Seven
The fire had died to glowing embers by the time they woke up again, early the next day. Aalu hadn’t slept very well, her sleep just as plagued by dreams as Skan’s had been, but she was feeling refreshed and a lot more pragmatic about things.
“When are you going to find him?” she asked, softly, sipping at the brackish water Skan had fetched in an old jar; it was stale and had a slightly chemical taste to it, but it was all right otherwise.
Skan looked like he was trying not to worry too much; he struck and parried and cut at invisible enemies with his spear. “Soon,” he replied. He’d taken the stimulant that Rek had given him, and was feeling bouncy, in a pretty good mood. “Whenever yer ready…”
They made it into the main corridor system without being seen, but Skan almost collided with one of the patrol guards. Startled, he swung his spear up to a fighting stance, and almost skewered the guard with it.
“Hey!” the slig leaped back. “Watch where yer proddin’ that thing…!”
Skan gave him a look. “Yer not goin’ ter arrest me…?”
“Frack, no – we all want yer ter kill the big bastard!” The guard exclaimed.
“Yer – what?” Skan frowned. “How did…?”
The guard grinned. “The gossip chain is pretty active in these parts. News gets about pretty quick. No secrets anywhere. We’re jus’ hopin’ he hasn’t heard yet…”
Skan sighed, and rubbed the back of his head, tiredly. “Everyone’s hopin’ fer a miracle,” he said, tiredly. “An’… frack, I don’ know if I can kill ’im…! He’s so bloody big…”
The other slig just shrugged. “We know yer can do it,” he said, simply. “An’ if yer can’t, well… mebbe we can finish ’im off…”
“I wouldn’ mind a potshot at the bastard,” a second slig put in, wandering up. “He got pissed off at me fer not workin’ fast enough an’ bust my arm, a couple o’ months ago.”
Quite a group had begun to gather by the time a guard sprinted down the corridor and hissed; “He’s comin’!” The pack split, everyone vanishing into the shadowed alcoves on either side of the corridor.
Aalu hid with Skan. “Be careful,” she whispered, gently squeezing his upper arm.
“I’ll do my best…” He said, and nudged her snout with his. Then smiled, tightly, feeling his heart thudding against his ribs, and whispered; “well, here goes nothin’…”
Lenk lumbered by, completely oblivious to the small number of sligs hiding in the shadows. When Skan stepped out into the corridor behind him, he still didn’t turn – assuming it was just one of the patrol soldiers. He did turn, however, when Skan called out after him, cockily; “Hey! Where d’yer think yer goin’, Fatty?”
Lenk swung his heavy head to face him. “You again,” he snarled.
Skan smiled and leaned on his spear. “Yup. Me again. Small world, ain’t it?”
“Thought yer’d have made a pretty sharp run fer it as soon as yer were out,” Lenk strode back to where Skan stood, as bold as brass.
“Naw. Had a small matter to settle, yer know…?” Skan replied, idly, hoping he looked unafraid, because he sure wasn’t feeling it…
“I got orders ter kill yer on sight, yer know,” Lenk rumbled, hefting his weapon.
Skan leaned nonchalantly on his weapon, and shrugged. “I don’ think yer goin’ ter do that, tho’. Not when yer can beat me ter a pulp first.”
Lenk frowned. “Yer confuse me, sometimes. Yer actually want yer ass kicked…?”
Skan laughed. “Yer goin’ ter have trouble kickin’ it, lardarse. I’m surprised yer can even lift yer feet off the ground.”
“Why, yer little…!”
Before the other could go for him, Skan threw down the metaphorical gauntlet. “I challenge yer.”
“Yer?!” Lenk erupted in laughter. “A li’l weed like yer? I’ve given yer a kicking twice – yer really want me ter a third time…?”
“No,” Skan fixed him with a stare. “This time’s to the end.”
“The end?” Lenk stopped laughing. The little shrimp was serious.
“Yep. The bitter end. Until one o’ us kills the other. Happy?”
Lenk shrugged and aimed his gun. “This’ll be easy, then.”
“Ah ah, yer know the rules,” Skan tutted, wagging a patronising finger. “Matched opponents in unarmed fightin’, remember? I ain’t got a gun. I’m assumin’ yer know about the concept o’ “fair”…?”
Lenk made a disgusted noise. “I know about as much about fair fightin’ as yer do,” he snapped.
“Good,” Skan swung his spear, lazily. “That means I get to keep this skewer.”
“How’s that fair?”
Skan didn’t even merit that with an answer.
When cool and level-headed, Skan could fight amazingly well. He didn’t just rush in in a blind rage as he had a few days ago – that always spelt disaster for him – he measured his opponent up, looked for weak spots and checked for where he could do most damage. And he could immediately see that Lenk had two disadvantages; he was bigger and slower. Skan was smaller and infinitely more agile. Even so, the huge brute would probably do a hideous amount of damage if Skan ever stood still enough to let him get hold of him. Hell, he’d probably do a load of damage even if he didn’t get hold of him…
The two circled for a while, trading barbs, looking for a suitable opening.
