directions to Khedryn’s execution chamber.
“Keep moving,” Runner growled.
Khedryn had not realized that he’d slowed. His legs felt weak under him. His breath came rapidly, trying to keep pace with the demands of his racing heart. The corridors seemed too narrow; the walls were closing in on him. He tried to calm himself, determined to die with dignity.
Runner squeezed his arm and pulled him to a stop. The hum and sizzle of the clone’s lightsaber split the dimness of the dark corridor. Khedryn fought to keep himself upright.
“The airlock,” he said, his voice steadier than he had supposed it would be. “Not like this. We had an agreement, clone.”
“Shut up,” Runner said, his expression tense, wild, but not focused on Khedryn at all. He looked down the corridor in one direction, spun and looked down another. Khedryn saw nothing but darkness down the corridor in all directions.
Runner’s breathing came almost as fast as Khedryn’s. Khedryn tried to make sense of what was happening.
The madness, he supposed. Runner was having some kind of episode.
Or maybe …
Runner voiced a low, dangerous growl. His hand squeezed Khedryn’s bicep so hard it made Khedryn wince.
The darkness before them seemed to swirl and deepen. Runner leaned forward, eyeing it warily, his blade held before him. The sizzle of his lightsaber grew less pronounced; the blade began to sputter. Runner held it before his eyes, staring, as the blade shrank.
“What is—” Khedryn started to ask.
The blade flickered and fizzled out altogether, the puff of smoke from the hilt like a leftover ghost.
A hiss sounded from the corridor before them and Runner jerked to the side and snatched at something in the air. By the time Khedryn registered what had happened it was already over.
Runner held the shaft of a crossbow quarrel. He’d snatched it right out of the air. The silver tines of the tip looked like razors.
A susurration sounded within the darkness of the hallway, the sigh of a soft boot on the floor, or the rustle of a cloak. Runner dropped the quarrel but held on to Khedryn.
The darkness in the hall thickened, rolled toward them, a pale form at its head closing fast. For a moment, Khedryn, his mind still stuck on his pending execution, thought it an apparition of death.
But it wasn’t. It was an Umbaran.
Runner shoved Khedryn against the wall so hard it knocked the wind from him and sent him to the floor. Khedryn caught the flash of blades in the pale form’s hand. And then the Umbaran and Runner were engaged, their movements so fast that Khedryn could scarcely follow them.
The Umbaran stabbed at Runner’s abdomen. Runner sidestepped the stab and punched for the Umbaran’s temple with his lightsaber hilt. The Umbaran ducked under the blow, slapped Runner’s arm out wide, and stabbed at the clone’s chest with his other blade. Before the knife could connect, Runner caught the Umbaran’s wrist, planted his feet, spun, and whipped the Umbaran against the wall so hard the pale man’s breath blew out of him in an audible whoosh.
Runner charged him and feinted with his off hand while he loosed an overhand slam at the Umbaran’s head with the hilt of his lightsaber. The Umbaran ducked and the hilt slammed hard into the bulkhead. A leg sweep put Runner on the ground and the Umbaran leapt after him, his blades stabbing downward.
Runner rolled to the side, away from one stab, away from another, and unleashed a prone kick to the Umbaran’s chest that drove the pale man back enough for Runner to regain his feet. He was breathing heavily. The Umbaran, unwinded, held his blades a little away from his body and studied the clone’s defenses, looking for openings. They circled, a meter apart. The Umbaran feinted lunges to draw Runner out.
Impatient with the games, Runner charged. The Umbaran drove his blades at Runner’s chest but the clone caught him by the wrists, held the knives out wide, and used his greater weight to drive the Umbaran against the bulkhead. There, he slammed one of the Umbaran’s hands against the wall until the Umbaran gasped with pain and dropped one of the knives.
The Umbaran shifted his stance and drove his left knee into Runner’s abdomen, once, twice—both blows landing solidly—before Runner could position his body too close for knees to do any damage. The Umbaran continued to try and snake his hands free of Runner’s grasp, but he could not loose himself from the clone’s grip.
Runner grunted, pressed the Umbaran against the bulkhead.