I’ve been trying my best not to kill my friends as we’ve been making our way up through the fortress, but it’s been a hard fight, and any reticence those I’ve spent my life amongst might have had has quickly been put aside. As much as I can I try to wound but not kill, but even so I count as least eight lives I’ve been forced to end since the alarm call went up. Every one of them hurts me like a wound to my very soul.
The danger is it’s making me angry, and that’s just making me fight harder. As we burst through the door into the courtyard I run headlong into my next opponent, and it’s Dur, who blinks seeing me but barely hesitates for a breath before wielding his big battleaxe again. His usually gold eyes are red when he squares on me, and I tense as I adjust my approach, preparing for his swing. He lets out a typically orcish bellow and closes the distance between us in a single fierce bound, but I’m already feinting hard to his left and his haymaker whistles a bare inch past my ducking head, exposing his throat to me as he overextends. I react before I can think, and I’ve rammed my sword six inches deep into the sweet spot in his throat before I can adjust, drawing back just as quick.
Dur staggers around as I dance away, and while his eyes are still bloody red I mostly see confusion in them now, and only a little of the pain in that look is physical. He couldn’t have wounded me deeper if his axe had found me on that pass, I feel my heart breaking right through as his weapon droops and he clasps his free hand to his gushing throat. He tries to speak but all that comes out is a winded gurgle as he spits up a great cloud of blood and his knees start to wobble. He’s still got life in him, though.
Part of me wants to run away as fast as I can, but I can’t leave him here like this. I’ve already killed him, he’ll be dead in a matter of minutes no matter what, but it’s not a quick death, and while he’s ready to die like a warrior I don’t want him to suffer. So I tense up again and he squares his shoulders, but doesn’t raise the axe, I think he knows what I’m doing. “I’m sorry.” I mutter under my breath, mostly for me, but he blinks at it, then after a thoughtful moment nods and takes his hand from his throat, letting a fresh spurt of arterial blood go as he does so, and spreads his arms wide. I take a breath and lunge again, this time thrusting tight and trusting my aim not to let any ribs foul my stroke.
My sword punctures his heart clean through and I keep pushing until I’m out through his back. He bucks once, going instantly rigid, and lets one last gasp go, and in that last moment the red in his eyes fades again, a look close to thankfulness crossing his face as his eyes glaze and his knees buckle. I drag my sword free and let him fall, holding in the sob that’s begging to come as I turn away so I don’t have to watch.
“Shay! Come on!” Art’s shout snaps me back to reality, and I look up to see him run Girrin through the stomach and pulls free fast with a shove as he points to the keep, rising like a craggy spire midway across the courtyard. Our target. The thought of Ashsong thrusts purpose back into me sure as a fire in my veins, and I champ down on my grief like I’ve been doing all the way through our climb. I give my blades a good hard whip to clear away the blood and follow.
A ragtag, undisciplined group of eight or so attackers rush us from the other side of the courtyard, clearly coming from the mess hall. Through the corner of my eye I see Art squaring up, preparing for their approach, and again I feel that tightening in my gut as I recognise every single one of them. They must recognise me too, although the sight of me likely promotes fresher anger in them now, splashed as I am now in the blood of my former friends. I raise my own weapons at their approach, but yet again find myself wondering if I really can do what I have to right now …
Then it’s like the air tears open beside me, but no, it’s a blazing bright arc of lightning, completely baffling turned as it’s on its side to smash into the ground just short of the charging line on the right. The flagstones shatter and explode upwards as the arc crackles fast and hard leftwards, and the attackers are tossed back by the force of it. It’s gone as fast as it comes, but I’m left dazzled for several moments, fighting to blink away the writhing afterimage from my vision.
“Sorry about that.” Gael’s at my shoulder and it takes me by surprise, and as I blink harder to focus on their face they seem sheepish. “It can be a little … surprising, I guess. They’ll be all right, though. Hopefully. Might be a bit battered, but …” Their smile becomes more like a wince. “They’ll be alive, at least.”
“Thank you.” I manage to force it out, but I feel my voice break a little as sure as I hear it. Then they start to falter and I just react, stepping up and grabbing hold of them as they turn a little limp. They don’t swoon for long, coming back to themselves quick enough, but they blink at me and a moment of confusion crosses their face as they study mine before remembering themselves again. I prop them back up.
