His knee rose to meet the questing hand, the knife lifting as his foot fell, the hand lifting to swing forward with the full power of arm, back and shoulder. A move which Lekhard spotted from the corner of his eye. One which spun him back to face Dumarest his hand lifting, the finger tightening on the trigger. To fall back as the knife slammed into his throat to send blood gushing from his mouth in a crimson stream.
Dying he fired.
The blade had severed his larynx, thrust into the neck to reach the spine, to kill as surely as a bullet in the brain. But his finger had been closing, the muscles tense, the death-convulsion enough to complete the action. The gun roared, flame stabbing from the muzzle, the bullet riding a blast of expanding gases to catch Dephine in the chest to bury itself in her lungs, the heavy ball creating havoc among the delicate tissues.
"Earl!"
Dumarest caught her as she fell, blood running from her mouth, one hand clawing at her waist to fall empty from her holster.
"Earl, I-" She coughed and sprayed his face with blood. "You win, you bastard," she whispered. "You win. You lucky-"
Luck which had ruined the generator of the Cyclan vessel and delayed it long enough for him to escape. Which had led him to say just enough while in delirium for the woman to have seared her flesh in a desperate effort to save his life. Which had caused Navalok to create the distraction which had given him the opportunity to kill.
Now he watched, wide-eyed, as Dumarest gently laid the dead woman on the ground.
"She was beautiful," he said softly. "And she loved you."
Dumarest closed the staring, now empty green eyes.
"Earl?"
"Take me to town, boy. Just take me to town."
To the ship which was waiting. To the suns and stars of the galaxy. To the worlds which teemed in the empty spaces, where it was possible to forget.