Vhalla made a dash for the door, having to push it open from her knees to avoid the blade that sunk into the wood where her head had been moments before. Vhalla scrambled into the hall, other guests of the inn opening their doors in confusion as the Windwalker sprinted down the narrow stair. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her upright.

The female assailant let out a cry of frustration, quick on Vhalla’s heels. “Die, Wind Demon!”

Vhalla half-turned to dodge a dagger thrown at her, tripping down the last of the stairs. The night owls roosting in the lobby were quickly pressed against the outer walls as the Northern assassin and Windwalker rolled head over heels. Some were soldiers who quickly reached for weapons that weren’t there. One lunged bare-handed only to be cut down by the Northern man.

She had no time to consider the demise of the nameless Southerner. Her calf burned with what Vhalla suspected was more than pain. Her movements were becoming sluggish and delayed, despite Aldrik’s instincts remaining sharp with every pulse of her heart. She bumped into a chair and lost her balance. The swordsman raised his sword as the woman recovered from a gust of air Vhalla had sent her way.

A woman plowed into his side, knocking the Northerner off-balance and sending his blade in a wide arc. Vhalla met the unfamiliar pair of eyes. “Run!” That was the last word the brave woman said as the Northerner plunged the curved blade through her throat.

Vhalla didn’t know what running would do, but she did so anyways, barreling through the doors of the inn and into the square. The army was unarmed and off-guard. The soldiers were fat and lazy from the days of peace and relaxation that the Crossroads had afforded. It was so far from the North that they’d all so wrongly assumed they were safe. Even if they had been armed, half of the Crossroads was drunk by this time of night anyways.

But there was one ally ready to greet her. Vhalla felt the wind and quickly turned it on the man racing out to her. It sent the Northerner tumbling head over heels, his head cracking hard against the wall of the inn.

She had expected that to kill him, knock him out, daze him at least, but the man seemed to be made of metal or stone as he just blinked and rose again to his feet. She took a step back, sending another gust of wind at him, but it was equally ineffective. She had killed these people before—why couldn’t she kill them now?

A bloodthirsty cry summoned Vhalla’s attention as the Northern woman was nearly upon her. Vhalla swung out her hand, preparing to deflect the attack. The numbness that had been seeping from her calf had spread into her fingers and the wind didn’t heed her call.