“Oof …” Gael puts their hand to their brow and frowns. “Shit … sorry about that, too. That was … yeah, maybe that one was a bit much.”
Art’s at their other side before I realise it, and while he’s got his hands full he still raises his left, clearly wanting to lay it on their shoulder but then remembering himself. The concern on his face is crystal clear. “You’re still a bit off, ain’t you? I told Kesla you were still recovering. You can’t be throwing all this magic round constantly, you ain’t all the way healed yet.”
“I’m all right.” Gael growls it a little, a harsh note in their voice as they push past him. “Don’t worry about me, I can keep going for a bit yet.”
To be honest, I believe them. There’s clearly something going on with Gael, I gather it has something to do with that crazy spell they pulled off the other day when they escaped the avalanche, it must’ve had repercussions. Garnon’s told me that magic has limits, that in order for him to make the bigger stuff work he has to give something back in exchange, and I’ve seen it take a heavy toll on him that I recognise here too. But they’re fighting through it all the same, fuelled by an ironclad determination I’m beginning to find endearing.
It's not just that, either. I can tell they’re falling back on their magic as much for my benefit as anything else. They have that sword strapped to their hip, they could fight with it if they needed time to recover their strength for more magic, but they’ve doggedly stuck fast the whole fight. They’re throwing spells designed to knock people down, to stun them, to incapacitate them, but very rarely have they been forced to kill, and when they have had to resort to hand-to-hand they use they staff. They fight hard with it and it’s almost painful to watch those strikes hit home, but while she definitely puts her opponents down little danger they won’t get up again. Gael’s determined to keep that promise they made no matter what.
Even Art’s trying to wound as much as he can, like me. It’s just that he’s clearly been trained to kill, he’s finding it as hard to turn it off as I am. I’ve noticed every time our eyes meet since this started he’s been unable to maintain that contact. He feels as bad about it as I do.
“Fine, but we still gotta move.” Art nods to the keep again. “We’re running late. Reckon Kesla’s dropped in, she’s clearly ahead of us now.”
Yeah, I can see that clear enough. Now I’ve got a chance to look around the courtyard certainly looks like a battleground, scattered with plentiful butchered bodies. A few of the fallen still are alive enough to crawl for safety or at least call for help, but most have been broken and cleaved with a brutal efficiency I’ve come to recognise. Damn that delay, it’s forced everyone’s hand. I didn’t want this.
“Okay …” I mainly breathe it to myself as I tear my eyes away from the carnage and look at the keep. Then Gael nudges my arm, and I turn back to the door we just cleared to find more spilling through. They take a breath to assess the situation, and I’m sure the substantial mess out here gives them pause just to take it all in, but it’s a short distraction before they focus on us. Gael’s already taking a few steps back to charge something into their staff, and Art does much the same. I’m a moment snapping back to myself enough to follow their example, and by then the newcomers are coming.
The first arrow whips so close past me I feel its wind brush my ear, and as it hits the closest attacker he’s flung back hard, pinned hard to the wall behind him after travelling a good ten feet. I don’t even think about what I’m doing now, I just duck, not quite raising my arms to protect my head but I want to all the same, and the other two are following my example as they recognise the barrage now. Three more of our would-be attackers are plucked from the ground in quick succession and the rest start to realise the danger, the quickest retreating through the doorway while the rest are taken down before they have a chance. Every arrow strikes home with lethal precision and terrifying force, and most wind up impaled to the hard stone of the building’s wall, two dangling a foot off the ground.
“Gods …” I breathe, deeply rattled to have seen that this close up.
“Art! Gael! New girl! Come on! You’re needed!”
They’re already moving, and this time Gael’s the one who grabs me, snagging my arm and pulling me to my feet before I can resist. I allow myself to be dragged and I’m moving with them as they run for the keep before I’m mindful enough of what I’m doing again. I see the figure moving to intercept us as we approach and I tense for a moment before I recognise the Fir Bolg archer, Yeslee, who must’ve been perched up on the ramparts like we agreed all this time, but now she’s dropped down to join us. As we climb to the open gate, which looks like it’s been torn apart by something big, she slides to a halt just short of the steps.
“Call me Shay.” I say to her before I realise what I’m doing. “Um … please.”
“I really couldn’t give a shit, new girl.” She doesn’t even look at me as she drops the substantial bag she’s been toting on the ground beside her and crouches over it, reaching deep inside. Far deeper than I would’ve imagined it could possibly go. “Just get moving. The others are already inside, they need you. Finish this. I’ll cover here as long as I can.”
