Fortney stepped from the bright alley into the dim, fusty interior. Thin bars of light squeezed between the poorly-maintained boards, leaving slashes of sunlight across the floor. Dust motes spun through the air, glinting briefly as each one danced through a beam of light, then vanished as they passed into darkness.

  She squinted as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness. Dark shapes began to resolve themselves. There, a tall, thick pole in the center of the building, jutting from a big circular slab on the ground. Her brow furrowed. Then she understood--the slab was a bedstone, the bottom part of a mill,.

  Yes, and there. At one edge was an upright circle of stone: the runner stone was rolling over the bedstone to crush grains into flour. In the darkness, she could hear the ox snort as it walked in its eternal circle, driving the mill, grinding the barley.

  This was one of the temple mills, she realized as her eyes struggled to adjust to the dimness. She could make out the outline of the millstones--the bedstone was the big one lying flat on the ground, with a thick pole rising up from it. The smaller one--the runner--was standing on edge. It rolled over the grains, crushing them into flour.

  "Dhruva!" Fortney barked, a hint of fear creeping into her voice. "Enough of this nonsense! Come out now!"

  The mill was silent except for the plodding of the ox and the scraping of the millstones.

  "Dhruva?"

  Fortney stepped further in, squinting her eyes, trying to get them to adjust. Ahead of her she could just make out a pair of something, glittering in the dimness.

  She peered at it, trying to make it out. She sensed movement behind her and spun around.

  A river of fire opened along her back and she cried out. She stumbled forward a couple of steps. A man stood there, wrapped in black, a sinuous blade in one hand.

  Hashashim.

  Emotions washed through Fortney as she dropped into a fighting stance. Outrage, fear, and fury. Had they captured Dhruva? Or... was Dhruva part of this? How dare the hashashim pollute Baradon with their presence? How many were there? Could she draw them out into the sunlight?

  Fortney could make out one assassin in front of her. He dropped his sinuous dagger and drew a wicked, curved saber. Fortney edged toward the door, but the bright square of sunlight narrowed and winked out as someone closed the door.

  At least two hashashim. She flexed her shoulders. Blood ran down, sticking her shirt to her back. The wound was long and shallow and burned like nothing she'd ever felt. But it wouldn't be enough to slow her down.

  "Come on, then," she said.

  She reached out with her senses. The uncertain light--darkness mixed with bright light--disrupted her sight. She needed to depend on all her senses. Smell of mildew and ox. Taste of grain dust on the air. Feel of packed dirt beneath her feet. Sound of--

  Fortney heard the quiet rustle of cloth behind her. She darted aside, narrowly avoiding a dagger strike from a third assassin. She lashed out, smashing her fist into the side of his head. It was a solid blow that she felt all the way up through her shoulder. He stumbled and dropped to his knees, but only for a second.

  Three hashashim, then.

  She remembered Kadir's training. Do not wait for your opponent. He is your prey. Make him react to you.

  Fight like the tiger. Be the babr-e mādeh.

  The fallen assassin was already getting his feet under himself. She lashed out with a full-leg kick, her hardened muscles driving her foot into his throat. There was an awful crunch and the hashashim tumbled backward, wheezing thinly.

  Fortney leapt aside, dodging a slash from behind. She snatched the collar of the saber-wielder and drove her forehead into his face. She felt the satisfying crunch of his nose shattering.

  Motion stirred dimly in the darkness beyond him. She spun, flinging a kick at the shadow. She felt the solid thud of impact with flesh, and was rewarded with the sound of air being driven from her target.

  "I expected more from the legendary hashashim," she said, panting. Then she smashed her elbow into the side of Broken-nose's neck, driving him to the floor.

  The hashashim backed away from her and regrouped. They stood before her, their sabers drawn. Even the one with the crushed windpipe stood ready, his saber out. His breath was hitching and gurgling, but his blade was steady, and his glittering eyes never left her face.

  The burning wound in Fortney's back grew more intense, and her vision began swimming. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  "Little princess," said one.

  "Marked for death," said another.

  The third said nothing, struggling, as he was, for breath.

  "Shut up," she growled. Then she launched herself into them.

