Zephyrion looked down at the finger pointed straight at him. Time slowed as he watched the others follow the pointed finger right to where he was hiding. Then came a storm of movement. Zephyrion vaulted through the window, the few shards of glass still left in the sill tearing at the ends of his cloak, shortening his jump considerably. He tried to dash toward the next house, but before he could take five steps, three swords were descending on him.
Zephyrion dove to the ground, the clang of steel against stone ringing behind him. He rolled to his feet and spun on them, facing the three armed men. He unsheathed his sword from over his shoulder. *Well, better to see the blade gut him than to take one in the back,* he thought, or he at least hoped that was the case.
The first swing came from the left—a short sword wielded by a man of medium height, dressed in black-washed leather. Zephyrion's sword met the man's first strike in an upward arc. The clang of steel seemed to signal the beginning of battle, a dance he had practiced many times before. He felt his years of training seize control, and a state of calm washed over him. His movements became fluid.
One strike after another came. He blocked most and dodged the rest—almost. A slash to his ribs, a shallow cut to his thigh, and a kick to the back of his knee. He had been forced to take some injuries rather than suffer worse ones. He had only been on defense, barely managing that. It seemed as if hours had passed, he knew it all only happed in seconds. With every block or dodge, he was pushed back another step. The men weren't perfect, but they had definitely used swords before. Every time he tried to create an opening, another man filled the gap.
Step by step, he moved backward, feeling the wall closing in behind him. Every chance he could, he spared a glance for an exit. A narrow alley split the buildings just to his side. He blocked a blow aimed at his head and leaned out of the way of a stab that would have ruined his shoulder. All he needed was a small opening to run, and hopefully not get stabbed in the back while doing it.
In a moment of desperation, he flicked dirt into the eyes of the man in the middle using the tip of his blade. The man in black leather went for a low slash, trying to cut Zephyrion's hamstrings. Zephyrion felt a small surge of hope as he caught the tip of the blade between his boot and the dirt. The astonishment broke the man's composure. He jerked the blade back, and Zephyrion lifted his boot just in time. The lack of resistance threw the man off balance for a split second. Seizing the opportunity, Zephyrion plunged his blade deep into the man's thigh.
He grabbed the man's collar and flipped him over into the other two men. *Every second counts,* he thought as he turned and ran toward the alley just a few feet away. Suddenly, a wall exploded above his head, and simultaneously, a crack of thunder roared from behind him. *Sparks, the sniper!* He had forgotten about the other two. He had been lucky to escape when he did.
He dove the last few feet into the ally avoiding the rock raining around him. He turned the dive into a roll, springing up to his feet and launched into a run. *Where was the younger guy? Why didn't he join the fight?* He approached the end of the alley and turned back to see the two men in hot pursuit. If he fell now, it would be over. All he had left was his dagger.
Just then, he turned in time to see a bat swinging at his head. He heard the crack echo in his skull. Then darkness.