For a moment all I can do is stare at her, partly hurt by her casually savage dismissal but mostly just taken by how blithely she’s handling the whole situation. As I watch she pulls a substantial sheave of those big black arrows out of the bag, and I become aware that her quiver is now empty again.
“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” Art hesitates just outside the open gateway.
“Just finish the job, Art.” She casually cuts the ties to free the arrows, stuffing a large number into the quiver and letting the remainder clump at her feet, then nocks one with such swift precision I don’t quite catch all the motions. “I’ll see you when we’re done, or wherever it is we end up after.”
Art looks set to argue, but I don’t give him a chance, climbing the last steps and shoving him unceremoniously through, and at least Gael has the sense to follow on their own. Inside it’s almost as messy as out, the floor of this tight passage similarly strewn with corpses, and nobody looks to have been pulling any punches in here either. I freeze seeing it all, and that deep-seated pain hits again, the ugly weight in the pit of my stomach growing, but I shake it off as much as I can and push past the others to pick my way around the bloody remains.
The climb can’t have been easy with this brutal fight going on, but I’m not finding it much easier now, having to work hard just to find safe passage around the bodies, dismembered parts and slick, pooled blood. I can hear sounds of violence from somewhere above too, and it sounds as desperate as it must have been in here. A look to the others, seeing the concern in their faces, makes me quicken my own pace as much as I can too. Sounds like we might not have much time left.
It doesn’t get any better the higher we climb, so it takes what feels like an age to get anywhere near the top, but the whole time what really works my nerves is hearing that great commotion upstairs growing louder and clearer as we approach. I falter when there’s a great booming explosion and the whole place shakes, and I’m thrown against the wall in the shaking but manage to stop myself from taking a tumble back down. Something magic and very destructive just happens, it sounds like. I look back to the others again, particularly Gael, but they just shake their head, wide-eyed and nervous but still determined.
Gritting my teeth, I push myself back up until I’ve got my balance again and start to push on a little faster, more reckless now. There’s more screaming than I heard before, and it adds speed to my step, so that as we come up to the landing I’m moving pretty recklessly over what’s left in my way. Even so, the sight that greets me brings me up short.
Usually we use this room for training, it’s a good open space so we can easily cut loose as required, but it was always sport before, simple play with a certain purpose behind it. Not now. What’s happening in here now is deadly serious and bloody terrifying. It’s not that easy to guess what’s going on at first glance, but after a moment it starts to become clear – the rest of the party beat us up here, only to be surprised by reinforcements in this room, and they were far too few to beat such large numbers. So Kesla must’ve chosen the only option open to her, but gods, I really wish she hadn’t needed to.
She told Garnon to summon the golem.
Driver 8 seems like such an incongruous name now I think about it, seeing this monstrously powerful relic of the unfathomable age before the Sundering in action for the second time. As for their pet name for him, “Big Man”, that seems like an even more absurd lie. I’ve never seen this kind of devastation, and it’s even more surprising when you consider how calm, controlled and … hell, civilised would be a good word to describe how he seemed once I was able to meet him outside of violence in their camp. It made it even stranger seeing his friends interact with him so casually given what I’d already seen him do on that bridge, and now I’m witnessing much worse now he’s supposed to be on my side. And once again he’s massacring my friends.
“No …” I breathe, now completely rooted to the spot as I see him laying waste to everyone who comes close to him with his equally monstrous axe and sword. Now I’m looking I can see more fighting going on around the fringes of the room, by and large staying well out of the way of the sheer carnage being wrought in its centre. I see Tarrow and Krakka trying to work their way through on the left but still meeting hard resistance as they come up against others unwilling to get in range of the golem, while Garnon’s largely hanging back for now.
Nearest to me now is Kesla, although it takes me a few moments to recognise her, even if I have seen that armour before – she’s almost covered in gore now, and there’s something strange going on with her weapons, an intense glow in the blades of her axes and the mace on her back, as though the metal’s white hot. She’s locked in mortal combat with Noric, who‘s giving ground under her onslaught, but with reluctance, and as I watch he parries another harsh flurry of blows before just squaring his shoulders and pushing back hard with his broadsword. Now she’s the one on the back foot.
