The rope snapped easily enough and Ashiko spared a brief moment massaging her thin wrists before picking up the two rough lengths of rope—waste not, want not, and all that. She set them aside for the moment, eyes on the still-slumbering guard, and smoothly picked up a folding stool that had been leaned up against the corner.

A swift swing and the unfortunate brigand found himself unceremoniously shoved even deeper into dreamland, and then bound fast to the offending chair.

By then, the sounds of battle had decreased enough that one side had obviously suffered and was at defeat's door, and hopefully that would be enough distraction for her to make a break for it. She took a deep, bracing breath, readied a few coated needles just in case, and slipped out of the door as subtly as a woman in a richly embroidered purple kimono could.