Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [242]
“One more leap, Boga!” Obi-Wan shouted, pressing himself along the dragonmount’s shoulder. “Bring me even with him!”
The dragonmount complied without hesitation, and when Grievous thrust again, Obi-Wan’s free hand flashed out and seized the staff below its discharge blade, holding it clear of Boga’s vulnerable flesh. Grievous yanked on the staff, nearly pulling Obi-Wan out of the saddle, then jabbed it back at him, discharge blade sparking in his face—
With a sigh, Obi-Wan realized he needed both hands.
He dropped his lightsaber.
As his deactivated handgrip skittered and bounced along the tunnel behind him, he reflected that it was just as well Anakin wasn’t there after all; he’d have never heard the end of it.
He got his other hand on the staff just as Grievous jerked the wheeler sideways, half laying it down to angle for a small side tunnel just ahead. Obi-Wan hung on grimly. Through the Force he could feel Boga’s exhaustion, the buildup of anaerobic breakdown products turning the dragonmount’s mighty legs to cloth. An open archway showed daylight ahead. Boga barely made the turn, and they raced side by side along the empty darkened way, joined by the spark-spitting rod of the electrostaff.
As they cleared the archway to a small, concealed landing deck deep in a private sinkhole, Obi-Wan leapt from the saddle, yanking on the staff to swing both his boots hard into the side of Grievous’s duranium skull. The wheeler’s internal gyros screamed at the sudden impact and shift of balance. Their shrieks cycled up to bursts of smoke and fragments of metal as their catastrophic failure sent the wheeler tumbling in a white-hot cascade of sparks.
Dropping the staff, Obi-Wan leapt again, the Force lifting him free of the crash.
Grievous’s electronic reflexes sent him out of the pilot’s chair in the opposite direction.
The wheeler flipped over the edge of the landing deck and into the shadowy abyss of the sinkhole. It trailed smoke all the way down to a distant, delayed, and very final crash.
The electrostaff had rolled away, coming to rest against the landing jack of a small Techno Union starfighter that stood on the deck a few meters behind Obi-Wan. Behind Grievous, the archway back into the tunnel system was filled with a panting, exhausted, but still dangerously angry dragonmount.
Obi-Wan looked at Grievous.
Grievous looked at Obi-Wan.
There was no longer any need for words between them.
Obi-Wan simply stood, centered in the Force, waiting for Grievous to make his move.
A concealed compartment in the general’s right thigh sprang open, and a mechanical arm delivered a slim hold-out blaster to his hand. He brought it up and fired so fast that his arm blurred to invisiblity.
Obi-Wan … reached.
The electrostaff flipped into the air between them, one discharge blade catching the bolt. The impact sent the staff whirling—
Right into Obi-Wan’s hand.
There came one instant’s pause, while they looked into each other’s eyes and shared an intimate understanding that their relationship had reached its end.
Obi-Wan charged.
Grievous backed away, unleashing a stream of blaster bolts as fast as his half a forefinger could pull the trigger.
Obi-Wan spun the staff, catching every bolt, not even slowing down, and when he reached Grievous he slapped the blaster out of his hand with a crack of the staff that sent blue lightning scaling up the general’s arm.
His following strike was a stiff stab into Grievous’s jointed stomach armor that sent the general staggering back. Obi-Wan hit him again in the same place, denting the armorplast plate, cracking the joint where it met the larger, thicker plates of his chest as Grievous flailed for balance, but when he spun the staff for his next strike the general’s flailing arm flailed itself against the middle of the staff and his other hand found it as well and he seized it, yanking himself upright against Obi-Wan’s grip,