The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [68]
18.
They must have been waiting for him to step into the shadows. They would have been able to see him walking toward them in the cast-off cityglow, while he had not seen them in the blackness of the viaduct. However, now that he was in the darkness, his eyes—made anew and keener than before in the fires of Krondisar—were starting to adjust. He could just make out the silhouette of the man who held the knife. Travis jerked hard, half-breaking the grip of the other who held him.
“Keep him still!”
“I'm trying,” came a voice from behind. “He's stronger than he looks.”
Despite the powerful arms that gripped him, Travis might have broken free, except his shoes hit a patch of gravel, skittering out from beneath him. He started to fall, but strong hands hauled him back to his feet. A crunching sound filled Travis's skull as all of the vertebrae in his neck popped.
“Didn't you hear me, you big moron? I said hold him still!”
“You're not going to kill him, are you?”
“Why not? He isn't a cop or anything. He's one of us. I've seen the news—the police could care less what happens to people like us. What's one more disappearance to them?”
“What will we do with the body?”
“I say we cut it up. There are plenty of stray dogs down here by the river. They should take care of the pieces.”
Travis's heart lurched as he felt the touch of metal against his cheek. Frantic, he twisted his head, and for a second one of the hands flailed, trying to clamp back down on his mouth.
A second was all Travis needed. “Dur!” he said through clenched teeth. There was a cry of pain as the knife went flying away into the dark, followed by a plop as it landed in the icy waters of the Platte.
“What the hell . . . ?” The shadow in front of him shook a hand as if it had been stung.
Travis felt the arms holding him go slack. This was his chance. He drove backward with his elbows and was rewarded with an exhalation of pain and surprise. A forward lunge broke him free, but his legs were shakier than he thought. He stumbled and fell to his knees.
“Sar!” he gasped, pressing both of his hands against the ground.
The rune was weak, like the rune of iron. The Stones were sealed in the iron box; their power could not help him. However, the magic was enough to lift a dozen pebbles from the ground and send them whizzing through the air. Soft thuds sounded as rocks pelted skin, and yelps of pain rang out.
Travis gained his feet. His eyes had finally adjusted, and he could see the two men. The one who had held the knife spun in circles, yowling; he was a small, pudgy man with rounded shoulders. The other, the one who had grabbed Travis from behind, was tall and scarecrow thin, his long arms waving like the blades of a windmill as he tried to bat away the flying stones. Travis knew he should run, but he found himself laughing instead.
“Stop it!” The shorter man shouted, his voice high-pitched and rasping. “Stop throwing stones!”
“I have,” Travis said. The magic had faded away, leaving only an itch in his right hand.
“Oh.” The small man stopped spinning.
“How did you do that?” the other man said, his long arms falling back at his sides. His voice had a halting yet musical cadence to it. “You weren't throwing the stones. You said something, and they started flying.”
Travis took a step back. He should get out of here; these men were killers. “Why did you pull a knife on me?”
The little one spat a wad of phlegm. “Get a clue, dipstick. We were playing with you, that's all—giving you a little scare for invading our place, and maybe making you think you were going to be the next guy to disappear.”
“I told you it was a bad idea,” the tall man said.
“Well it's not my fault this jerk doesn't have a sense of humor.” The little one glared at Travis. “You didn't have to go all psycho on us.”
Travis shoved his right hand into his pocket. “Sorry. I didn't mean to . . .” There was no use trying to explain. “Sorry.” He turned around and started across the gravel.
“Wait!” Heavy boots sounded on gravel behind him. “Wait a minute. You don't have to go.”
Travis hesitated,