Gyre had three opponents of his own, coming in fast but coordinating poorly. The first, a teenage girl with dark skin and fiery orange hair, screamed a war cry and swung her sword for his head with more passion than sense. Gyre sidestepped her, opening her bowels with a twist of his short knife and leaving her to collapse with guts spilling through her fingers. The man behind her had a shield and spear, jabbing expertly and keeping Gyre from closing. Gyre gave ground, letting the third bandit, a skinny boy with a pair of knives, get closer. Hopping over the shuddering body of the dying girl, Gyre circled, and the boy followed, swiping with his short blades.
Too tentative. With a knife that size, only a committed attack was going to cause any damage. Gyre waited until he wound up for another strike, then stepped forward, blocking one descending blade with a forearm and parrying the other, then punching the bandit in the mouth with his pommel. The boy staggered backward, drawing his knife along Gyre’s arm, but without his weight behind it the blade scraped off his leather bracer. More important, he was now between Gyre and the spearman, and Gyre kept pressing forward, driving the boy back and spoiling the more experienced man’s stance. Desperately, the boy lunged again, and Gyre ducked and swept his legs out from under him, then popped up inside the spearman’s guard. The older bandit dropped his spear and went for a sidearm, but Gyre’s knife took him in the throat before he could reach it.
Twisting to finish the boy on the ground, Gyre saw Yora and Harrow fighting back-to-back. Yora’s spearhead darted like a leaping fish, unmetal iridescent in the twisting, strobing light of glowstones and blaster fire. One bandit was down in front of her, and she held two more at bay. As Gyre watched, her spear licked out, the unmetal blade slicing clean through the ordinary steel of her opponent’s shield and opening a long gash on his arm. Behind her, Harrow fought with wild swings of his axe. A lithe young woman slipped inside his guard with a long knife, slashing his leg, but the boy slammed his forehead into hers, leaving her reeling. Before she could recover, he caught her on the backswing with his big axe, and she folded up around the blade like a limp rag and spun away in a spray of gore.
Ibb seemed to be having the most difficulty. The antler-man was quicker than he had any right to be, and his nails were as long and sharp as a thickhead’s claws. Ibb’s rapier was faster, but under his rags the dhak-twisted bandit was armored like a thickhead, too, and the fine-tipped blade skittered off his scales. The mercenary gave ground, bleeding freely from a cut to the scalp and another to the thigh.
Gyre moved in to assist, slashing wildly at the antler-man to draw his attention. He ducked as a clawed swipe whistled past, and lashed out with his short blade, but the cut that should have opened the man’s stomach only slashed his clothes and glanced off his scaly armor. Gyre dropped his long blade just in time to catch the man’s wrist before the claws found his face, but the bandit’s prodigious strength forced him back, first one step and then another. For a moment they stood locked, sweat standing out on Gyre’s brow as he strained to keep the vicious razors back.
“Duck!”
This time, Gyre needed no further warning. He let go of the bandit’s arm and threw himself flat. The antler-man stumbled forward against the sudden lack of resistance, and Gyre felt a wave of heat and heard the crack of a blaster bolt. He raised his head and found Kit walking past him, blaster leveled. The antler-man was down but getting back to his feet. The huge crater blown in his chest, exposing the ragged, shattered tips of his ribs, barely seemed to slow him.
“Just die, would you?” Kit said. She fired twice more, and the third bolt caught the bandit in the head, blowing his skull to fragments. When she was satisfied he wasn’t getting up again, Kit holstered the blaster and reached out to help Gyre up. “You all right?”
“Somehow.” Gyre took her hand and stood. The fight seemed to be over, the remaining bandits having melted away into the darkness with the death of their leader. The five of them were left standing in a circle of bluish glowstone light, along with the bodies of the fallen. Somewhere a woman was shrieking in pain, and a man repeated frantic prayers in a gurgling voice.
Ibb, his face painted with blood from the wound on his forehead, limped to face Kit and leveled his rapier.
“What the fuck was that?” he said.
“What?” she said, raising her hands. “Saving your life? Or saving Halfmask’s, I suppose, after he saved yours?”
“You started this fight,” the mercenary said. “We could have paid them off.”
“With a blaster?” Kit snorted. “I hope you were willing to hand yours over, because I’m plaguing sure they weren’t getting mine.”
“We were negotiating,” Ibb growled.
“He was stalling while his friends got into position,” Kit said. “I saw them coming and decided not to wait.”
“You put us all at risk.”
“Coming down here at all is a risk.” Kit cocked her head. “I didn’t take you for a coward.”
“That’s enough,” Yora snapped. Harrow was on one knee in front of her as she bandaged the bleeding cut on his leg. “Ibb, come and let me look at you.”
For a moment, Kit and Ibb held their locked gazes. Then the mercenary turned away, growling, and sheathed his rapier, limping over to Yora. Kit caught Gyre’s eye and shrugged, then started prowling through the bodies.
Gyre caught up to her, picking his way cautiously through the still-cooling debris.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Not a bad fight, honestly,” Kit said, grinning at him. She did her cat’s stretch again, rolling her head from side to side. “A little quick for my taste.”
“Doomseeker,” Gyre said, shaking his head. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“I never claimed otherwise.”
Kit stalked forward. She’d found the source of the shrieking, the young woman who’d taken Harrow’s axe to the midsection. It had opened her, messily, and her eyes were wide and glassy as she plucked feebly at her guts with gory hands. Kit grabbed her by the hair, jerked her head back, and slashed her throat.
“That’s better,” she said, when the bandit’s shudders had ceased. The praying man’s gurgles had died away, too, leaving the gallery in silence. “Now, let me see that map?”
*
In spite of his wounds, Ibb insisted they start moving again as soon as possible, lest the bandits return with reinforcements. If there were more members to the gang, though, they didn’t show themselves, and Gyre and the others walked down the gallery for a time in silence. Kit held her glowstone high, examining each marking on the wall they passed, sometimes hesitating for a moment, then muttering and moving on.
“You’re sure we haven’t missed it?” Yora said.
“Pretty sure,” Kit said, without looking around. “Mostly sure. Kind of sure.” The bloody melee seemed to have improved her mood.
“Wonderful,” Ibb grated. He had a circle of bandages around his head and another wrapping his leg.
Finally, Kit came to a halt, bouncing excitedly on her heels.
“Here!” She pointed to the carved character. “This way. It’s not far.”
“Someone could be waiting—” Ibb said, but Kit was already darting forward. The rest of them followed more slowly, leaving the main gallery for a short side corridor. They caught up with Kit at a dead end, the smooth-walled passage stopping abruptly.