There was scorn in Gershul's eyes, but also trepidation. Skandra didn't let his eyes move. Something was keeping the old man from launching a full-out assault. Sweat was rolling down the sides of his face. Couldn't let it stop him. Thin air, high up. Tired. Had to think. There was something that allowed all of this to take place to begin with. That something was around them. It had to be the machine. This was a game, just like cards, and you didn't avoid looking at the object of your curiosity any more than you openly stared at it. Skandra's face was full, then, of murderous hatred. It wasn't hard. Gershul clearly found himself at the center of a great deal of comedy and tragedy. It was the only way to explain how someone like Shantar - such a sensible fellow - still loved him.
"He tell you what he's going to do to you when he's done?" Skandra asked casually. "He put a knife in my gut and threw me in a river for daring to question him."
"For trying to kill him," came a sneering correction.
"Well of course he's going to say that," Skandra's exasperation was clear. "He was the one did the stabbing."
Quite as mice the knife hilts found their way into his palms. One for either hand. That would cut the number down to an insanely unmanageable five. He didn't think they were getting out of this room alive, but if he threw these knives, how would they react? Cover, probably. Time enough to pull one of those vials from their coats. Skandra doubted it was something so easy that a weapon such as a knife could do it in. If he got one clear, solid shot with the Vel - he could put an end to this once and for all. Gershul was blinking away his own sweat. They let the silence rule for a time, propped up on its throne by men whose minds were racing down alleyways as fast as they could. Yes, this was a game of cards, and the question was merely whether or not to call the bet.
"Kill them," Gershul finally ordered.
Skandra's hands snapped up quite suddenly. It looked at first as though he were bringing his hands to his face in defense of his eyes, but his entire body pulled back - and just as quickly snapped forward. It started in his legs, moved to his waist, and traveled up through his arms. Those hands were loose in their grip of the knives. His knuckles popped audibly. Such was the force behind the throws as his body snapped like a whip. One of the Immortals took it in the throat. The other took it in the eye. Both of them went down shrieking - though the fellow who got it in the throat obviously did not do as much of that, since he could barely get a death rattle past his lips.
"Hit somebody!" Skandra advised Aeotha as the survivors advanced.