Sugar and Shadows (3)

"Demon magic!" someone screamed.

Mikhailis spun to greet a dagger flashing for his spine. He saw the thug's wild eyes, smelled ale on his breath. Cloak swirling, he parried at full extension, then used the blade's momentum to hook the man's wrist. A half-turn, a wrist flick—dagger gone. Before panic registered, Mikhailis reversed grip, pommel-smacked temple. The thug's eyes rolled white; he sagged.

Three. Keep pace, Volkov, keep pace.

A crossbow clattered on planks above. The disarmed roof-archer clawed for a backup quarrel; shadows yanked again. He yelped, slid off the beam, and crashed in a mess of arms and curses. He wouldn't be rejoining the fight.