The Thieves of Otar

Wounds and Fights

Zia dropped to the ground, and before she could blink Heath was at her side. She could hear him saying something, but his voice sounded far away and echoy, like he was calling from the end of a long tunnel.

Pain pulsed through Zia's calf and she could feel her blood pounding in her head. She closed her eyes to block out the pain, but it did no good. The pain insisted on getting worse and worse with each pump of her heart.

Everything was a blur. A pair of strong arms scooped her up off the ground and started to run. Zia knew they were running because the fast bump, bump, bump of their feet matched the quick bump, bump, bump of her headache. With each step of whoever was carrying her, she felt a pang of agony in her left calf.

The carrier set her down on the ground and her new position shot a pang of pain up her leg. "I'm sorry, Zia," a voice whispered. The pain was so intense Zia could only focus on her breathing and keeping herself awake.

The world was fuzzy and swirled around her. Light and darkness swam in her vision. She felt hot and cold, sweaty and shivery. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and go to sleep, but she also wanted to get up and move around to prove she was alright.

But she wasn't alright. She could hear the panicked voice of someone calling her name, begging her to stay awake, to fight the urge to slip into a blissful sleep. She couldn't see his face, but Zia knew it was Heath; his voice was one she was very familiar with.

"We don't have any weapons," Jay's voice said breathlessly. "There's no way to fight back."

Fight back? Zia thought. But she threw the thought from her mind. She had very little energy, and she needed to spend it helping. She tried to think of something she could do to help, but nothing came to mind. She tried to sit up and gather her surroundings to look for something that could help, but someone placed a firm hand on her shoulder and eased her back down. It was a good thing too, because Zia's vision went even more fuzzy as the blood rushed to her head, making her headache more intense.

"Don't," Heath's voice said sternly.

But Zia wasn't listening. She had felt something cold against her ankle when she had moved.

Her knife! It was small, but it was the best that she had.

"My foot," Zia told Heath. She was surprised that saying those two words took so much energy.

Heath shook his head. At least, Zia assumed he did. She saw a blurred, round, face-like figure move back and forth. "No, Zia, it's your calf that's hurt.

"My foot," Zia repeated. "Knife... boot." Zia had barely struggled out the last word when Heath darted to her feet and reached into the soft leather of her boot. He grabbed the knife and gently unsheathed it from its brace on her ankle.

"She has a knife," Heath said breathlessly. "Ike, can you do anything with this?" he showed Ike the knife.

"I don't know. There's who knows how many of them and only one of me, with one knife. That means I would have to fight all of them at close quarters. My specialty is long-range combat. I prefer to not do close-combat."

"I do," Jay volunteered.

Heath nodded and passed the knife over to Jay. "Do you think you can take all of them?"

Jay laughed. "Do you? No, I'll be the distraction. I got a look at them when we were running. There are eleven of them, and they only have one man with a crossbow. The rest are equipped with swords. I'll keep the swordsmen busy while you two make your way to where the crossbowman is posted on the far hill and take him out."