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Thatcher let his pace of flipping die away and silently read the
words before him. "Under no circumstances may a Seeker lie to a prisoner.
. . ."
His well-wrought plan was nearly foiled by a tugging desire to burst out laughing. This book was as filled with falsehoods as the devotional book his grandmother had given him. He wondered why the Seekers, who held absolute power over their prisoners, bothered to deceive themselves.
"The final chapter, sir." The senior guard's voice was sharp again. Thatcher flinched as he looked toward the senior guard, and the book flew from his hands, landing two paces away from the junior guard. In an automatic manner, the junior guard began to kneel to pick it up.
"No!" In a flash, the senior guard's dagger was out. It was the signal Thatcher had been awaiting. He did not bother to target the senior guard's dagger arm – no doubt the senior guard was trained to defend himself against such attacks. Instead, Thatcher whirled, burying his fist in the senior guard's stomach.
The senior guard gave a grunt but did not let go of his dagger; he was well trained indeed. Feeling the noose of time tightening on his throat, Thatcher sidestepped the dagger thrusting toward him, grabbed the guard's hair, and slammed the back of his head against the wall. The guard did not lose grip on the dagger, but this unexpected move – not listed in the normal arts of body battle – left him swinging his dagger futilely in the direction that any normal attacker would have taken. Thatcher slammed his head against the wall again, and again.
This was the dangerous moment. His back was now turned to the junior guard; if the junior guard had any training at all, he would use this moment to take out his whip and lash Thatcher into submission.
The junior guard did not do so. Instead, he wasted time by beginning to scream.
The senior guard made no noise. His eyes had rolled up in his head, and a moment later the dagger slipped from the senior guard's hand. Thatcher caught it as it fell. Released from his grip, the senior guard slid to the floor, his eyes closed and his head plastered with blood.
Thatcher turned to look at the junior guard, who was still screaming. The boy's scream cut off abruptly and his eyes widened as he looked at Thatcher, smiling with dagger in hand.
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