Free Pawn’s Gambit by Timothy Zahn Page A

Colby’s belt were two sheaths, one of which was empty. From the other protruded a hilt whose workmanship I recognized.
    Perhaps Colby saw me looking at his empty sheath, or maybe it was something in my voice that tipped him off. Whichever, when I raised my eyes to his face I found him staring at me with a mixture of anger and fear. “He knows!” he croaked, and reached for his remaining knife.
    He never got a chance to use it. Even before the words were out of his mouth I had taken the single long stride that put me within range; and as the knifetip cleared the sheath, I snapped a savage kick to his belly. He doubled over, and I had barely enough time to regain my balance and turn around before I found myself surrounded. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Heather disappear into the cabin, one of the boys in hot pursuit, but I had no chance to go to her aid. Knives glinting, they moved in.
    I didn’t wait for them to get within range, but charged the closest one. He probably hadn’t been attacked by an unarmed man in years, and the shock seemed to throw his timing off. I deflected his knife hand easily and gave him an elbow across the face as I passed him. The others, yelling obscenities, ran forward, trying to encircle me again. One came too close and got his knife kicked from his hand. He backpedaled fast enough to avoid my next kick and drew the metal pipe from his belt. Clearly surprised by my unexpected resistance, my attackers hesitated, and I used the breathing space to pull my bowie knife from my boot.
    For a second we stood facing each other. “All right,” I said in the deadliest voice I could manage, “I’ll give you punks just one chance. Drop your weapons or I’ll carve you into fertilizer.”
    I’d never fought with a knife in actual combat, but the training was there, and it must have showed in my stance and grip. “Duke … ?” the boy I’d elbowed began.
    â€œShut up, Al,” Duke said, but without too much conviction.
    A sound from the cabin door caught my attention. Heather, struggling against an arm across her throat, was being forced outside by the punk who’d been chasing her earlier. “Not so fast, you son of a bitch,” he called at me, panting slightly.
    â€œAttaboy, Jackson,” Duke crowed. He turned back to me, eyes smoldering. “Now you drop your knife, pal. Or else your broad gets it.”
    â€œDon’t listen to him, Neil!” Heather shouted, her sentence ending with a little gasp of pain.
    â€œLeave her alone!” I took a half step toward the door—and heard the faint sound of cloth against skin behind me.
    Heather shrieked even as I started to turn, my left arm rising to block. But I was too late. The whistling iron pipe, intended for my head, landed across my shoulder instead, still hard enough to stun. I felt my legs turn to rubber, and as I hit the ground the world exploded in front of me and then went black.
    I must have been out only a few seconds, because when my head cleared I was lying on my back with Duke and two of his pack standing over me. I wondered what they were waiting for, and gradually realized Heather was shouting at them. “Don’t kill him! I’ll make a deal with you!”
    â€œYou don’t have nothing to offer that we can’t take by ourselves,” Duke said flatly, his glare still on me.
    â€œThat’s not strictly true,” Heather shot back, her voice tinted with both horror and determination. “Rape isn’t nearly as enjoyable as sex with a willing woman. But I’m not talking about that. I can tell you where there’s a big cache of food and furs.”
    That got Duke’s attention, but good. He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “Where?”
    â€œIt’s well hidden. You’ll never find it if you hurt either of us.”
    â€œWilly! Zac! What’ve we got?” Duke called.
    I turned my head slowly toward the