Running full-tilt, the slim girl burst from the shadows, the coleoptera close at her heels.
Haral triggered the light-lance. Its beam slashed through the night. The foremost beetle drew into a writhing ball under its impact, rolling crazily through the rubble. The second fell back, its forelegs half burned off.
The blue man pivoted and ran after Kyla. Catching her by the arm, he half-dragged her with him towards the avenue.
Ahead, the ground leveled off. The broad expanse that had been the roadway spread before them.
Beyond it loomed the pylon.
Behind, the rustle of coleopteron wing-sheaths, the furious fluttering of the vestigial wings themselves, came loud as the rasp of branches in a storm-tossed forest, closer and closer.
Haral shoved the priestess on towards the roadway. Then, boldly, he turned and brought up the light-lance.
The coleoptera broke. Scrambling wildly, they rushed for cover.
"What, you sabars? You fear to meet my lance?" Haral shouted the words, even though he knew the beetles could not hear nor understand. Laughter boiled up in him—the ringing, defiant laughter that was not so much mirth as lust for battle.
But already the insects' Q-ray tubes were blinking. He had no choice but to wheel and again run after Kyla.