  Fortney realized that nothing short of death would stop the hashashim. Her mind briefly flicked back to her training with the sanat-magi, the craft of the marg-zendeh, and the dead little mouse that would not die.

  No. Stay in the now. Focus.

  Fortney slipped past a saber and smashed her elbow into the already-ruined face of Broken-nose, driving him back. She swept the legs out from under Windpipe. He landed flat on his back. Fortney stomped with all her weight directly on his solar plexus, forcing a spray of blood up through his mask to join the dancing dust motes in the air.

  She heard movement behind her and leapt aside, but the saber of the third hashashim zipped deeply across her left shoulder, gashing open her flesh. Blood poured down her arm. She dropped low and drove an uppercut into his stomach hard enough to take him off his feet.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  She stepped toward Broken-nose, and her ankle wobbled beneath her. Fortney dropped to one knee, her head spinning. Her back was aflame. She gritted her teeth and forced herself back upright.

  The hashashim were already regrouping. Windpipe, struggling to sip tiny breaths through his ruined throat and shattered diaphragm, was standing, raising his saber again. They circled her, moving in confusing patterns.

  "You don't know when to die," she said.

  "Hūmao sustains us, hūmao rewards us," they chanted in unison.

  Fortney's vision clouded. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear it. Something was wrong with her. She had to end this fast.

  Windpipe was to her left. She lashed out at him. Her blow was clumsy, but he was slow to react. Her fist drove him to the ground again. She grabbed his hand and wrestled his saber away from him. She raised it high, then brought it down on his head. His tortured gurgling sighed to a stop.

  A saber slashed across her back. Fortney cried out and stumbled forward, tripping over the dead man. She fell onto the bedstone of the mill. Immediately Broken-nose was on top of her, pinning her down. He grabbed her right arm, twisting it viciously up behind her so hard that her fingers instantly went numb. The saber tumbled from her grip. She pushed against the stone with her left hand, trying to get some leverage, but she was getting dizzier, her movements weaker. The hashashim rammed her face down onto the stone.

  The other assassin darted over and slapped the ox's rump. The beast, which had stopped walking during the fighting, lowed and began moving again. The heavy runner stone rolled forward, making its hollow scraping sound.

  Fortney's head lay right in the path of the runner stone. Her eyes widened. The stone was nine hands tall, and weighed nearly as much as the ox that drove it. The slashes of light moved hypnotically across its surface as it rolled toward her head.

  She tried to pull her head up, but she was only able to get it an inch off the cold bedstone. Barley grains and flour stuck to the blood on her face. Broken-nose grabbed her hair and slammed her face back down, levering her arm mercilessly to keep her pinned. His breath heaved with the effort of keeping her immobile. Blood dripped from his mask onto her face.

  "Pretty little princess," he cooed. "Soon she will not be so pretty. Soon we will have our reward."

  The heavy runner stone rolled closer, steadily, relentlessly. The grinding sound grew louder.

  Fortney grunted and flailed behind her with her free left hand. The gash in her shoulder and the angle she was pinned at meant that she couldn't get a good, powerful swing. Her weak punches bounced off his hip. She struggled to throw him off, but he shifted his weight forward, his feet sliding on the dirt floor, pinning her with her twisted right arm. The runner stone ground steadily closer, slow but relentless.

  She grabbed at the hashashim with her left hand, pulling at his clothes, trying to yank him off her. Her vision was doubling, but the pain was all beginning to recede. She pulled at his robe desperately. Her muscles were weakening.

  Her hand closed around something familiar. She pulled it free of his robes, and felt the weight of a dagger in her hands.

  With desperate strength, she struck behind her blindly. The sinuous blade crunched home, lodging under the hashashim's kneecap. He grunted, and his leg collapsed.

  The shift of his balance gave her a fingernail's width of leverage. She let go the dagger, put her left hand down on the bedstone, and shoved away from the advancing runner stone with all her remaining strength. The assassin tried to push back, but with only one functioning leg, he couldn't keep his balance. Fortney was able to topple him to one side and push back far enough to get her face clear of the bedstone just as the runner rolled by.

