Tara twisted, her attackers blade catching her across the hip as the confines of the alley forced her against a wall. She dropped, doing a better job of dodging the next blade as it swung overhead and crashed into stone.
“Stay still you little—” the rest of Eton Smites’ words dissolved into a wet gurgle, blood bubbling up between his lips and running down the front of his armour.
He stumbled, slumping sideways as Tara moved back, one dagger still aimed towards him as she plucked at the clothing over her hip. It ached and blood eased from the slice in her flesh but it wouldn’t kill her, whatever Smites’ had slipped into her drink might though.