Ezio knew he was going to miss. He knew that with certainty when he felt his shoulder give and staggered, gasping. His sword dropped from his hand as he clutched at the arrow half buried in his shoulder. He watched it all happen in slow motion, in utter disbelief. He'd not known the archers were anywhere near. Had had no inkling that there were archers at all. He gritted his teeth, fingers slick with blood, as he glared at the soldiers who moved closer weaving their weapons back and forth in menacing arcs.
The Assassin fought like a feral beast, winded or not, injured or not. He was a handful and that was no mistake. Estefano Reggio swore as