Lenk swung a fist – startled, Skan vaulted backward just in time, and Lenk roared in rage and pain as the smaller slig followed with an attack of his own – and neatly sliced two of his opponent’s fingers off with the leading edge of his spear blade. Infuriated, Lenk swiped at him, and got a deep gash in the muscle of his left arm for his trouble…
And so it went on. They would circle, then one would attack, the other reciprocate, then go back to circling, fencing for a hold, looking for an opening. The crowd was growing, but it was unusually quiet. Almost all fights acquired an audience, the watchers cheering the combatants on and getting into arguments and staring new fights, but most were just over petty matters, like who bought the last round or who was being a tight bastard and not paying up what he lost in a bet. Few fights were this serious – to the death – and few were between such notorious sligs as these two; Lenk, the tyrant who everybody hated but was too scared of to do anything about; and Skan, the outcast, the traitor, one of the ‘most wanted’ – kind of an Oddworldian Robin Hood…
Skan was doing well. But he’d had forgotten one critical factor – he was still recovering from a fever. So his vast reserves of energy were severely diminished; thinking it would be just like sparring with Hak – with whom he could fight for hours – only a little more seriously, this time he got tired frighteningly quickly…
Lenk made another swipe at Skan, and clipped the side of the smaller slig’s snout. Momentarily stunned, Skan gave his head a shake, to clear it of the stars that danced in his vision, but his grip on his spear had fractionally loosened – and it was knocked out of his hand by another smart blow from that massive hand.
“Ah,” he said, backing off.
Lenk smirked, triumphantly, and backed his smaller opponent firmly up against a wall.
Skan glanced about himself, briefly, but knew it was hopeless. There was nowhere to run to avoid the crushing blow that would soon finish him off… Although he’d got some crippling blows in – he’d even taken one of Lenk’s eyes out – Skan was just too bone-tremblingly exhausted to do anything but hold his chin up in the air and bravely stare death in the eye.
The crowd had gone utterly silent. They didn’t want to see Lenk win again, especially not in a fight with who was considered to be one of the very best worker-class fighters…
The huge slig smirked, scenting victory, and sauntered closer, trailing blood from all the wounds mottling his powerful form. “Yer fought well,” he said, grudgingly, noting that although the smaller slig’s lean frame still had the bruises and the ugly marks from where the bonds has made his skin raw, he was impressively uninjured from the fighting. “But not well enough. Cause now… yer dead,” he advanced, slowly, cracking what was left of his knuckles. “An’ trust me. I ain’t goin’ ter make it quick.”
Skan swallowed, thickly, and couldn’t find the spirit to answer.
When… suddenly the huge creature lurched, violently… and stared dumbly down at the pointed, twisted sheet of savagely torn and bent metal that appeared to have grown out of his torso. Before Skan’s stunned gaze, Lenk gave one last startled grunt and collapsed.
Behind him, breathing hard and staring down at the fallen body with a kind of astounded horror, was Aalu. She lifted her gaze to meet Skan’s, by now trembling uncontrollably; he staggered over to her and caught her in his arms just as she was on the point of collapse. She clung to him like he was the last thing left in the universe.
“Did I… I mean… is he… did I… kill him?” She whimpered, her eyes going glassy.
He only just managed to nod.
She squeezed her eyes closed against the tears and leaned her head against his chest. “I didn’t mean to…” she whispered, helplessly. “I didn’t mean to, Skan…!”
He hugged her closer. “I know. Things jus’… well, sometimes things jus’ take you by surprise… It wasn’t yer fault… If yer hadn’t stepped in just then, I’d be dead – or dyin’, one o’ the two…”
“Doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I know. Life’s… well, life’s like that, sometimes. Yer think yer got it all figured out, an’ it gets up an’ kicks yer in the teeth.”
There was a sudden commotion from down the corridor – two guards with stun-gas canisters appeared from round the corner, with Xar in tow. “The bosses want us ter use these!” one said, just loudly enough for the assembled sligs to hear. “So if Skan’s here he’d better look sharp an’ get out…! We can give him half a minute, an’ no more…!”
It was as though the entire audience panicked; running randomly, some fled, others fought… Skan realised it was actually carefully organised, when Xar nipped smartly through the middle.
The little medic thrust a small plastic case and a bundle of fabric into Skan’s hands and hissed; “Well, come on! Yer heard the guy – look sharp! Yer can get out if yer make a run fer it now!”
“I-…” Skan shook the fabric out – a long, dark charcoal grey cloak, perfect for hiding in shadows and sneaking unnoticed.
“Go on! Dammit, yer not on a picnic…! If they let them canisters off while yer in here, yer goin ter be really shafted. If yer run fer it now, yer stand a good chance o’ getting yerself an’ yer lady friend out in the confusion.” The little medic was already helping Aalu to her feet and sweeping a second vast cloak around her shoulders, flicking its hood over her head to hide her unnatural skin colouration. Next second and there was a low fhwhumpfh as the canisters went off; Xar glanced back over his shoulder, saw the rapidly spreading cloud advancing, and gave Skan a shove. “Go on, get outter here, yer dumb fool! I’ll cook up some story ter cover yer. So beat it!”
“Thanks, Xar,” Skan grinned, wanly, then caught Aalu’s arm, gently – and the gas cloud chased them out of the corridors.
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