This is a fragment

Blood trickled down her face, smearing her teeth orange. She swung the mace backwards, crushing bone and spraying blood and only knowing from the sound. In the dim red light, the world matched her smile. Feral and ochre and wavering like firelight, her hair whipped in its braid as she turned, parrying a sword point with the butt of the mace and lashing out with a shield edge.

A face collapsed into red ruin where the iron rim crashed into a hawk nose. He howled, but she’d already moved past him to take a wild overhand swing of a saber on the boss, sparks and metal shavings and the shield shivering on her arm. She lashed out a boot and drove it forward, taking him hard in the knee with her metal-shod feet. She was the best armored there, wearing the black metal mail and scales of her order.

Angry from the throbbing of her face along the long bleeding slash, she dropped her shoulder and charged hard into the lithe little man with two daggers, taking him off his feet and slamming him hard into the wall. Before he could get his wind back she drove the mace down on that knee she’d kicked and laughed a short bark of joy when she heard bone crunching from the impact.

Pulling away from him she turned to face the street, but no one was left standing. Two were dead, a bald man in blue and red breeches laying face down with his pate smashed open and another, the hawk-faced sailor dead with his face staved in. There had been at least two more, she knew there had been, but aside from a dropped rope there was no sign of them. Raising a hand to her face she felt the deep slash down her right cheekbone and snarled.

Breathing a little heavily, she stalked back to the slight man with the daggers. He wore a ragged assortment of leather, hides and furs that looked vaguely Naeth, but he was far smaller than most Naeth she’d met. She was often confused with a Naeth herself based on her height and red hair, but this man would more easily be thought Alronian or Agath, with his dark olive complexion and narrow features.

“Talk.”

He glared up at her, cradling his crushed knee in two hands. She placed her boot on his leg and leaned slightly on it, surprised that he didn’t howl.

“Eat pig cock.”

“All right, then don’t talk.” Before he could reconsider, she brought the mace down from over her shoulder and smashed it hard into the top of his skull, crushing it. The spikes along the head penetrated bone and brain alike, and she was forced to use her leg to pin his throat to the wall to yank it back up and out. She shook it several times to clean blood off of the head. “I didn’t want to let you live anyway.”