man was bent on removing her head from her body.
“No, this one is more
skilled.”
“How more skilled?”
Jackson gritted out the
chipping away at old stone and nothing else. Lena waited for her night vision
to adjust to the total blackness once again. She felt a brush of wind through
her hair and that laughing voice returned.
You do not truly need the
help, but we will give it anyway. Then all the lights went
out. Hearing the confusion and wild clicking of guns that no longer fired,
Lena smiled and stepped out of her hiding place. No one else had her night
vision, so no one knew when she was even among them until it was too late.
She killed the first
mercenary with his own blade. Took a second weapon, his long sword, out of
still warm dead hands and kept going. She was slashing another opponent behind
the knees when out of the corner of her eye she caught the distant glow of the
stone she had thrown and watched The Collector stumbling towards it in the
blackness.
Another light flickered
somewhere beyond them. She recognized the hum of a teleport and cursed. How
many mercenaries was she going to have to kill? She headed for The Collector,
killing blind mercenaries as she went.
Lena heard something come
out of the darkness she was unprepared for, but had her smiling all the same.
The roar of an angry Prime. She turned and saw both of her men come out fighting
from an area in the far distant cave. She knew Cordan had his own brand of
night vision, but Jackson was human and as blind as the mercenaries. He pulled
out his two swords and started hacking away at enemies while Lo ripped and
rendered. Lena blinked. He was blind fighting; she could tell by the way he
canted his head.
Lena laughed, and headed
for The Collector. Shadow man stepped into her path before she could get there.
Lena planted her feet and lifted her stolen steel, her eyes narrowed on the
man.
He said something in a
language she knew very well, and the unexpectedness of it had her stumbling
before she could return to her usual grace, and face off with her fellow
assassin.
He said, “Even an
immortal needs a head,” in old Pesilian, the language of the Black Hand. Lena
was suddenly fighting for her life again.
***
Jackson had never before
been so thankful that his old sword master was partial to blind fighting to
keep a man sharp, until now. He dispatched a merc and tried again to contact
Lena through the bond. Still nothing, though he could feel her nearby – something
was still blocking their communication. Something in the moon itself, because
in this place he was cut off from Cordan as well. He heard the flurry of
fighting and knew in what general direction to go to find her. Both he and
Cordan moved in that direction, killing as they went. They ran out of mercenaries
long before they got close enough to Lena to hear more than the lightning fast
clashing of swords. Cordan stopped and Jackson listened beside him, his head
canted while he tried to understand the fight he was missing.
“Lena?” he asked, wondering
why they had stopped.
“She fights.”
“Mercenary?”
Cordan watched Lena flip
over the head of a small quick man; he could not make out his face in the
almost total dark of the moon’s belly, but he could see outlines. He watched
the man move with a wicked fast back arch that turned into a high kick. Lena
avoided it by misting one way and then the other, and it occurred to Cordan
that whoever she was fighting was no ordinary mercenary, not if he was fast
enough that Lena had to mist to avoid him. Cordan had seen her fight.
Normally she was quick enough, there and gone before her opponent saw her
coming and that was without the misting.
She misted again in time
to keep her head, when a slice of the other man’s blade went through where her
neck had been a moment before. When it happened again, Cordan growled. This
man was bent on removing her head from her body.
“No, this one is more
skilled.”
“How more skilled?”
Jackson gritted out the
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