Atissa turned from side to side. Sleep wouldn’t come to her.
Following Mark through the rooms of the palace archive had been a fascinating experience. Unimaginably high ceilings, the great altar, the rooms housing endless racks full of clay tablets. There had been so much to see.
Afterward, they had eaten, and Mark had given her another lesson in his grappling style. He said she was picking it up quickly and Atissa agreed. Seeing how the technique enabled her to shift Mark, a full-grown man, gave her a lot of confidence.
But now that she lay alone in her bed, her mind wouldn’t stay quiet and it was keeping her awake. Worry and guilt about uncle Tatros and the others they had left behind weighed heavy on her.
True, she didn’t really have a friendly relationship with many of the inhabitants of the valley. Ipras liked her and Reva and Bazia were kind to her, but for the most part, she spent her time alone or with her uncle.
But they were the only people she knew and she felt a responsibility to help them.
During their voyage down the rivers, Atissa had not felt like this. She had been worried, but they had had a clear direction and there was nothing else to do but to travel as quickly as possible.
Opening her eyes, she stared at the ceiling.
Was it the unfamiliar bed? Maybe she would sleep better on the floor. That’s stupid, she thought.
Everybody had told her to stay and support Mark, but she couldn’t really see how she was a help to him. If anything, he had helped her time and time again.
She rolled onto her side. Looking through the window, she could see the dark sky between the buildings. It was a clear night.
The noises and smells of the city were something she still had to get used to. Even at night, this place felt very different from home. She closed her eyes and turned her attention to her other senses. She did not focus on anything in particular. Getting a better feeling for her new surrounding was her only goal.
Rotten eggs!
One fluent movement brought Atissa to a crouch next to her bed, her small copper knife in hand. There was a threat. She could sense it.
Around her the room was silent. The night gave away nothing to ordinary ears.
Atissa focused.
It had been the faintest smell. But this smell had burned itself into her memory. A smell that brought memories of her uncle on his knees, of fire consuming children and ships. The smell of the Assanaten magi.
Atissa pulled her bow and quiver from below the bed. This time she would not be caught off guard. Not like the time they had faced mistress Bel’Sara for the first time.
He is in the house, Atissa realized, shocked. How had he entered the palace? Her thoughts raced. What to do?
Fighting to stay calm, she tried to think through the situation in the way Mark would.
There was no alarm, no noises of fighting. That meant that the intruders had snuck in without being detected. How they had made it past both the city wall and the wall of the lower palace, she had no idea. Doesn’t matter, she thought. They were here now.
Atissa readied her weapons and snuck to the door. When she sensed nobody on the other side, she made her way across the floor to Mark’s room.
Slipping through the door, she entered the dark room. It was much bigger than hers with a lot more furniture dotted around the room.
She could hear a low snoring coming from the bed indicating that Mark was sleeping deeply. She had to wake him, making as little noise as possible.
The first shake only resulted in a mumbling sound interrupting the rhythmic breathing. She tried again, this time with a little more force.
“What?” Mark’s sleepy voice felt like a shout in the quiet room. Atissa quickly covered his mouth with her hand.
The reaction came immediately. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself ripped off her feet and pressed on the bed, her arm immobilized.
“It’s me! It’s Atissa,” she whispered as loudly as she dared.
“Hm?” It took Mark a couple of heartbeats to get his wits together and release her. Thank the gods he didn’t make any noise.
“What’s going on?” he asked, whispering.
Atissa got back to her feet, rubbing her arm. “The Assanaten magi is here. Here in this house.”
Mark stared at her in darkness. “…that’s even worse.” He rubbed his eyes. “Did you see him? Is he alone?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see him. I was in bed when I smelled him.” She concentrated on the impressions entering her mind. “He is here! I…sense danger.”
Mark continued to stare at her for a couple more heartbeats. Unable to see his expression in the darkness, she had no way to guess what he was thinking.
“We need to get out of here,” he finally whispered. He immediately started to pull on his cloth which had been folded neatly on one of the chairs.
Waiting for him, Atissa got into position next to the door. She still couldn’t sense any movement outside. We might have a chance, she thought.
