Gabriel’s pillow came with him when he lifted his head. He had to pin it with both hands while he peeled his face from the pool of drool he had produced. All the while a wave of fringe bobbed heavily at the top of his head like a narwhal’s horn, cemented at its roots by an inch of grease.

‘A poignant start to a poignant day,’ the captain thought.

“Morning, beautiful,” Lydia said, oiling her blade on her lap.

Gabriel chewed the air to remove the gumminess from his tongue and cheeks, “Not actually sure how I managed to sleep.”

“Weakling. You can’t even win a battle against sleep.”

Lydia’s tone was dry, but Gabriel had started to recognise what passed for the warrior’s sense of humour embedded in her harsh words. He snorted in response.

“Ah, flirt somewhere else, will you,” Vish grumbled, rolling in his bed and burrowing under his stiff pillow like a hamster.

“It’s time we made a decision, Vish,” Gabriel announced.

Vish’s head snapped around like an owl’s and he raised a white-flecked bushy eyebrow, “About?”

“About whether or not,” Gabriel shook his head, “Wait, are you serious? What else could it be about?”

Vish’s eyes blinked arrhythmically, “Dunno, lunch?”

“I think we have slightly more pressing concerns than lunch, Vish.”

The mind-mapper’s hand rubbed his belly affectionately, “Not sure about that.”

“Alright, enough screwing around. Let’s talk about this, once and for all,” Gabriel put his hands on his knees, bracing himself.

“Oh, alright, fine,” the mind-mapper relented, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and pinching at his lids to dislodge the crust of sleep. He looked as grey and monotone as the sad, civilian clothing Tulcetar had given him.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Gabriel breathed heavily a few times, as if gearing himself up, and then blurted, “I think I’ve made up my mind.”

Vish pursed his lips, “Same here.”

“I… I thought about why I got into this,” Gabriel looked a dash ashamed, “The choices I made, and the choices I didn’t make.”

“Same.”

“I thought about the people I’ve helped, and the people I’ve let down.”

Vish blew hard through an exaggerated ‘o’-shaped mouth, his eyebrows pushing the folds of his forehead back into the room behind, “Saaame.”

“I thought about the good we could possibly do, and the risks involved,” Gabriel continued.

“Goes without saying, really.”

“And I think I’ve decided,” Gabriel concluded.

“Same,” Vish said once more.

“We should definitely-”

“Run for the fucking hills.”

“Precisely.”

“Excellent.”

“Wait, what?” Gabriel frowned.

“Glad we are in agreement.”

“What, no!”

“I already packed my bag.”

“Gods, damnit, Vish! You craven sack of goats giblets! We’re going to fight!” Gabriel said, rising to his feet, brandishing his fist as if it were actually useful.

“Ah, man. I had a feeling you were going to say that,” the mind-mapper said.

“Well, obviously!”

“I’m so disappointed,” Vish tutted, “You let me down, buddy.”

“Right, that’s it! Democracy over. You’re coming with us.”

Vish scratched at his scalp and neck and yawned, “Oh, alright, fine. But,” he raised a finger, “if anyone starts throwing fireballs at us, I’m out of there.”

“We are turning up with a small army to arrest one man,” Gabriel counted to one on his fingers, “I highly doubt there will be any fireballs, Vish. To be honest, we’ll probably just stand quietly in a corner while Tulcetar takes Hamish into custody.”

“I have a strong gut feeling that there are going to be some fireballs, Gabe.”

Gabriel threw his hands up, “Sure, whatever, Vish. If there are fireballs, then you can run.”

“Cool, because there will definitely be fireballs.”

---

Gabriel and Vish ducked behind a stone pew as another enormous glob of roiling flame was launched at where their heads had just been.

“What did I just say?” Vish shouted over the screaming sounds of metal clashing against metal and tapestries crackling and charring.

“No, no, doesn’t count,” Gabriel shouted back, sweating from fear as much as the heat.

“What do you mean it doesn’t count?!”

“That one was definitely a flaming-ovoid. Totally different thing to a fireball.”

Vish blinked dumbfoundedly as another flaming-ovoid engulfed one of Vagalad’s men. The hired muscle batted uselessly at the ravenous inferno before finally flopping to the ground a few strides from the mercenaries.

“And how about that one, Gabe?”

The flames guttered and died, replaced by small plumes of smoke.

Vagalad’s man from Gladstone sizzled like a lamb chop.

“Hmm,” Gabriel considered, “… That one might have been a fireball.”