Deep down, that rational part is screaming at me that I have to do something, that we need to get down there, to help. I’m not really sure which side it actually advocates helping, but it’s insistent all the same. But I can’t move, can’t really think straight in this moment, my eyes keep travelling to that great metal beast laying low everyone that comes to hand. All I can do is mutter: “No … no …” over and over again under my breath.
“Shay!” Gael’s at my side now, hand gripping my arm tight, turning me to face them. “You need to snap out of it! We have to help!”
All I can do is blink back at them, and they frown deep. Then they wind back their free hand and slap me hard across my face, making me reel back clumsily, I’d likely go down if they weren’t holding me so tight. It’s when I reach up to grasp the sudden throbbing sore spot in my jaw that I realise I’ve dropped my sword, but the pain’s done its job, I’m back to my senses again. “Ow.”
“Really?” Gael’s reeling a little too, their staff propped in the crook of their arm while they shake their hand roughly, and their palm looks angry red now. Might be I hurt them more than they did me. “It wasn’t exactly a picnic for me either.”
“Come on!” Art doesn’t wait for niceties, he just shoves past as if to make his point and darts down the steps. “There’s no time!”
Stooping to retrieve my sword and dagger, I catch Gael’s eye as I straighten up again. “I … this is a mess.”
“Yes, it is. But there’s nothing we can do about that now.” They sigh as they take up their staff again. “We just have to finish this as fast as we can. That’s the only chance we have.”
“Go ahead, then. I’ve got Kesla.”
They give me a look, probably deciding if it’s best to leave me, then let out a deep sigh and start to rush down the steps. I look back to Kesla just in time to see Art try to whip in on Noric’s blindside, only to be forced back by a savage counter that could’ve ended her there if she’d been a bare fraction slower dodging away. Taking a deep breath, I start that way with fresh urgency.
Just as there’s a great resonating bellow behind me and I nearly stumble on the bottom step turning in time to see something power fast and hard through from the stairs behind me. Literally through, smashing stone as they batter their way through the tight opening, because they’re massive, definitely as big as the golem. Grol … gods, any other time I’d be happy to see him. Not right now.
I barely have time to throw myself aside in time as he pounds forward, but in truth I doubt he’s even noticed me this time, he’s clearly focused on Driver 8. Clearing the steps in a single step, he charges forward, head down and back arched as he drops to all fours to power into a full gallop. Heading straight for his intended target.
Everybody with the presence of mind to recognise the danger moves out of the way as Grol comes steaming in, heading straight for the golem with destruction foremost in his mind, prepared to exact ruinous vengeance for his dead kin upon the ancient machine. In the chaos I close the remaining distance on Noric as he’s about to take advantage of Kesla’s momentary distraction, and as ogre meets golem I forget about trying anything fancy and just shove Art out of the way before he can attack himself. As he stumbles I drop my shoulders and just charge in, and Noric’s not quick enough catching the movement as I plough right into him.
We go down in a tangle and Noric loses his sword in the struggle, and as he reacts I get his elbow in my jaw and for a moment everything goes white and I lose my own blades too. I shake it off and shift my elbow in time to block a knee, then forget any remaining pretence of remaining restraint, jamming my own knee as hard as I can into his comparatively unarmoured crotch.
It's not a perfect shot, one of the faulds hanging from his waist jams my thigh pretty hard, but I hit home with enough force to achieve the desired effect. He gasps, heavily winded as the fight goes right out of him, and when I roll off, rubbing the angry sore spot in my thigh, he curls up on himself, a tiny keening sound escaping the back of his throat. “Oooooooh … you fucking bitch …” he manages to wheeze out, voice cranked a few octaves higher.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter as I work to pick myself up again, realising my head’s still ringing a little. “But this isn’t about us. I have to stop her before this gets out of hand.”
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When he looks up at me, narrowed eyes swimming with tears, there’s just confusion in them. “What … what are you …”
Since I don’t have time to explain myself, I just turn away as I stand up again, wobbling unsteadily for a moment before finally getting my head straight, and round on Kesla as she moves up to finish the job. “Forget it.” I growl, very much a warning. “Just go. Get to Ashsong now, while there’s a chance.”
I can’t really make out her face under that helmet, but I can just about make out her eyes glaring through, and while they’re still hot with violence there’s sense in them. She pauses for just a moment, looking at me, then nods, giving Art a slap on his shoulder as she breaks away, and he follows. Scooping up my sword and dagger, I scramble right after them.