“Come on.”
She turned her head and saw Mark sitting on the window board, one leg already swung over. He waved to her.
“We can’t,” she whispered.
“Sure”, he whispered, waving, “it’s not that deep. I will let myself down and then help you. We can circle around the building to the street that leads up to the upper palace.”
“No, we can’t. We must get Hermistos.”
He stared at her across the room. Having just woken up, Mark must have forgotten about him.
Mark looked out the window. “Do you think we can drop him down here?”
“It’s too deep,” she whispered. “Come. You must carry him.”
“Out front? Where the magi is?”
She nodded. “There are several ways to get to the big room by the entrance. We can avoid him.”
“Unless he sets the building on fire around us,” Mark murmured.
He looked out the window again, probably thinking about a better alternative to Atissa’s plan. She hoped he would come up with one.
She trusted her Gift to avoid danger. It had kept her safe from wolves for years and most humans were far less capable hunters. They lacked the senses.
With a sigh, Mark swung his leg back over the window board. “Lead the way,” he said, coming over to her.
Atissa opened the door only enough for her and Mark to move through. Her instinct told her that there was nobody close by. Nobody awake.
Mark tried to imitate her movements, but his steps sounded painfully loud on the stone floor.
It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been raised a hunter for all his life. Atissa also knew her fear probably amplified her perception.
She could remember an incident years ago when she had run into a pack of wolves. She had just started to hunt on her own. Back then, her Gift had let her sense the danger early, too. That and her uncle’s teachings to always stay upwind had allowed her to avoid the pack.
This feels similar, she thought. Only wolves did not throw fire.
She opened Hermistos’ door and waved Mark through. Looking back, she saw that Mark had closed his door after them. Apparently, he was fully awake now.
The snuck into the room, carefully pulling the door shut behind her.
The danger was still there. Somewhere on the other side of the building. We can sneak past them, she thought, reassuring herself.
“He is not waking up,” Mark whispered, standing bowed over Hermistos’s bed.
“Can you carry him?”
“…damn it.”
Mark pulled the blanket off and started to arrange the younger man’s limbs. Atissa watched with interest as he sat the Hermistos up at the edge of the bed. He then crouched before him letting him slowly drop onto his shoulders. When Mark stood back up his right arm was wrapped around a leg holding on to Hermistos’ arm on the same side. With this hold, he only needed one arm to secure his load.
Uncle Tatros had taught Atissa to carry her prey in a similar manner, but she had never seen it done with a human.
“Ready,” Mark whispered.
Atissa turned to the door and took a deep breath. Releasing it slowly, she focused on calming her nerves.
These were not wolves. Just people. Blind and deaf.
And armed.
They started moving. Atissa stayed a couple of steps ahead, in case they ran into somebody. She trusted her instincts but there was no reason to take a risk. Not with a magi in the house.
When they reached the courtyard, she led them close to the wall avoiding the light of the stars. If somebody stepped out into the yard, he would need a moment or two to detect them.
Long enough for Atissa to release an arrow.
All her senses were open, taking in every noise, every smell, and every movement of shadows. As they came closer to the front part of the residence her perception of what was going on became clearer. The magi was not alone.
His smell was now unmistakable, hanging in the air around her. But there was also more movement. She could sense a group of people moving in their direction. Careful. A pack on the prowl.
When they came to an intersection, she held up her hand. The steps behind her immediately ceased.
She did not have to look back for reassurance. Mark’s breathing told her his exact position. It was only slightly elevated, probably more due to the tension than the weight of his burden. Hermistos’ body was haggard, and Mark was a fit man, taller than most Helcenaean.
Here they come, she thought, sensing the group of intruders coming closer. They were moving down the floor to their right. The left would split again after a couple of paces. In one direction were the guest rooms where mistress Bel’Sara and Omiri stayed. The other direction led to the kitchen and storerooms. The living quarters for the servants that stayed overnight were also located in that part of the building.
She waved Mark to follow her quickly down the left and into a side room that served as a storage for furniture.
Here they would have to wait and hope that the danger would pass by.
The steps of the approaching group became loud enough for even Mark to hear but Atissa doubt that he could smell the stench of blood in the air. It was fresh.
