All this Mace kenned in a single instant, effortlessly, and the shatterpoint he found and struck by instinct was Vastor’s balance at the lip of the cliff.

Calmly, without any particular haste, Mace put his hand on Vastor’s shoulder and gave the lor pelek a shove.

Over the edge.

Vastor’s eyes bulged astonishment as he toppled forward and his arms uncrossed to windmill for his balance. His teetering swung his head just far enough in the right direction that the bullet from Nick’s slug pistol scorched Vastor’s temple instead of blowing his brains out through his eyes; as his arms whirled, his grip on the lightsabers loosened. Mace reached into the Force, snatching them both, triggering them to flaring life and bringing them to his hands with an easy six or seven milliseconds to spare before he needed them to splatter aside the bolt from the jungle below.

Vastor’s vine cat reflexes whirled him in the air and latched his hands onto the rock face a meter below the lip of the cliff. His confederate in the jungle poured fire up at Mace to drive him back, while Nick ran out of the cave behind him, shouting “Did I get him? Is he dead? Is he dead?” until Vastor threw himself back up into the meadow, bringing his vibroshields into fighting position with a surge of the Force.

Nick fired as fast as his finger could jerk the pistol’s trigger and bullets clanged off Vastor’s flashing shields—

And Mace just stood there.

Staring into his blade.


- Shatterpoint, Chapter 15