From the look of it, Driver 8’s barely fazed by the new arrival, taking Grol’s threat in his stride as he fights him off with a harsh backhander from his axe that slams him right down, un-cleaved but momentarily dazed. The golem then follows through with a haymaker with his sword that takes half a dozen of unfortunate fighters around him apart in one fell swoop, and those behind stumble back in shock as they’re splashed by the results. Kesla and Art are taking advantage of the diversion as they scramble up the side of the wall, and it takes me a moment to realise they’re making a beeline for the wrong doorway. Now I’ll admit I’m still a bit rattled, a little from Noric’s hit but mostly just from all the shit going on around me, but I’m together enough to realise that’s not where we’re supposed to be going. “Wrong door! What the hell are you –”
“Ashsong’s not upstairs, he went down!” Kesla hisses over her shoulder, stepping back at the last moment to avoid a swing from one of the more opportunistic bystanders, although it seems to have been more accident of chance than really planned. Looks like Turg, although with all that blood splashed on his wild, raging face it’s no simple thing to recognise him in the head of the moment. I don’t have time to beg Kesla to check her response, but maybe she’s mindful of me after all because she doesn’t swing to kill, instead dealing him a hard crack across his skull with the blunt of her left-hand axe and putting him down.
“But … I don’t get it!” I shout back as we continue and I try very hard not to linger on Turg’s slumped form, just thankful he’s probably still breathing. “What the hell is he doing down there? They can’t be here already, can they?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Kesla just pushes on, and as another one stumbles back into her path she doesn’t even bother striking out, instead just shoulder-checking them hard and sending them sprawling out of her path. “All I know is that’s where he is now, so that’s where I’m headed, same as the others.”
That reminds me of the rest of our party, and I look sideways now, slowing for a moment as I try to locate them in the milling chaos. Right now most of my own people who remain fit enough to fight point are just doing the best they can to get out of the way of the two behemoths still making a concerted effort to batter each other, but it’s still hard to make that much out in this crowd. I finally catch sight of them though, just barely, seeing Garnon at least as he ducks through a gap before he can be spotted, and there’s a flicker of a mystical glow ahead of him that could only be one of those holy symbols of Krakka’s armour. I just have to trust that Tarrow’s still with them and not lying somewhere, bleeding out or already gone.
Kesla stops suddenly ahead of me and I have to pull back fast to keep from impaling her in my surprise, or at least poking her impressive armour. A few of the more attentive people have realised the threat among them and moved into our path, the first already making their attack, and Kesla doesn’t give them any chance at all. The first I see of who it actually is, it’s Felin’s already lifeless corpse toppling sideways into view with her head falling free from her severed neck. The sword in her dead hand looks to have been shattered leaving just a few inches of sheared blade above the guard. I freeze again.
“Shay!” Art growls behind me “Snap out of it!”
I catch movement to my side but I’m too shaken to counter, and it’s only my deep-set survival instincts that make me duck as the wildly swung broadsword misses my face. Art’s already drawing back from a swift lunge to the attacking orc’s chest and whips in again to deliver two more blurring swift jabs to compliment the original wound. As I fall back against the wall and finally come back to myself I see Utug stumble unsteadily as blood pours down his front, sword slipping from limp fingers as he falls forward into the base of the wall to my side. Art’s not even there now, he’s already whipped past to back Kesla up.
Shaking my head to clear it again, I grit my teeth and growl at myself to get it together. This isn’t the time, there is no time, we need to move. Adjusting my grips, I turn back to the path to find Kesla and Art are already forging ahead again now the path’s clear of immediate threats, and I have to scramble to catch up again. Then we’re on the other side of the mess and the doorway’s right ahead of us.
Something hits me from behind and I go down hard. My chin hits the floor before I can quite stop myself and I see a white flash while pain blooms in my jaw, but the stars don’t spin through my head for long and I’m back to myself soon enough, already rolling over to face whatever new threat this is. I find the weight lying across me and it’s a body, unmoving, broken once I get a look at it and throw it off, realising it’s just been tossed in my direction, a victim of the golem and ogre fight. Except there’s someone else already surging up on me, intent on using my momentary surprise to their advantage.
