Vencian heard the fight before he saw it. The clang of blade on blade, grunts of effort, the scrape of boots on stone.
He rounded the final corner and saw the platform. Rapheldor fought two attackers at once, staff weaving between them with unpractised precision.
Amron Montaro. Vencian recognized him from the sharp features, the Montaro bearing. But Vencian's target was not him but the support with him.
The attacker hadn't seen Vencian yet. His attention was fixed on Rapheldor, waiting for an opening to exploit.
Vencian came in from his blind side, silent through the stone haze, and drove the end of his staff into the fighter's ribs. The strike folded him, sent him sprawling across the platform before he understood he'd been hit. His last gage-ring cracked against the floor.
Rapheldor blinked once, startled at how fast it happened.
"Vencian? When did you—"
But Vencian was already moving again, not sparing the fallen man a glance as he closed on Amron.
