Stile hurled himself to the side as the gun went off. Had he been squatting, as a normal man would have done, he could have been fatally caught; the gun was aimed for the heart of a squatting man. As it was, the bullet slammed into his left thigh.
It was a bad hit. Now Stile exerted his trance-control. He let himself fall backward while clapping both hands to the wound. The pain was terrible, but he was bringing it under control, while he slowed the pulsing eruption of blood. He could not afford to lose consciousness; he could bleed to death rapidly. The major artery had been nicked or severed; he would need a surgeon’s prompt attention. Meanwhile Sheen launched herself at Red. Pistol and amulet flew wide and Red was hurled against the wall. But then Red righted herself and hurled Sheen away, with inhuman strength. “This is a robot!” Sheen cried. “A machine, like me!”
“True,” the Red-figure said. “I bear this message for Stile: make haste away, midget, for at this moment the Red Adept is launching an explosive drone vehicle tuned to the bullet in you. How much damage the drone does depends on your location when it catches you.” They heard the noise of machinery moving, some distance away. Something was rising from another bunker.
“Run, Blue!” the robot continued, “Suffer the joys of the chase, rabbit. Message ends.” And the robot went dead.
“Sheen!” Stile cried. “Carry me to the curtain. They can help me there, and the drone can’t cross—“
“The amulet!” Sheen cried. “It is the bullet!”
“The bullet!” Stile echoed. Now the full nature of this terrible trap was apparent—and he had almost fallen into it despite the warning the Lady Blue had brought. If he crossed with the bullet in him, it would animate into the basilisk, and he would be dead before he could utter a spell. But if he did not cross—
Now they heard the released drone, cruising across the sand toward them. There could be enough explosive in that to blow up a mountain.
Sheen stooped to pick him up. She carried him to their unicycle and set him in the seat and flung the safety harness around him while Stile clung to consciousness and to his leaking thigh. Then she jumped in herself and started the motor.
The drone-car was rounding the bunker, picking up speed. Sheen accelerated away at right angles to its path. In moments they were traveling seventy kilometers an hour, leaving the drone behind. This was not a particularly fast velocity for travel on a surfaced road, but across the desert landscape it seemed horrendous. “We’ll have to get the bullet out before we take you to a doctor!”
“How can we get it out without a doctor, especially if we can’t stop?” Stile gritted. He was not in the most reason-able of moods at the moment, as he fought to keep blood and body consciousness together. The rough riding did not help.
“I’ll summon one of my friends to intercept us.”
“Summon one to blow up the drone!”
“They won’t do that. It would attract attention to their nature. But one will help you and depart. Then the drone won’t matter.”
“Not to rush you,” Stile said. “But I can only hold on here a short while. I’m in partial trance, suppressing the circulation to my leg, but the wound is bad and I’m slowly losing control. My last reserves are depleting.”
“I know the experience,” she said. “We’ll stay right be-side the curtain, so you can cross the moment we get the bullet out. Then you’ll be able to use magic to—“
“I can’t heal myself with magic.”
“The Lady Blue will find some other Adept to help you, I’m sure. Perhaps the Lady Yellow—“
“Yellow is no lady! She is an old crone.” But he was being querulous in his adversity. Yellow probably could help. He remembered how the Lady Blue had won her favor by starting the applause at the Adept pavilion. The Lady Blue was good at that sort of thing. Sheen guided the unicycle to the curtain. Stile perceived it now with remarkable clarity. Had it intensified, or was his current state of pain-blocking trance responsible? It hardly mattered; he could see across as though it were an open window.
The unicycle was handily outdistancing the drone at the moment—but in Phaze Neysa was having trouble keeping up. The terrain was more varied there, with trees and streams and bushes obstructing her route. “Slow it. Sheen. Neysa is wearing herself out—and I’ll need her there the moment I cross.”
