Feigning just slightly more fatigue than she actually felt, Loor dropped her staff a few inches. It was a subtle thing…but it gave the man an opening. He took it, darting forward and attempting to slam her in the face with his stick. Using exactly the same move he had used against her, she slipped to the side, thrust her stick between his knees, and levered his legs out from under him.

The man fell hard, his face twisting in a grimace of pain as he thudded to the ground. His stick flew from his hand.

Loor leaped onto him, standing on his right arm, her staff poised for a final strike. “Fall back!” she shouted. “Fall back—or he dies!”

But the men didn’t move.

Loor glanced back down at the man on the ground. She expected to see his face full of fear and pain. But instead he was smiling. “Perfect!” he said.

Then two fingers on his right hand rose and fell. There was something practiced about it, as though it were a signal.

With that, every one of the tribesmen released their arrows. The air around her literally whistled as the shafts came at her from all sides.

I have failed, she thought. But at least I have died honorably.

And then the arrows hit.