The man had Siban's right wrist trapped under a knee, the knife already coming for his throat while he was still twisted against the wet clay.
He reacted on instinct. Chin down. Hard turn left.
The blade scratched across his jaw from ear toward chin, shallow because the turn denied it any depth. He bridged hard off the ground, driving through his hips, both feet digging into the leaf mat. The man's knee lifted from his wrist as the man's balance shifted backward.
Siban rolled free of the weight.
Half a second of distance.
He slashed for the man's ribs while he was resetting his footing. The man saw it coming and twisted, making the blade score across the outside of his ribs instead of entering between them. Cloth tore, blood followed.
But the man found stable footing on the clay and kept advancing.
From the direction of the fallen trunk, Aydos shouted. The noise cut off abruptly.
Nothing followed.