Noric’s given up on friendship now as he swings his big sword above his head as he charges in, set on ending me fast it would seem. There’s a complicated look on his face, but while I think there may be some regret in there there’s too much angry resolve to cast it aside, and while I’m sprawled here my options are very limited. I raise my sword in the vain hope of warding off the hit but I know my comparatively light, slender blade won’t save me.
A lightning bolt catches him full-on from the side and smashes him into the wall hard enough to dent the stone, cracking and crumbling from the impact while he dances, wracked with pain as he keens like a wounded beast. His sword clatters at my feet and arcing lines of static play across it, but it doesn’t hold my attention for long because the bolt continues to blaze, holding Noric in place as he flails, then suddenly it’s gone again. For a moment Noric stays where he is, a foot above the floor as he’s pressed maybe three inches into the dented stonework, and he’s almost entirely black and scorched, limp now. Then he drops, and smoke pours from him. He doesn’t move.
Gods … how did … what –
A firm, powerful hand takes hold of my shoulder and slips under my armpit to start lifting me, and I don’t fight it even though I don’t yet know who it is. Turning, I find the familiar scaly face of Garnon, watchful as they help me up, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them look this concerned before. “Are you all right?”
“Am I … am I all right?” I blink, a little unsteady for a moment as they prop me up, but I find my balance quickly. My eyes stray to Noric, who’s already turning stiff while his limps start to curl. “Garnon, what did you do?”
“I … I didn’t … I didn’t think. You were in danger and I just … reacted.” He looks so stricken now, staring at Noric with dawning horror. “Oh fuck … Shay, what … what did I –”
“No time, no time, keep moving!” Krakka growls as he shoves past us without even looking, plunging straight through the doorway and moving down the stairs in a great clatter of armour I can hear even over the battle. Then Tarrow appears and stops dead when he realises we’re in his path, his eyes going wide.
“Oh, it’s you … you’re okay … are you –”
Fuck the situation, I don’t care, I just scoop him up and give him the tightest hug I can. He wheezes as I squeeze him hard, and when he finally starts to squirm I release him, but he only looks a little reproachful. Mostly he seems relieved to see me, but there’s sadness too. He’s a bloody mess, now I see him, but from what I can tell not much of it is his, which explains his mood better than words ever could. “Oh gods, Tarrow, I’m –”
“Never mind.” He swipes his wrist across his eyes even though the tears haven’t come yet, and it just makes his face an even more gory mess. “Ashsong.”
“Right.” I see movement behind him, and I’m ready to throw him behind me and ready a defence, but I recognise Roe and I have to really control myself to keep from rushing up and hugging him too. Clearwood’s toddling along behind him, struggling to keep up on his tiny legs, but like Roe he looks to have been in pretty good shape. Neither of them seem to have been up to much violence since they ported in upstairs, likely only chancing their way down here once all the noise started.
Shoving Tarrow past me after all, I usher him to the doorway and he clearly sees enough sense not to argue with me, starting to descend without a word. Garnon hesitates for a moment, still a little stricken by Noric’s smoking corpse, but he snaps out of it when I give his shoulder a good thump and gives me a look. I nod down the stairs and he seems to get it, ducking through and starting his own descent. I turn back to the remaining members of our group.
As Roe reaches me something slams hard into the wall just inches behind Clearwood and the impact is great enough for the whole chamber to shake hard enough that dust falls from the ceiling. The carven stone of the wall itself pretty much explodes, a tiny avalanche half engulfing the upper body, but it’s a big one, almost seems it’s made of stone itself, and I realise it’s Grol. He doesn’t move as he’s half buried.
Clearwood’s thrown off his feet in his sheer proximity to the hit, and as he sprawls a few who aren’t completely distracted by the death of our ogre take notice. Shit. I shove past Roe and rush for the halfling as he starts to pick himself up, already mindful that a few of them are already going for their weapons.
Medra pulls back to chop down on him as he starts to stumble towards us and I don’t even bother trying an attack, I just barge her right off her feet. Others turn to me as I check myself before stumbling, and I realise I’ve just opened myself up to getting cut down on the spot, but then a great shadow looms over them all from behind and my blood turns cold. “Look out!” I shout, pointing behind them, and I sheathe my sword, bloody as it is, the moment they turn, using my now free hand to grab hold of Clearwood’s arm while they realise that Driver 8’s closing on them and they just scatter.
