“Stay behind me,” commanded Kimba as she rushed the door. She tried the knob, but it didn’t turn. Someone was holding it shut.

“Help me!” More cries from the other side. Kimba gave one last twist at the knob, and let out cry of surprise when it actually moved. She threw open the door and blinked into the dim hallway, only to find it empty. Two doors on the left led to more of the house, but the door far across just barely swung shut to the morning sun.

She closed the distance in no time, her footsteps surprisingly light compared to Tallo’s untrained stomping. Kimba burst into the dirt alleyway. Squinting, she raised a hand to try and give her eyes time to adjust to the difference in light. Against the wall was the shopkeep, held at sword point by a beefy looking man in leathers.

“Hey!” she called sharply. “Let him go!” She planted her feet in the dirt, dagger clutched tightly, other arm loose and ready to jab or pull. The man in leathers turned to look at her, a mistake she counted on. While his sword pointed at someone else, she shoulder charged him from his unarmed side and reached for his sword with her open hand. Catching him by surprise let her use his weight against him, to shove him away from the storekeep, knock him off balance.

But by the time she managed to grab the sword hilt with one hand, and threaten the man’s throat with the dagger, the shuffling hesitated. The ruffian smiled at her dagger with yellow teeth stained from tobacco. Before she could register why someone would do that, a giant weight jumped on her back, one arm pulling at her neck, the other reaching for her dagger.

Kimba could barely cough or choke out a sound before she fell back into her attacker. They hit the brick wall, him letting out an “oof.” While he grabbed for her weapon, she threw her arm back, straining against his, to hit the back of his hand against the uneven stones of the wall. He yelped in pain, and she could now hear the familiar tones of the shopkeep’s voice. She should have known this was an ambush. But there wasn’t any time to curse herself, because now her throbbing head felt like it was going to explode, and she couldn’t breathe, and the shopkeep countered the way she beat his hand against the wall by tightening his hold on her throat.

The threads around Kimba began to dull the more her vision spotted. Tallo’s usual subdued blues and oranges grew taut and burst with color. He jumped forward to try to help, but didn’t see that behind the closing door stood another thief, waiting for him. This man was the biggest, but carried no sword, and instead grabbed Tallo’s arms to pull him back, shoving him against the wall.

“C’mon, give it all here!”

Kimba couldn’t see what the third attacker did. The moment she became aware of the man with the sword moving toward Tallo, she dug her foot into the dirt and kicked a sizable spray of dust into the air.

Before she shut her own eyes, she could see the men in front of her recoil, and she took the opportunity to drop all of her weight down to the ground. The shopkeep shouted in surprise; she landed on the floor with her feet in front of her, and her neck and arm free. In spinning around to face the shopkeep, she dragged her foot to kick up more dirt into the air, and brought her dagger into something solid, soft. A rust-scented liquid streamed down her hand, down her forearm. Grunting against the resistance, she twisted and slashed it out of where she put it. A muffled, wet spattering littered the road when she pried her dagger free. But before the shopkeep could fall over her, Kimba darted to the side and tackled the sword fighter’s legs.

She moved too much. The two of them slammed against the wall, her arms and knuckles protecting his legs. The brick dug into her skin, mixing the blood of the shopkeep with her own. It was almost as if the pain didn’t affect her. While the air was knocked from the swordsman’s lungs, she took the opportunity to stand to her full height, throw the man face-first against the wall. With her unarmed hand, she twisted his sword at the hilt around his back, until the dull clattering of the sword against the dirt road reassured her she truly only held his mangled hand.

When the dust settled, Kimba held her dagger reverse-grip to keep the point at the man’s throat. He voluntarily kept his own face smashed into the brick, and halted his struggles with his free arm when he felt her blade. Just a few feet away, the large man held Tallo’s face to the ground with a knee on his back and his arms held together, keeping him prone with no way to get up.

Kimba grit her teeth. She could only see vague shapes out of the corner of her vision, but it was enough to know what was going on.

“Let him up,” she growled. The shopkeep groaned from behind her, undoubtedly slumped into a pile as his stomach acid leaked into his intestines. He didn’t have long—an hour, tops. But probably not nearly that long.

The large man let out a grunt, but obeyed Kimba’s command. He began to stand, lifting Tallo by the arms. Tallo yelped, but scrambled to his feet, until the noble scholar looked nothing more than a beggar, covered in dirt and a little bit of blood from his nose.

“Trade?” proposed the thief. Kimba glanced at him from the side of her eye, watching how he stared at the shopkeep as he said this.

“Fine.” Though from the way she said it, it didn’t sound like an actual agreement. From the thrumming of her threads, I felt deceit.

With the leverage of the arm she had twisted, Kimba pulled the swordsman into the middle of the alleyway, where they all faced one another. He struggled in her grasp a little, smearing more of his companion’s blood on his shoulder and neck.

Tallo seemed completely fine, breathed fine, stood up without trouble. But her attention was too split. While the threads that connected her and Tallo entwined and pulled tight, so did the threads between the swordsman and the other thief. All it took was a simple nod.

Kimba couldn’t react fast enough. The swordsman threw his head back against her, slamming hard against her chin. Her cry of surprise and pain came out muffled; she bit her lower lip, tried to jolt back away from the force against her teeth.

The swordsman, she knew, would dive to his weapon on the ground behind them. But by the time she dashed toward him, he’d already grabbed it. Tallo shouted something to her, but she had to ignore it to focus on trying to shove her dagger through her attacker’s ribcage. An ugly clang told her the swordsman blocked her attempt. She’d thrown him against the wall, put him on the defensive, and at least she knew that by staying this close, his attacks would be awkward and clunky. It was far riskier, but the sort of move that confused him, and gave her the advantage.

Exhausted, Kimba gathered enough energy to shove at him again, this time using both hands to jab her dagger. The resistance gave way to a squelch. The swordsman cried out; he still had the ability to slash at her. She pulled away, struggling to keep hold of her dagger from the blood that already covered her hands. The reflection of the light against his sword warned her of an incoming attack, and she risked letting go and instead held up her arms to block the sword from getting to her chest or face.

She could only gasp when she felt the slice against her arm, the way it started feeling like she just brushed against something, until it started to burn from the dirt and sweat making its way into her now open wound.

A cloud of dust followed the sword fighter as he collapsed to the ground, choking on his own blood. He tried to touch the dagger in his chest, but just as the blood leaked from him, his energy failed.

Kimba sucked in a breath and twisted to face Tallo, who was stumbling toward her. The large man threw him forward, and took off in the direction of the street, shouting.

“Fuck!”