The courtyard was a mess of broken timber and wreckage that they had picked their way through, the remains of overhanging hoardings that had collapsed through neglect and decay from the towers above. The two witchers had silently followed Baldivar's orders and split from the main group to search the ruinous great hall and the dilapidated stables respectively. Nadia did not envy them. [i]Leave hunting monsters in the dark to the scary fucking mutants, I'll happily wait out here.[/i]

Perhaps it was this thought, that of the fighters amongst the group that had ventured into the fortress, she clearly had the easier task, that lulled her into a false sense of security. She had let herself relax, confidant that in the courtyard at least, they appeared to be alone. She did not mind when Avery and Renar disappeared from her sight lines behind a pile of debris, they would surely be able to look after themselves since no one was home. 

Nadia smiled to herself, her contract here was looking easier than expected, she thought they would have been fighting tooth and nail to reclaim this place. As she progressed deeper into a shadowed recess created between a foreboding curtain wall and the mound of debris, she decided to let out one of her characteristic tuneless whistles. It covered any other slight noises that might have been heard at that moment. The Nazairi turned to Baldivar.

[b]"Ha! Nothing here at al- DOWN! NOW!"[/b]

Behind Baldivar Nadia had seen a shadow detach itself from the timber pile and transform into a the shape of a man. He was skinny and underfed, dressed in leathers that did not properly fit and a ragged cloak the colour of mud. He looked desperate. As their eyes locked he let out a cry and rushed at Baldivar, a knife in his hand. 

Her body acted on instinct. Nadia pivoted at the waist, simultaneously bringing her shield bearing left arm up to cover her front whilst pulling back her spear arm. Her shoulder wound back, before locking into place, the powerful muscles there trained through years of diligent practice in both the yard and the field of battle. The Nazairi took a deep breath, surveyed the scene before her with her cool grey eyes.

The assailant was close but he was moving. She would need to release late to keep the trajectory of the spear flat, but she did not want to hit Baldivar who stood between them. It did not need to be her most powerful throw but she would need to make sure it had enough stopping power to prevent the man from reaching them. She had seen men skewered still get close enough to kill their assassins.

With a loud grunt she hurled the spear. It sailed through the air towards Baldivar's head had been moments before, and there beyond, towards the assailant rushing forward to meet it. It would be close.