Pulling him up, I just unceremoniously tuck him under my arm and start scrambling back to the doorway. I know the golem’s supposed to be on our side but he’s hard to really trust after seeing what he’s really capable of, so I just duck my head and scamper on while Roe beckons me in, sword in hand and ready as he watches with wide eyes. I can hear fresh screams and devastation following me and it’s safe to assume that Driver 8 is essentially moving into position to cover our progress and make sure no-one else follows. It’d be a relief if I wasn’t hearing my friends being slaughtered.
I let Clearwood down as I stoop into the doorway and set him on the step behind me, taking a moment to regain my breath a little while leaning against the wall. Roe’s starts to step down behind us, and he looks a little sick now as he turns away from what’s going on out there. Our eyes meet for a moment and he looks away faster than I do. Gods … again it hits home just what we’ve done here.
“Thank you for that.” Clearwood breathes after straightening himself out, laying a gentle hand on my wrist, respectful with his touch as he looks up at me. “I’m very sorry for what’s happening here, for the sacrifices your people are having to make. I’m sorry we couldn’t prevent it. It was just bad luck. There’s no time for grief, though. We have to end this now before it gets much, much worse.”
Looking down at him, it’s all I can do to stop myself from throwing his hand off, from pitching him down the stairs in rage, from spitting in his face and screaming at the top of my lungs. For the smallest moment I want to kill him on the spot. It passes in a blink. He’s right. “Yeah. Of course. Let’s go.”
“Get on my back.” Roe sighs as he steps down past the halfling. “If we need to move fast we can’t afford to waste time waiting for you again.”
If Clearwood’s affronted by the suggestion he hides it well, simply considering for a moment before nodding. When Roe stoops he clambers onto his back and wraps his arms around his neck, and when my friend stands up again he uses his free hand to get a grip on the corresponding leg wrapped around his trunk, the other keeping his sword at the ready.
Leading the way down the stairs, I draw my own sword again. Or at least I try to. Damn it … it’s stuck. I didn’t get a chance to wipe it clean or at least shake off as much excess blood as I could, and now the blade’s stuck in its scabbard. Shit. Stopping where I am with Roe halting again behind me, I give the sword a little twist and push and try again, and it finally comes unstuck with a slick wet popping sound. Great, the sheath’s a mess now, then. I’m going to have to deal with that later, if we survive this.
“Shay, we need to –”
“Yeah, I know. I’m good.” I give the sword a little whip and a little more blood falls away, but my blades really are generously slicked, and it makes me a little sick looking at them. Choking the feeling down I continue down the stairs, and a little before I reach the bottom I realise the others are waiting for us.
As I come down I prepare a reproach, ready to admonish them for halting their progress for us, but the rest of the corridor’s in view now and I realise why they’ve stopped. The light’s more fitful here, but we’re deep in the mountain now, the vault’s directly beyond the huge iron door at the far end of the passage, and the torches ensconced in the walls are all that light this scene. But even without it I’d see clear enough, and this is the worst obstacle I could’ve possibly expected to find barring our way.
Min the Reckless stands before the door, feet planted and jaw set, watching us with cold calm. She’s certainly ready for a hard fight, you could tell that even if you didn’t know her. She’s strapped into her best armour, a heavy suit of dark full steel plate that’s seen a lot of use over the years, generously scarred from dozens of battles but never penetrated, and she’s holding her most fearsome weapon in both hands, ready for violence. It's a long-shafted battleaxe, the heavy, bearded blade as scored as her armour but still honed to a razor’s edge, the vicious hooked spike on the backend far more intimidating now I’m seeing it from the perspective of a potential opponent.
“That’s far enough.” she growls. There’s no need for her to shout, even if this passage didn’t have impressive acoustics her voice would carry well enough anyway. “I don’t care how you think this is going to go. You won’t win this.”
I can’t see her face from this angle, but the way Kesla’s stood, blazing axes tightly gripped with a slight quiver of purposeful energy still surging through her, I can tell she’s fully prepared to charge right here. I can’t let this happen. I push past the group and, after a moment’s hesitation, Kesla too, feeling her stiffen as well as seeing it through the corner of my eye as I graze her. She tightens up, not expecting an attack but ready to respond to one all the same, and I can tell she comes really close to reacting to me then, but just manages to hold herself short in time. I give her a look and she regards me for a few moments, but with the helmet still on I have no idea what she’s thinking.
“You won’t win this one.” I whisper as low as I can “I promise, this is a bad match. She’ll kill you. Leave this to me.”