  With a crackle of snapping bones, the runner crunched to a stop on top of her left hand.

  Fortney shrieked in agony. She reflexively jerked back, but the massive stone held her firmly pinned. It didn't budge as she yanked at it.

  Broken-nose rose from the floor. He pulled the dagger free of his knee and crawled over, dragging his useless leg behind him. He struggled upright on his good leg, towering over her. His eyes were glittering, hard. He drew back the dagger to strike.

  Fortney felt on the ground underneath her. Her right hand closed on the saber, and she lashed out with it. If she'd been in training, Kadir would have dressed her down for such a clumsy strike. But it did what she needed.

  The blade swept up into the man's fork. He stumbled back, blood jetted from a long gash on the inside of his thigh.

  "Hūmao sus..." he said. His eyes dulled. "Hūmao sustains us..." Blood pulsed from his wound and splashed on the floor in a deadly rhythm. He sank down, mumbled a few times, and was still.

  With a cry of pain, Fortney set her shoulder against the stone to try and roll it off of her crushed hand. She pushed, but the stone would not move. She looked across the bedstone. The final hashashim glared at her, his glittering eyes fixed on her struggle. He held the ox so it would not walk, keeping the stone in place. To free her hand, she would have to move the weight of both stone and ox.

  With a snarl, the hashashim drove his saber down across the animal's neck, lopping off its head. Without a sound, it collapsed, never to move the stone again.

  Fortney's breath heaved in a panicked whine as she threw her weight fruitlessly against the stone that pinned her hand. She looked over at the final hashashim.

  His glittering eyes crinkled in a smile. He had no wound, and he wasn't even breathing heavily. He stalked slowly toward her, bloody saber in hand.

  "Pretty princess. First the ox, and now you." He drew closer. Fortney grabbed the saber back up and lashed out, but the man danced easily back. Trapped by her crushed hand, she couldn't stand, and couldn't move. Couldn't strike him. She screamed in frustration. The hashashim chucked cruelly.

  He circled behind her. She rolled over, crying out, and slashed at him again. Every move was an agony that shifted her broken bones.

  The hashashim circled in, now closer, now dancing away. Fortney lashed out with the saber to defend herself, but her movements were growing weaker. The saber seemed impossibly heavy in her hand, and grew heavier by the second. Her eyes twitched and jerked as the room spun, and the dagger wound in her back burned as though acid boiled in her flesh.

  The hashashim stopped just out of her reach, holding his saber ready.

  "Now you see, little princess." His voice hissed, sibilant in the dimness. "You are spent. The poison even now works deeper into your flesh. It will choke the last of your life from you, unless I take your head first. Death stands by for you. All you have feared for all your life is now at hand." He drew in a deep breath. "Your fear is an intoxicating scent to me."

  She glared up at him, her eyes regaining a hard clarity.

  "Who said I was scared?" she growled.

  She raised the saber, turned her body, and with a scream of pure fury drove the heavy blade with all her strength down through her own left arm. The saber sparked as it clanged off the bedstone underneath.

  Fortney tumbled free of the millstone. Without pause, she leapt at the final hashashim, sweeping her blade in a heroic arc.

  His head flew free, sailing across the dim room and crashing into the wall hard enough to rattle the boards of the entire mill. The assassin's body stood still for several seconds, not realizing yet that it was dead. Finally, it fell forward, crashing to the ground with finality.

  "Not so unkillable," she said. Fortney spat on the corpse. "Filthy dogs," she growled.

  She stumbled to the door, holding the stump of her left arm close. The saber clattered to the ground as she reached out to pull the door open.

  Sunlight flooded in. Her eyes stung, and her vision doubled, trebled. She stepped over the high lip of the door with stiff, uncoordinated movements.

  Out. She needed to get out.

  Her back foot caught on the lip and she nearly tumbled, but she clumsily got her foot back beneath herself, barely catching her balance. She took two wobbling steps out into the empty alley.

  The bright sun of Namar?n poured itself on her. She turned her face to the sky. Her blood flowed freely, and darkness crept swiftly into the edges of her vision.

  "Kadir," she cried weakly.

  The ground swung up to crash into her, but she didn't feel it.