In no mood for an argument, the man offered her his sword – which she took, though it would be next-to-useless in the tight corridors.
They went together to the main gundeck. Halfway there, they ran headlong into a three-man patrol descending the central ladder. The man beside her tensed and lifted the carbine he was carrying, yelling incomprehensibly. She moved, quickly and decisively.
Two small thuds – two daggers spun into the chest of the lead enemy. The sword destroyed her balance as she went in for a forward thrust, keeping the second man from disentangling himself from the body of his fallen comrade.
Boom. The carbine went off, deafening in the confined space of the stairwell, and the second man fell. Elletra thanked the marksman silently and pivoted to swing high.
The last man was faster than her, though, and her blow slid off an instinctive two-handed parry; not that it mattered, because a poniard was now embedded in his gut.
Elletra disengaged smartly, letting him slump.