Emmaline crouched in the darkness mouth agog at Amal’s simple and direct plan for dealing with the bandits. She had no sympathy for them and didn't doubt they deserved what they got but Imperial justice tended to involve more formal proceedings. Araybians had a more elemental concept of what was just. The first man slumped forward with a gurgle as Amal’s blade sliced across his throat.

Drunk or not, the  bandits recognised the smell of blood and they started to their feet. The second man went down screaming with a dagger in his belly and the third bolted in fear, screaming about Djinn which Emmaline translated as daemons. Unfortunately his blind panic carried him directly towards her hiding place, scimitar in hand, eyes wide with panic. With a squeak Emmaline swung the staff like a club, catching the man across the jaw and sending him spinning to the ground. The impact wrenched the staff from her grip and before it hit the sand it was sinuous and slithering thing. The bandit screamed as the hooded cobra rose in a recurve and then struck like a snapping bow, sinking its fangs into the bandits neck. The man screamed once, and then flopped to the ground froth bubbling from between his lips. The snake turned towards the petrified Emmaline she head Amal shout a warning, but instead of striking it merely bowed its head and a moment later the staff lay in the dirt. Gingerly Emmaline picked it up.

“Whoa,” she commented incisively.