As soon as Sat was well enough to leave the sick bay, she gathered up all her money. She was going forward with her plan.
So, at the market, she bought bars of the strongest steel, ingots of the finest silver, the best tanned leather, and pair of second hand, gently worn white wings.
As an afterthought, she bought a nice black cloak, trimmed in silver. It was a luxury, but Sat thought she deserved it.
Back in her forge room, Sat made a pair of curved, matched blades. She carved two wooden handles for the sickles. The blades could fold into the handles, so to everyone else it seemed short wooden sticks.
She coated the steel blades with silver, and poured a bit of Nothing onto it. This would give them strength and endurance.
With the wings, she covered each feather in steel, making them sharp and dangerous. Sat also coated them liberally with Nothing. This made a pair of wings that had the strength of dozens of knifes layered on top of each other. The thin steel covering would make it light, so she could fly. And the Nothing gave it magical properties, so when she put them on, she could will them to be invisible to watchers.
Sat stitched the leather strips together, and added a chain belt with the last of the silver. She made it so it could be hung over the shoulder as a baldric, or around the waist.
Sat was elated. Her expensive armor and weapons were finally finished, and she wanted to test it. Her next fight was weeks away, and she wanted something worth her while.
Sat had heard about the thieves in the alley at night, and they were smart and wily. So she decided it would be them.
An hour to midnight Sat wore her cloak over her wings and tied her sickles to her belt. She snuck over the living compounds' roofs and over the gates. She was giddy with excitement.
When she reached the alleys off some of the more disreputable streets, she heard screams and shouting. Shadows seemed to flow out of the cracks in the pavement, forming hideous monstrosities.
The creatures were deformed, with too many limbs, or too little. They hopped their way toward her.
Sat pulled out her sickles, the blades coming out of the wood with a swift flick of her wrists.
The creatures hissed at her, and Sat knew they must be Nithlings or some other sort of Nothing creature.
She beheaded one, two, a dozen of them, but more and more seemed to form from the cobbles.
She needed reinforcements, but there was no one there to help her.
A figure in armor that glittered in the moonlight stepped near her, and she was about to decapitate it, but it whispered to her, "Nay."
It, or he, unsheathed his sword. It was black, with a circular pommel and sharp hilt, like two clock hands joined together.
The blade flashed, and many Nithlings lost their heads. Sat was awed by the power. With her morale restored, she hacked at the Nithlings with renewed ferocity, and soon there were no more.
The man in the armor removed his helm and sheathed his sword. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Sat saw that it was the fancy man from the arena.
"I must be gone", she croaked out, and ran. Her black cloak fanned out behind her. She jumped up, and her silver wings opened. They spread out as she flew away from him.
When she got back to her rooms, she took off her armor and weapons and dropped them in the chest at the foot of her bunk.
Her hands trembling, she hung up her cloak and fell onto her bunk, fatigued.