Atissa had hoped to reach servant quarters, but they had not been fast enough. The enemy would have shown up in their back.
The footsteps came closer. Behind her Mark held his breath.
The noise of movement stopped a couple of paces away.
A silent but authoritative spoke for a moment, then the group split up. Three sets of feet walked down the way Mark and Atissa had come. Two came their way.
Atissa could feel her pulse quicken.
Her right hand reached slowly forward to her left which held the strung bow and two arrows. When the time came, she would be ready to knock, draw and release in one fluent movement. The way uncle Tatros had taught her.
The steps passed by.
For a couple of heartbeats, Atissa just stood there. It took a fair amount of willpower to let go of the tension. She carefully relaxed her arms and shoulders. This time she looked back.
Mark went through the same process, his posture slowly relaxing, waiting for her to decide on their next move.
Atissa concentrated on the positions of the intruders. The smell of rotten eggs followed both groups. They sat in a boot together for days, Atissa thought, feeling a little more hopeful.
They would have to wait until the Assanaten were far enough away before hurrying for the entrance hall. Once they were out of the building, they could look for help.
She carefully moved closer to the doorway. When she was about to signal Mark to follow her, a thought struck her. Siria sleeps in the servant’s wing.
The Assanaten probably did not know the building. They would move from room to room. Atissa could still remember the smell of blood on them.
But what could she do?
Should she ask Mark? No, she could not always rely on him. Carrying Hermistos, he had not even brought his staff.
She turned around and reached up to pull his head close to her mouth.
“Take Hermistos out of the front entrance,” she whispered quickly. “The way should be free. I will follow the two that went right and try to stop them.”
When she turned to leave, she felt Mark's hand close around her arm. “That is too dangerous!” he whispered.
“Please, they will kill Siria. Everybody.” Atissa immediately knew, Mark would not be moved by her plea. “I will surprise them from behind. Shoot arrows in the darkness,” she whispered rapidly. “If I don’t get them both, I will run away and make as much noise as I can. They will probably run away. They can’t fight the whole palace.” Mark was not convinced, but he let her pull her arm free.
“There is another exit next to the kitchen,” he whispered. “Do you know it?”
Atissa nodded grateful.
Without looking back, she stepped through the door and slide down the corridor as quickly as she dared. Behind her Mark’s heavier steps moved away in the opposite direction.
He and Hermistos would be save. When she started to raise the alarm, all attention would be on this part of the building. Nobody would notice them slipping out.
When she approached the next intersection, she could hear the men’s steps. They had turned left. Mistress Bel’Sara’s rooms are down there, she thought.
It was time. Her back to the wall next to the corner, she knocked an arrow.
She knew the men’s position. She could hear them, smell them.
Atissa controlled her breath.
Then she turned around the corner, raising and drawing the bow in one fluent movement.
The Assanaten walked down the corridor, only visible as shadowy outlines.
Atissa's fingers opened. The first arrow was sent on its way, targeting the back of the closer outline.
She did not wait to see the outcome, but immediately knocked the second.
The arrow missed.
On the last three paces, the arrow moved off course, passed by its target, and hit the stone wall further down the corridor.
Something in the back of her mind was screaming at Atissa to be careful, but it was too late to stop. Originally, intending to shoot both men, she shifted her aim back to the now turning first target and released the second arrow.
Her hand was already reaching for a third from the quiver at her hip when she saw the second arrow missing as well. Flying straight down the corridor at first it curved of course a heartbeat before reaching its target, bouncing off the wall.
She started to feel panic rise inside her.
The moment of surprise was gone, and her prey was about to turn on her. While bringing up the third arrow, Atissa considered running.
The decision was taken from her a heartbeat later. A thin lance of fire shot down the middle of the corridor.
She ducked quickly, reflexes taking over.
Standing close to the wall, she didn’t get burned but the sudden illumination made lights dance before her eyes. She blinked rapidly to regain her sight. The smell of burned air filled her nostrils.
A voice shouted an order in the Assanaten tongue. Atissa’s heart sank as she recognized it. It was the magi from the hut.
