Shyla watched with a fascinated horror. The air heated with their exertions. The musky odor of male sweat reached her as their tunics dampened and their faces shone. Their breaths rasped. As the fight extended, Rendor’s injuries became apparent—a weakness in his left arm and a slight hitch in his right leg. Yates wasted no time in pressing his advantage. He knocked the sword from Rendor’s hand. It landed on the opposite side of the intersection. In other words, as far from Shyla as possible.

Fearing for Rendor’s life, she rummaged in her pack—not caring about her bloody hands—searching for a weapon or anything she could use to help him. There was nothing but her water skin and scarf. The water might make Yates slip, but it would also endanger Rendor. She wished she still had Tamburah’s statue. It was heavy enough to knock Yates out. If she could stand, she could wrap her scarf around his neck—

She almost smacked herself. Why didn’t she think of this before? She needed to get Rendor’s attention but didn’t want him to lose focus either—it could cost him his life. Using the wall to keep her balance, Shyla lurched to her feet. A hot poker of pain shot through her leg.

A loud clang sounded and Rendor’s knife went flying. Rendor grabbed Yates’ wrists and moved in close to him—too close for the captain to use his sword. Yates dropped the sword and broke Rendor’s grip on his right wrist. Then both men struggled for control of the remaining knife. Rendor dug his fingers into Yates’ forearm. Yates fought to break free, swinging Rendor around. They both hit the wall and the knife was knocked loose.

The fight turned into a wrestling match. But Yates was stronger and knew where Rendor’s weak spots were. He slammed Rendor into the wall. Shyla winced in sympathy as Rendor’s head bounced with a horrible thud. Dazed by the blow, Rendor lost his grip on Yates’ wrists. The captain wrapped his hands around Rendor’s neck and squeezed.

Rendor finally looked over Yates’ shoulder and met her gaze. Regret filled his. She yanked at her collar. “Pull it off!” she yelled.

Rendor stopped trying to pry Yates’ fingers from his throat—which he should have known not to do, but he did just suffer a blow to the head. Instead, he reached for Yates’ throat and ripped off the torque.

Drawing all her strength, she thrust out both hands and pushed with all her might.

Sleep!

Yates toppled to the ground, pulling Rendor down with him. Shyla limped over to help. By the time she reached him, he’d already removed Yates’ hands from his neck. He lay there panting.

“How long…will he…sleep,” Rendor asked between gasps.

“Not long.”