…lie to them, to buy some time.

“Well, I’m, er...” Captain Roland still looks very angry. He stands on the rooms left, looking down at you, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “errrr...” Why is he standing like that? Gripping his dagger with one hand? You need something; some scrap of information to tell you which way to go; what lie to say. “...errrrrr...” If he wanted to intimidate you then he would draw his dagger, right? He’s already proven you’re no match for him physically. You’ve seen that stance before, on people who fear attack; who don’t trust the situation, suspicious of everything... especially the people they’re with.

A flash of inspiration comes to you, risky but possible. You give it a quick test, looking instead at Captain Washkin. You give her the slightest nod, which brings her eyebrows together in confusion. A look back at Roland confirms everything; his stance becomes more agitated and he glances at Captain Washkin.

You stay silent, crouching, holding your bruises, waiting.

He licks his lips nervously.

You glance at Captain Washkin again and immediately back to him.

His eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at her.

Heart hammering, you take the biggest gamble of your life.

You leap at Captain Roland’s belt, holding your hands over the knives and pinning them in their sheaths. You look at Captain Washkin and shout at her.

“Now Captain! KILL HIM!”

Everything hushes for a second; a single solitary second that your life depends on. As you look at her face, it takes that second to go from shock to confusion to angry hostility, exactly what you need it to display.

“NO!”

Hands violently shove you back and you let go of his belt with ready ease, hands empty as you fall toward the floor. You look at Roland as you go, seeing for a second his face twisted with bitter rage as all his suspicions come alive in front of him. The second second is spent crashing to the floor for your part, bouncing on your rear with stinging **** before your back hits something loose enough to be moved with the impact, but heavy enough to not move far. Captain Roland spends a fraction of the time drawing his blades with both hands, falling into a stance as he holds them out in front of him with a butchers grace. Captain Washkin razes her blade, first following you, but then twisting to aim at him and the bigger threat he poses.

They both shift their feet, standing across from each other with weapons razed like duelling nobles.

“It’s a trick Roland, don’t li-“

“It’s no trick that you’re pointing your blade at me woman!”

The exchange is hard and fast, the clashing of verbal steel.

“She’s not mine; she’s in your colours damn it!”

“Exactly! You’ve wanted me dead since the moment I got here!”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Then lower your sword!”

The tension in the room hums with a cutting energy, the thick air diced to ribbons on the raised razor edges. You shake your head and look around. It seems that he threw you against the large round table and the scattered chairs pushed under it, leaving you propped up against one is its legs. They now stand closer to the main door than you do, and either by climbing over the table or by a frantic crawl under it, the large window you saw earlier is no longer out of your reach, though a long dash would still be needed. You don’t move, not wanting to remind the two of your presence.

“Don’t do this Roland, you’ll never leave this island alive.”

Captain Roland’s expression grows very dark at her words, poor phrasing confirming things the truth never could.

You judge the matchup. Her long thin sword of slivery light stands drawn against his well-worn twin blades. Hers is beautiful, its handle adorned with finely spun gold and its blade etched with delicate symbols you can’t make out. His are short and wide, sharpened only on one side but to a brutal edge. She has length on him, but he’s far from beaten.

You give your head a slight shake again; it doesn’t matter right now! The first part of the plan worked, against all the odds, so what are you going to do next?

If you wait, then soon enough you will have to deal with whoever is left alive, while you yourself are unarmed. It’s unlikely the gods would be generous enough for them to kill each other, yet the possibility remains and as long as you remain as well you can maybe increase the odds of that happening and benefit accordingly.

But the window’s right there and they’re both distracted; it’s the perfect time to escape! Visions of them making piece in face of your retreat come to mind, or a dagger thrown into the back as you run, but compared to what you faced before, this opportunity is a minor miracle!

The best possible odds of survival; leaving with less than you arrived with and all your effort wasted, but probably alive. Or a risky chance of success; stay as long as possible, see Captain Washkin dead, somehow, the necklace in your hands, somehow, and preferably, escape with your life somehow as well.