The sound of steps running towards her echoed from the walls.
Atissa knew, she only had a heartbeat to act. Mark wouldn’t stop the man this time.
Blinking away the last lights, she made a step backward with her right foot, using the movement as an awkward way to draw her bow two-thirds to her ear. She let go.
The warrior rushing towards her easily stepped out of the arrow's path. But it slowed him down just enough to give Atissa time to drop the bow and adjust her stance.
The man launched himself at her and they both went down. Despite her preparation, the impact still pushed the air out of her lungs.
Thanks to the instructions she had received she remembered to tuck in her chin to keep the back of her head from hitting the ground.
Pain shot through her back as she hit the stone floor, but Atissa ignored it. She wrapped her arms and legs around the warrior, holding him tight. And screamed.
Her voice rang through the silence of the night. She could feel the warrior freeze in surprise. Atissa did not wait for him to come to his senses and screamed again.
Between her screams, she heard the magi’s voice shout something.
The warrior started to struggle. He was much stronger than Atissa but she had trained for this.
Defending herself against an opponent on top of her was the first thing Mark had shown her. Don’t give him room, she reminded herself. Hold on to him and he cannot hit you.
And for a moment it worked. Whenever the warrior ripped one of her hands off, she just moved it somewhere else, never trying to pin her strength against his.
Mark had shown her techniques from here. How to strangle your opponent unconscious. How to break his arm. She had been good at it in practice.
Right now, Atissa remembered none of it. She just focused on holding on. And screaming.
The man had enough. Unable to pin her down, he put both his hands on the ground and pushed himself to his feet.
Atissa realized that her weight and strength were insufficient to keep the man from standing up. Giving up on her grips, she reached for her belt knife.
This time her timing was off. Or the warrior had expected it.
His hand closed around her wrist before she could draw the knife from its sheath. She tried to rip it free, but his hand was as strong as bronze.
Focused on freeing herself she did not see the fist coming. Her head snapped backward.
Atissa would have flown away had the warrior not held her up.
Blinking through the hurt, she saw the second punch coming.
The pain brought darkness.
Atissa turned from side to side. Sleep wouldn’t come to her.
Following Mark through the rooms of the palace archive had been a fascinating experience. Unimaginably high ceilings, the great altar, the rooms housing endless racks full of clay tablets. There had been so much to see.
Afterward, they had eaten, and Mark had given her another lesson in his grappling style. He said she was picking it up quickly and Atissa agreed. Seeing how the technique enabled her to shift Mark, a full-grown man, gave her a lot of confidence.
But now that she lay alone in her bed, her mind wouldn’t stay quiet and it was keeping her awake. Worry and guilt about uncle Tatros and the others they had left behind weighed heavy on her.
True, she didn’t really have a friendly relationship with many of the inhabitants of the valley. Ipras liked her and Reva and Bazia were kind to her, but for the most part, she spent her time alone or with her uncle.
But they were the only people she knew and she felt a responsibility to help them.
During their voyage down the rivers, Atissa had not felt like this. She had been worried, but they had had a clear direction and there was nothing else to do but to travel as quickly as possible.
Opening her eyes, she stared at the ceiling.
Was it the unfamiliar bed? Maybe she would sleep better on the floor. That’s stupid, she thought.
Everybody had told her to stay and support Mark, but she couldn’t really see how she was a help to him. If anything, he had helped her time and time again.
She rolled onto her side. Looking through the window, she could see the dark sky between the buildings. It was a clear night.
The noises and smells of the city were something she still had to get used to. Even at night, this place felt very different from home. She closed her eyes and turned her attention to her other senses. She did not focus on anything in particular. Getting a better feeling for her new surrounding was her only goal.
Rotten eggs!
One fluent movement brought Atissa to a crouch next to her bed, her small copper knife in hand. There was a threat. She could sense it.
Around her the room was silent. The night gave away nothing to ordinary ears.
Atissa focused.
It had been the faintest smell. But this smell had burned itself into her memory. A smell that brought memories of her uncle on his knees, of fire consuming children and ships. The smell of the Assanaten magi.
