Zoya was feeling so self congratulatory that the first crossbowman stepping through the door caught her by surprise. The bearded Defender raised the weapon but hesitated a critical second as one of the guards, unaware of the situation steeped defensively in front of the door.


“Move you fool!” the Defender shouted “she is a damn witch!” Even as the words were leaving his mouth flows of air wrapped him, freezing him in place. A second crossbowman, then a third crowded into the chamber and were similarly immobilized. The two guards spun to face her eyes wide. The first she wrapped in air, the strain of so many weaves making sweat spring from her skin. She drank deeper of Saidar, pulling down a dangerous amount of power to weave the last man. She couldn’t quite manage to contain him completely; her flows enough to hold him in place but not totally immobilize him. With wide eyes and teeth gritted he forced his leveled pike forward, inch by inch as though driving it through a wooden wall by main strength. 


Don’t make me kill you Zoya wanted to scream but the effort of maintaining so many weaves forced her teeth to clench in a riktus of effort. It was clear that her life was in danger, but killing a half dozen Defenders of the Stone would virtually guarantee she never left Tear alive, even if she managed it the High Lords would hound her till the end of her days. Wind stirred in the chamber; spill over from so many flows of air. The pike point came closer. A queasy feeling came over her. How would she do it? Strangle them? To slow. Fire? To much effort to weave another flow. Blades of Air… messy but her only realistic option. Zoya’s vision began to waver from the crushing strain and her bones seemed to burn from the amount of the Power she was wielding. It was now or never.