“I said stop,” she grated, stepping around the corpse. “You are both prisoners of the Twilight Order.”

The big man came up, a blaster pistol in hand.

Maya had been expecting another crossbow, which was hardly dangerous with her panoply up. A blaster was another matter. She threw out her hand, sending a focused wave of flame crashing over the smuggler, but it wasn’t fast enough. Bolts of blue-white energy cracked across the cavern, slamming into the walls with explosive concussions.

One of the shots caught Maya in the chest, and she felt herself picked up and tossed backward as her panoply flared. The power drain was horrific, as though her entire body had been plunged into a pool full of ice, and her vision darkened. She fought desperately to stay conscious, tucking her body into a ball and turning her skid across the ground into a roll. She came to a halt against the wall of the cavern, white-hot chunks of rock landing all around her. Dimly, she could see a figure in flames rolling wildly on the ground.

The third smuggler, the woman in the coat, stood untouched amid the guttering fire. She was smiling. There was something off in her face, as though one side of it were distended, and her right eye was deep purple and bulged like a grape. Dhakim.

“Fucking Twilight Order,” she said. “Do you know how many people I’m going to have to kill when I’m done with you? Someone’s been talking.” She glanced at the cages. “I thought we had plenty of insurance, but apparently not.”

Maya staggered to her feet. Deiat was still flowing, and her haken still burned, but it was a near thing. Taking a blaster shot head-on was enough to almost exhaust her reserves.

“I don’t suppose you want to lie down and die?” the woman said. “It would make this much easier.”

“You. Are a prisoner. Of the Order.” Maya gritted her teeth. “Give it up.”

The dhakim laughed. “Small chance of that.” She gave a high, piercing whistle.

Twisted shapes circled the pile of crates. A half dozen dog-sized plaguespawn, bodies rippling with skinless red muscle, exposed bones sharpened to rake and tear. Remade jaws dripped slaver that sizzled when it hit the floor, and long limbs twisted unnaturally. The dhakim was grinning wider, and she whistled again, a low, short command. The plaguespawn charged.

Keep moving. It was Jaedia’s voice in her head. Remember, plaguespawn are not truly animals. For a moment Maya felt detached, distant, watching the scene from afar as her mentor lectured her. Then her heart began to trip-hammer, her pulse a roar in her ears, and she was yanked back into her body. Jaedia’s voice faded to a barely audible drone. They can never hunt as a pack. It is always every creature for itself.

Maya didn’t know whether that applied to plaguespawn under the direct control of a dhakim. But it’s the best chance I’ve got.