Atissa pulled her bow and quiver from below the bed. This time she would not be caught off guard. Not like the time they had faced mistress Bel’Sara for the first time.
He is in the house, Atissa realized, shocked. How had he entered the palace? Her thoughts raced. What to do?
Fighting to stay calm, she tried to think through the situation in the way Mark would.
There was no alarm, no noises of fighting. That meant that the intruders had snuck in without being detected. How they had made it past both the city wall and the wall of the lower palace, she had no idea. Doesn’t matter, she thought. They were here now.
Atissa readied her weapons and snuck to the door. When she sensed nobody on the other side, she made her way across the floor to Mark’s room.
Slipping through the door, she entered the dark room. It was much bigger than hers with a lot more furniture dotted around the room.
She could hear a low snoring coming from the bed indicating that Mark was sleeping deeply. She had to wake him, making as little noise as possible.
The first shake only resulted in a mumbling sound interrupting the rhythmic breathing. She tried again, this time with a little more force.
“What?” Mark’s sleepy voice felt like a shout in the quiet room. Atissa quickly covered his mouth with her hand.
The reaction came immediately. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself ripped off her feet and pressed on the bed, her arm immobilized.
“It’s me! It’s Atissa,” she whispered as loudly as she dared.
“Hm?” It took Mark a couple of heartbeats to get his wits together and release her. Thank the gods he didn’t make any noise.
“What’s going on?” he asked, whispering.
Atissa got back to her feet, rubbing her arm. “The Assanaten magi is here. Here in this house.”
Mark stared at her in darkness. “…that’s even worse.” He rubbed his eyes. “Did you see him? Is he alone?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see him. I was in bed when I smelled him.” She concentrated on the impressions entering her mind. “He is here! I…sense danger.”
Mark continued to stare at her for a couple more heartbeats. Unable to see his expression in the darkness, she had no way to guess what he was thinking.
“We need to get out of here,” he finally whispered. He immediately started to pull on his cloth which had been folded neatly on one of the chairs.
Waiting for him, Atissa got into position next to the door. She still couldn’t sense any movement outside. We might have a chance, she thought.
“Come on.”
She turned her head and saw Mark sitting on the window board, one leg already swung over. He waved to her.
“We can’t,” she whispered.
“Sure”, he whispered, waving, “it’s not that deep. I will let myself down and then help you. We can circle around the building to the street that leads up to the upper palace.”
“No, we can’t. We must get Hermistos.”
He stared at her across the room. Having just woken up, Mark must have forgotten about him.
Mark looked out the window. “Do you think we can drop him down here?”
“It’s too deep,” she whispered. “Come. You must carry him.”
“Out front? Where the magi is?”
She nodded. “There are several ways to get to the big room by the entrance. We can avoid him.”
“Unless he sets the building on fire around us,” Mark murmured.
He looked out the window again, probably thinking about a better alternative to Atissa’s plan. She hoped he would come up with one.
She trusted her Gift to avoid danger. It had kept her safe from wolves for years and most humans were far less capable hunters. They lacked the senses.
With a sigh, Mark swung his leg back over the window board. “Lead the way,” he said, coming over to her.
Atissa opened the door only enough for her and Mark to move through. Her instinct told her that there was nobody close by. Nobody awake.
Mark tried to imitate her movements, but his steps sounded painfully loud on the stone floor.
It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been raised a hunter for all his life. Atissa also knew her fear probably amplified her perception.
She could remember an incident years ago when she had run into a pack of wolves. She had just started to hunt on her own. Back then, her Gift had let her sense the danger early, too. That and her uncle’s teachings to always stay upwind had allowed her to avoid the pack.
This feels similar, she thought. Only wolves did not throw fire.
She opened Hermistos’ door and waved Mark through. Looking back, she saw that Mark had closed his door after them. Apparently, he was fully awake now.
The snuck into the room, carefully pulling the door shut behind her.
The danger was still there. Somewhere on the other side of the building. We can sneak past them, she thought, reassuring herself.
“He is not waking up,” Mark whispered, standing bowed over Hermistos’s bed.
“Can you carry him?”
“…damn it.”
