Sparks flew off the stones where Morgiana’d been standing moments before, a tiger’s snarl erupting from behind the swordsman’s veil. “Stand still, flea!”
Morgiana didn’t bother to sniff at that. Stand still? Why would she ever want to do that, when she could flip up-
Aim at the back of the neck, coming down to strike–
A flash of steel and a waft of tiger-musk; she twisted in mid-air, feeling the edge of his sword skim just past her legs.
Morgiana touched down on paving stones a bare instant, breathed-
Dropped like a rock.
Masrur sailed through where her head had been, striking the tiger-swordsman dead in the chest. He reeled back with a coughing roar.
Morgiana grabbed the trunk writhing over her head, used it to flip herself back up into the air again. Their foes were strong, but – something wasn’t right in how they fought. Maybe switching opponents would throw them off?
Screams cut the air.
The Fog Troupe, Morgiana knew, catching a glimpse of bodies and blood before she had to focus on the lash of gray muscle trying to tear her apart. That ape’s killing them!