Öta could feel the sword on his neck. He had to be quick. He looked around to see what he could use. He could dodge one or two blows, not much more before Stranis reached him. His sword was too far away, the assassin would pin him to the ground before he could reach it. And if he didn"t do anything, he would die.
Suddenly he saw it. The lamp that the mobster had dropped at the beginning of the fight. It wasn"t a luminescent mushroom Helarieal lamp, but a man-made oil lamp, a clay tank with a wick that dipped into it, the flame bare. Luckily, it hadn’t broken when it fell on the dirt floor. A little oil had dripped from it, fortunately not enough to put it out. And it was just within reach of his hand. When the blade moved away from the skin to gain a little momentum, he acted.
With a wa
