Lucas readied himself. He felt the stirring of a cold wind. It was a familiar sensation. It often preceded his use of talent, especially when he was attempting to control it without the assistance of a prism.
"What the hell?" Rand swung toward the figure of a policeman that had coalesced in the shadows near a gate. "Where did he come from?"
"What are you talkin' about?" Dancer shifted his attention toward the figure in the shadows. "I don't see nothin'."
The policeman winked out of existence. Lucas moved at the same instant that he lost the ghostly image. He lashed out with his foot and connected with Rand's knife hand. Bone cracked.
Rand grunted with pain and dropped his weapon. He clutched at his injured wrist and stared at Lucas, eyes slitted with fury. "Get him, Dancer. Get the bastard. Hurry. We got money ridin' on this."
Dancer was already moving forward with his peculiar gait. His knife wove an intricate pattern in the air. Lucas recognized the fighting style. And the talent.
"You were wrong, Amaryllis," he said softly. "Dancer has spent some time in the islands. Long enough to pick up the Knife Dance. Isn't that right. Dancer?"
"Damn right. I was there three years ago." Dancer's eyes glinted. "Nearly took the islands, we did. If it hadn't been for you, Trent, me and the others would've been runnin' the whole show by now."
"He knows who you are," Amaryllis whispered.
"Stop talkin' and rip him open," Rand screamed. "We won't get paid if we don't finish this."
"With pleasure. Link." Dancer leaped at Lucas. The knife darted about in dazzling, almost hypnotic movements.
Lucas estimated that Dancer was a class-five or perhaps a six talent. He was more than just a skilled knife dancer. He had a gift for hand-to-hand fighting techniques. Rand was obviously working as his prism tonight.
"Dear God." Amaryllis had apparently just realized that they were facing a talent-prism fighting team.
"Run," Lucas ordered. He kept his full attention on Dancer. "Get out of here, Amaryllis. Head for the strip."
The trick to dealing with a knife dancer was to ignore the blade. The movements were calculated to be simultaneously terrifying and entrancing. The snakelike motions held the attention of the victim until the dancer was ready to slash.
Lucas edged back a few steps. He switched his gaze to Dancer's feet in order to avoid the entrancing movements of the knife. He groped for and found the metal lid of the garbage can.
Lucas swept the can lid around in a wide arc just as Dancer leaped. The knife blade clashed dissonantly against the makeshift metal shield.
Dancer hissed and tried to scramble back out of reach. Lucas gave him no chance to recover his balance. He went in low and fast, using the lid as both armor and weapon.
"Bastard. I'm gonna kill you, Trent." Dancer tried and failed to sidestep the garbage can lid. It caught him on the shoulder with enough force to cause him to stumble.
Lucas discarded the lid and seized Dancer's knife arm. He twisted hard. Something cracked.
Dancer screamed in pain. The knife clattered to the pavement. Lucas slammed a fist into Dancer's jaw. The knife dancer crumpled.
"Lucas," Amaryllis called. "Behind you."
A roar of rage made Lucas spin around. He saw Rand bearing down on him. The irrational glitter in the man's eyes was visible even in the weak light. Rand's face was contorted into a grotesque mask. He had another knife in his fist. Must have grabbed it from his boot, Lucas thought.
Lucas braced himself, but at that moment Amaryllis took a step forward, away from the brick wall. She raised a large object that she had apparently retrieved from the garbage can. It looked like a small wooden packing crate.
She waited until Rand's maddened charge had carried him one step past where she stood. She raised the packing crate on high and then brought it down hard against the back of Rand's skull.
Rand lost his footing and sprawled forward. His face made forceful contact with the sidewalk. He twitched but did not move.
Lucas glanced at Rand, aware of the adrenaline flowing through his veins. He remembered the sensation all too well. He looked at Amaryllis and grinned. "We make a good team."
Amaryllis ignored him. Her gaze was riveted at a point just beyond Lucas's shoulder. "Lucas."
Lucas heard them. He turned his head to glance briefly at the three figures who were sauntering cautiously out of the shadows of a doorway. The noise of the skirmish had drawn would-be opportunists in the same way that the struggles of a wounded animal drew hopeful scavengers.
Lucas grabbed Amaryllis's hand. "Time to leave."
"Definitely."
She ran with him toward the car, which Lucas judged to be closer than the safety of the main strip.
He risked another glance over his shoulder as they pounded down the street. The new arrivals were still milling about, apparently trying to decide upon a course of action. He hoped that they would opt to go through Rand's and Dancer's pockets rather than try to run down the escaping prey. A tough decision, but someone had to make it.
He spotted the two men lounging against the fender of the leer when he and Amaryllis were still half a block away.
"Five hells." This whole thing was starting to look a little too organized for his peace of mind. The tactics were not unlike the ones the pirates had used in the islands. He wondered how many of the riffraff had escaped after the main force had been routed.
"This way." He yanked Amaryllis around the corner of a building.
"There they go." One of the men leaning against the leer straightened. "Shit, they're getting away. After 'em."
Lucas drew Amaryllis past several darkened doorways. She was breathing quickly, but she was keeping up with him. They bred them for endurance in the country, he reflected. He would have been dragging a city-born lady along the sidewalk by now.
He spotted the deep darkness of a nearby alley. He hesitated briefly, but when he heard the sound of pounding footsteps closing in swiftly from behind, he knew he had to evaluate the limited options. He wasn't president of a major corporation for nothing. He knew how to make executive decisions.
He pulled Amaryllis into the alley. It took approximately three seconds for him to realize that there was no opening at the far end. By then it was too late. The footfalls of their pursuers were too close.
Then again, Jackson had always told him that he wasn't executive material.
"We're trapped," Amaryllis breathed.
Lucas pressed her back against the nearest brick wall. "I hope you're as good as you keep telling me you are."
"What are you talking about?"
"Link." Lucas grabbed her hand. He needed all the power he could get.
"What good will that do? I hate to be a wet blanket, but your ability to detect other talents, impressive as it is, isn't going to be of much use here, Lucas."
"Don't move, don't say a word, don't even breathe if you can help it. Just give me a clear prism so that I can focus."
Amaryllis did not hesitate. A few seconds of blind seeking, a slight sense of disorientation, and then a crystal-clear prism formed out on the psychic plane.
He sent the raw energy of his talent through it and watched with a sense of satisfaction as it separated itself into colored beams. He chose the darkest band.
And then he went to work Grafting a solid brick wall across the entrance of the alley.
He heard Amaryllis draw in her breath when she saw what he was doing. He knew she must have been shocked, but her concentration did not waver.
The wall materialized out of the dark night. It matched the walls of the buildings on either side.
The running footsteps were very close now.
Lucas was torn between the necessity to work quickly and the equally urgent need to work carefully. The danger was that he could easily overwhelm Amaryllis's ability to focus if he used too much of his talent. She was full spectrum, but he was off the chart.