Two swords plunged toward her, one a thrust, another a high slash at her exposed chest. Wisdom said to retreat from them, force the two soldiers to overextend when she could take them out one by one. Limited time demanded otherwise. She ducked underneath the slash while batting aside the thrust with her ax handle. Her knees scraped across the hard stone, tearing skin. The pain mixed with her panic to fuel her rage. Up came her ax, denting yet again that same shield. The frightened soldier retreated, thinking she would continue the assault, but Stasia bounced right off to swing at the other man. The damn fool tried to block it. His sword snapped in half. The ax continued unabated, chopping off his arm before burying into his chest underneath his armpit.

A mindless, savage cry of victory marked the tearing of her ax free. Warmth splattered across her face, neck, and hair. The final soldier rushed her with his shield leading, thinking he might overpower her. She doubted it, but even if he could, she didn’t bother trying. She smacked his dented shield with her ax to throw off his charge, then stepped aside, her foot swinging for his ankles. He tripped, his landing awkward due to the shield strapped to his left arm. Stasia pounded the ax one final time to the cobblestone, cleaving the last soldier’s head from his neck. She brushed gore-soaked hair away from her face, regretting not tying it back in a ponytail prior to their escape. Returning her ax to her right hand, she once more offered her left to Clarissa. Even more blood coated her, but Clarissa never hesitated to lock fingers and hold on tight.

Almost there, Stasia thought as they crossed the intersection into another long alley. At its far end, they’d pop out into one of the main thoroughfares through Vallessau. It was always crowded, and would especially be so at midday. Within that teeming mass, they could escape the imperials and find refuge back at her father’s home.

Escape would not come so easily. A man landed from the rooftops before her to halt their flight. A drop from such a height, and while wearing heavy blue platemail, should have shattered his kneecaps. Instead he sprang lightly to his feet, practically bouncing with giddiness. He’d pulled the visor of his helmet up, exposing blue eyes that matched the color of his armor and pale blond hair that clung to the sides of his face with sweat. Stasia skidded to a halt, and she released Clarissa’s hand to ready her ax. Nothing could possibly be worse than this.

“Out of the way, paragon,” she said. “Can’t you see we’re in a hurry?”

The towering man in blue plate removed his spear from his back and twirled it before him as if it weighed less than nothing.