"Crudmucker," I said. It came out as a growl, rasping my throat. Well, I wasn't some munging officer with no gun. I was a crudmucking warder with my armored coat still intact.

  I yanked on the void, conjuring up a thread of force, ready to shove it into the razor ward engraved on the ceramic armor plate protecting my chest. It would rip the assassin squad to shreds.

  Instantly, a counter-force clamped down on me. It felt like ramming my head into a giant wad of wet tissues.

  I couldn't breathe, couldn't focus. My thread faltered, the force dissipating back to the void. I yanked out another one, letting my rage fuel the pull.

  The counter-force came stronger, twisting around my thread, smothering it. I conjured another, and another. More counter-forces washed over me, disrupting my casting and dissipating my threads, stabs of cold pain in my brain.

  The assassin squad started running.

  I roared, conjuring four threads at once, elbowing Dil in the side, clawing for my M3 in the holster he carried slung over his shoulder.

  He tumbled, half-blocking my strike with his arm, bone on bone, pain shooting up mine, his hand grabbing for my gun.

  Two of the assassins kept rushing us, the third going for her sidearm.

  "Carter," Dil yelled. "Stand down."

  I got my hand on the M3, tried yanking it past the locking clasp, but Dil grabbed my arm, held it down. I shoved at him, both of us crashing into the wall.

  "Sir!" he shouted in my ear, my stockman momentarily making me deaf, protecting my hearing. He kept fighting, his mouth moving in silence. The two assassins kept running, steps away.

  Voidmuckers. So much for trusting soldiers, or Martens. The woman had gotten her gun up, a small-caliber pistol. I pulled on the void, conjuring six threads, thrashing against the counter-force, my brain going cold as ice, the wet tissue sucking up the force of my threads.

  Dil stepped into the woman's line of fire, his hands up.

  "Carter, void you," he yelled. "Stand down, that's an order."

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The woman hesitated and I grabbed for my Hurmer.

  Dil stopped fighting, letting me have it, the sling stretching and sliding but not leaving his shoulder. I brought the Hurmer up, making the running assassins backpedal to a stop.

  Dil got between me and them, his back to me.

  "Stand down," he said.

  The two assassins backed up. The woman hesitated. I found the trigger, my thumb on the safety. I could perforate Dil if I wanted, but he wasn't facing me, he was facing the woman.

  "He tried to void us with magic," the woman said, tapping a rapidly blinking blue light on her collar. Some kind of receiver or miniature dowser.

  The enveloping tissue feeling hung in my mind, making me slow. Blood dripped from my nose, running over my mouth, a coppery taste.

  My heart hammered, my head hurt, I could shred Dil.

  Didn't want to. I liked him, career sergeant and all.

  Better shoot the woman. She'd dampened me, several times. Crudmucking strong to do that. Dampening was hard.

  Her gun wavered, as if she didn't know what to do. I kept the Hurmer pointing in her general direction, right through Dil.

  "He didn't," Dil said in a soft voice. "Probably spooked. Crud, I would, too. Think of how Bex reacted the first time."

  He spoke to Carter, but I had a feeling he was talking to me. I let up on the Hurmer, not letting go, but not pulling him backward with the sling either.

  "Thank you, sir," Dil said. "If you would please engage the safety?"

  "Never took it off," I told him.

  "Kind of you, sir," he said, still speaking softly, his words fluid like a bubbling brook. Took some skill to talk like that, soft, supportive, yet in control. More skill to do it in combat.

  Gray and black spots danced in my vision, a migraine heading my way. I'd love a cup of tea. Strange thing to think about.

  "Who's the spook squad?" I said.

  "Spook?" Dil said.

  "Assassins," I said. "Coming up on us."

  For a moment he hesitated. Then he spoke, soothing and in control again.

  "Oh, right," he said, sighed. "My fault, sir. Should have thought of telling you. Guard change. Carter's the professor's security detail. May we start over?"

  Still with the soft, fluid voice. Made me want to trust him.

  Manipulation. Didn't like it.

  "Start all you want," I said, "as long as I get my gun."

  He hesitated for a heartbeat, short enough that I almost didn't notice. My hands were beginning to twitch and shake. Post-battle reaction. I removed my finger from the trigger, placing it alongside the Hurmer's trigger guard. Didn't want the shakes to make me shoot anyone by accident.

  "Of course, sir," Dil said. "Take your rifle as well?"

  I took both, sliding the slings from his shoulder, angling the Hurmer's barrel upward.

  "Carter?" Dil said. A question, the way he intoned it, but definitely an order.

  Carter clicked the safety on, shoved her gun into her holster.

  "Seal it," Dil said, and Carter pulled the locking strap over the gun, pressing the button in place with a snick.

  "Happy?" she said.

  "No," Dil said, turning his back to her. "Sir," he said to me, "you may want to enter. The door opens inward."

  Well, crud.

  I should have seen it, the way the door frame stuck out from the concrete surrounding it. Keeping Dil and the spook squad in my peripheral vision, I pressed down on the handle and pushed.

  The door swung silently open, revealing a large hall. There was a pile of kids slumped unconscious on the floor in the middle of it.