Mark pulled the blanket off and started to arrange the younger man’s limbs. Atissa watched with interest as he sat the Hermistos up at the edge of the bed. He then crouched before him letting him slowly drop onto his shoulders. When Mark stood back up his right arm was wrapped around a leg holding on to Hermistos’ arm on the same side. With this hold, he only needed one arm to secure his load.
Uncle Tatros had taught Atissa to carry her prey in a similar manner, but she had never seen it done with a human.
“Ready,” Mark whispered.
Atissa turned to the door and took a deep breath. Releasing it slowly, she focused on calming her nerves.
These were not wolves. Just people. Blind and deaf.
And armed.
They started moving. Atissa stayed a couple of steps ahead, in case they ran into somebody. She trusted her instincts but there was no reason to take a risk. Not with a magi in the house.
When they reached the courtyard, she led them close to the wall avoiding the light of the stars. If somebody stepped out into the yard, he would need a moment or two to detect them.
Long enough for Atissa to release an arrow.
All her senses were open, taking in every noise, every smell, and every movement of shadows. As they came closer to the front part of the residence her perception of what was going on became clearer. The magi was not alone.
His smell was now unmistakable, hanging in the air around her. But there was also more movement. She could sense a group of people moving in their direction. Careful. A pack on the prowl.
When they came to an intersection, she held up her hand. The steps behind her immediately ceased.
She did not have to look back for reassurance. Mark’s breathing told her his exact position. It was only slightly elevated, probably more due to the tension than the weight of his burden. Hermistos’ body was haggard, and Mark was a fit man, taller than most Helcenaean.
Here they come, she thought, sensing the group of intruders coming closer. They were moving down the floor to their right. The left would split again after a couple of paces. In one direction were the guest rooms where mistress Bel’Sara and Omiri stayed. The other direction led to the kitchen and storerooms. The living quarters for the servants that stayed overnight were also located in that part of the building.
She waved Mark to follow her quickly down the left and into a side room that served as a storage for furniture.
Here they would have to wait and hope that the danger would pass by.
The steps of the approaching group became loud enough for even Mark to hear but Atissa doubt that he could smell the stench of blood in the air. It was fresh.
Atissa had hoped to reach servant quarters, but they had not been fast enough. The enemy would have shown up in their back.
The footsteps came closer. Behind her Mark held his breath.
The noise of movement stopped a couple of paces away.
A silent but authoritative spoke for a moment, then the group split up. Three sets of feet walked down the way Mark and Atissa had come. Two came their way.
Atissa could feel her pulse quicken.
Her right hand reached slowly forward to her left which held the strung bow and two arrows. When the time came, she would be ready to knock, draw and release in one fluent movement. The way uncle Tatros had taught her.
The steps passed by.
For a couple of heartbeats, Atissa just stood there. It took a fair amount of willpower to let go of the tension. She carefully relaxed her arms and shoulders. This time she looked back.
Mark went through the same process, his posture slowly relaxing, waiting for her to decide on their next move.
Atissa concentrated on the positions of the intruders. The smell of rotten eggs followed both groups. They sat in a boot together for days, Atissa thought, feeling a little more hopeful.
They would have to wait until the Assanaten were far enough away before hurrying for the entrance hall. Once they were out of the building, they could look for help.
She carefully moved closer to the doorway. When she was about to signal Mark to follow her, a thought struck her. Siria sleeps in the servant’s wing.
The Assanaten probably did not know the building. They would move from room to room. Atissa could still remember the smell of blood on them.
But what could she do?
Should she ask Mark? No, she could not always rely on him. Carrying Hermistos, he had not even brought his staff.
She turned around and reached up to pull his head close to her mouth.
“Take Hermistos out of the front entrance,” she whispered quickly. “The way should be free. I will follow the two that went right and try to stop them.”
When she turned to leave, she felt Mark's hand close around her arm. “That is too dangerous!” he whispered.
“Please, they will kill Siria. Everybody.” Atissa immediately knew, Mark would not be moved by her plea. “I will surprise them from behind. Shoot arrows in the darkness,” she whispered rapidly. “If I don’t get them both, I will run away and make as much noise as I can. They will probably run away. They can’t fight the whole palace.” Mark was not convinced, but he let her pull her arm free.
