They definitely thought they were hard enough, and they came in strong and fast. Tanith didn’t even have time to curse as she rolled and spun and defended. As her blade clashed with theirs, she started to wonder if she needed a new battle cry, something that wasn’t so goading. I like your shoes, perhaps.

She dipped to the side and ran her sword across the first Cleaver’s arm. She drew blood, but not a lot. Their uniforms were reinforced against attacks, both physical and magical. Unlike her outfit – boots and brown leather trousers and a nifty little waistcoat. She backed up, defending without thinking, letting her instincts control her arms, letting her legs go where they wanted. Her body was her survival tool. It would do its job with no help from her, allowing her mind to plan and strategise and scheme. Tonight, though, with the crescent moon somewhere behind her and light pollution blinding her to the stars above, the only thought that ricocheted around her head was, if you don’t end this, you’re going to die.

Tanith waited for an opening and dropped her sword as she lunged forward, through the first Cleaver’s guard. She hugged him, pressed her head into his shoulder so he couldn’t headbutt, and forced him back. He used her own momentum against her in order to hip-throw her to the roof’s surface, but she held on to him, landed on her feet and reversed the throw. His scythe clattered down as he spun over her hip, then it was his turn to throw her. Closer and closer they got to the edge, reversal after reversal, grappling all the while, trying to gain the upper hand as the edge grew nearer. Maybe the Cleaver expected her to throw him one final time, then immediately try to disentangle herself to stop him from pulling her over the side with him. Instead, she tightened her hold and kicked off, and they both went over.

The moment the Cleaver realised what was going on he let go of her, flailed about, tried to grab something where there was nothing to grab. Tanith was already bringing her knees up, pressing her feet against his belly. She released her hold and kicked herself away from him. She twisted, grabbed the edge of the roof and swung up, leaving him to fall. He didn’t scream on the way down, and she didn’t hear a splat or a crash, but she heard tyres squealing and horns blaring.

One down.