“There is another exit next to the kitchen,” he whispered. “Do you know it?”
Atissa nodded grateful.
Without looking back, she stepped through the door and slide down the corridor as quickly as she dared. Behind her Mark’s heavier steps moved away in the opposite direction.
He and Hermistos would be save. When she started to raise the alarm, all attention would be on this part of the building. Nobody would notice them slipping out.
When she approached the next intersection, she could hear the men’s steps. They had turned left. Mistress Bel’Sara’s rooms are down there, she thought.
It was time. Her back to the wall next to the corner, she knocked an arrow.
She knew the men’s position. She could hear them, smell them.
Atissa controlled her breath.
Then she turned around the corner, raising and drawing the bow in one fluent movement.
The Assanaten walked down the corridor, only visible as shadowy outlines.
Atissa's fingers opened. The first arrow was sent on its way, targeting the back of the closer outline.
She did not wait to see the outcome, but immediately knocked the second.
The arrow missed.
On the last three paces, the arrow moved off course, passed by its target, and hit the stone wall further down the corridor.
Something in the back of her mind was screaming at Atissa to be careful, but it was too late to stop. Originally, intending to shoot both men, she shifted her aim back to the now turning first target and released the second arrow.
Her hand was already reaching for a third from the quiver at her hip when she saw the second arrow missing as well. Flying straight down the corridor at first it curved of course a heartbeat before reaching its target, bouncing off the wall.
She started to feel panic rise inside her.
The moment of surprise was gone, and her prey was about to turn on her. While bringing up the third arrow, Atissa considered running.
The decision was taken from her a heartbeat later. A thin lance of fire shot down the middle of the corridor.
She ducked quickly, reflexes taking over.
Standing close to the wall, she didn’t get burned but the sudden illumination made lights dance before her eyes. She blinked rapidly to regain her sight. The smell of burned air filled her nostrils.
A voice shouted an order in the Assanaten tongue. Atissa’s heart sank as she recognized it. It was the magi from the hut.
The sound of steps running towards her echoed from the walls.
Atissa knew, she only had a heartbeat to act. Mark wouldn’t stop the man this time.
Blinking away the last lights, she made a step backward with her right foot, using the movement as an awkward way to draw her bow two-thirds to her ear. She let go.
The warrior rushing towards her easily stepped out of the arrow's path. But it slowed him down just enough to give Atissa time to drop the bow and adjust her stance.
The man launched himself at her and they both went down. Despite her preparation, the impact still pushed the air out of her lungs.
Thanks to the instructions she had received she remembered to tuck in her chin to keep the back of her head from hitting the ground.
Pain shot through her back as she hit the stone floor, but Atissa ignored it. She wrapped her arms and legs around the warrior, holding him tight. And screamed.
Her voice rang through the silence of the night. She could feel the warrior freeze in surprise. Atissa did not wait for him to come to his senses and screamed again.
Between her screams, she heard the magi’s voice shout something.
The warrior started to struggle. He was much stronger than Atissa but she had trained for this.
Defending herself against an opponent on top of her was the first thing Mark had shown her. Don’t give him room, she reminded herself. Hold on to him and he cannot hit you.
And for a moment it worked. Whenever the warrior ripped one of her hands off, she just moved it somewhere else, never trying to pin her strength against his.
Mark had shown her techniques from here. How to strangle your opponent unconscious. How to break his arm. She had been good at it in practice.
Right now, Atissa remembered none of it. She just focused on holding on. And screaming.
The man had enough. Unable to pin her down, he put both his hands on the ground and pushed himself to his feet.
Atissa realized that her weight and strength were insufficient to keep the man from standing up. Giving up on her grips, she reached for her belt knife.
This time her timing was off. Or the warrior had expected it.
His hand closed around her wrist before she could draw the knife from its sheath. She tried to rip it free, but his hand was as strong as bronze.
Focused on freeing herself she did not see the fist coming. Her head snapped backward.
Atissa would have flown away had the warrior not held her up.
Blinking through the hurt, she saw the second punch coming.
The pain brought darkness.