Kesla looks at me for a moment more, and I think I can just about make out a little easing of the tension in her jaw. Possibly. Then she nods, and I return it.
Stepping in front of her now, I turn to face my mother, moving forward a few more paces so I can let her get a proper look at me. At the state I’m in after what this situation has forced me to do. I take a deep breath and plant my own feet.
“Mother, please. Just stop. It’s not too late.”
Her eyes wander over me, down, then up, then down again. Lingering on my blades, all the blood splashed across me, my hands, my wrists, as slick and filthy as my weapons. I know there are generous streaks across my face even, I tasted enough of it on my way here. I must look like a nightmare.
Certainly that’s what her eyes tell me when they return to my face. Her own, usually so stony, starts to break, the emotion she usually keeps buried deep coming up all at once, and she looks so crestfallen, maybe even a littler fearful. “Shay … gods, Shay … what have you done?”
“What I had to do. What you made me do. This is all your fault. You took Ashsong’s money, accepted his job, and now you’ve made me kill people I love. All because of your fucking honour. Because you had to save face. I told you. I warned you, and you didn’t listen. Now here we are. I’m covered with the blood of friends and family, and you’ve sided with a madman and a monster.”
“Shay …” She falters, her voice breaking, and for a moment there’s just sorrow in her face, in her eyes. Then she looks down at my blades again, and when her eyes rise again they’re hard as flint. Their pale gold starts to darken now, as the anger rises in her those irises turn red as blood. Shit. “No. I can’t … you’ve betrayed me. You’ve murdered your own, you betrayed all of us.”
“For fuck’s sake, mother, just stop it! This is crazy! Why would I betray you, or any of them? Why? You didn’t give me a choice, I had to do this, we have to stop this! Please come back to me before it’s too late!”
Min shakes her head, her brow deeply creased, a troubled look whipping across her face. Like she’s fighting something … gods, Clearwood might be right. Maybe there is something at play here besides my mother’s pride, maybe I can still get through to her. I just have to keep pressing.
“He’s in your head, mother. He’s working you like a puppet. He’s got his dirty little claws in your mind, but he’s kept it subtle, so you wouldn’t notice. Now he’s got you working against your own conscience and forced you to turn against your own blood. I’m trying to save you, please listen to me. You need to come back to me. Please.”
A few blinks, and for a moment that red in her eyes starts to pale, the rage clearing a little. I might have gotten through to her. But then she snarls deep in her throat and the fire engulfs her again, all she can see is blood. I know that sensation, I’ve felt is a few times myself, the rage is powerful. It’s a weapon as sure as anything an orc can wield with their hands, but it also make us a little stupid. There’s no more reasoning with her now, I’ve lost her.
As she tightens up, ready to spring into a charge, I feel my own muscles coiling, already knowing it’s has to be me responding to this. I can’t let Kesla be the one to answer this, ready as I know she is. It has to be me.
“Go.” I mutter under my breath. My mother can probably still pick up on it, but I can’t help that. “While we’re fighting. You need to go while I hold her. Go now.”
“What …” For the first time there’s doubt in Kesla’s voice. “Shay, what … you can’t –”
“No!” I don’t recognise the cry immediately, but when he rushes past me it hits me, it’s Roe, already bringing his sword to bear for a hard thrust as he powers forward with everything he has. I shout his name as he charges and if it even reaches him he gives no reaction, and my mother’s already prepared. She turns at the last and the thrust misses her midsection by inches as she wheels about and lets him stumble past, and her axe takes him in the back on the counter-swing. The blade sinks deep and sticks fast, and a look of confusion flashes across her face, turning into slow realisation as recognition hits.
“Gods … no …” I hear her gasp, and I rush forward, not even thinking now as I drop my weapons. All I can think of now is Roe dying in his oldest friend’s arms and I have to reach him before he’s gone.
Goddammit Roe, I know you too well. There was no way he ever could have pierced my mother’s armour with that sword, no matter how precise or powerful the thrust. He knew that, but he tried anyway. He did it because laying down his own life was the only way he had left to get through to the best friend he ever had, a woman he’s loved and respected as long as he’s known her. Gods, I really hope he finally managed it.
As I reach them my mother’s already on her knees, cradling Roe as he twitches, wracked with pain while blood pours from his mouth, and he’s gasping for air. The look on my mother’s face is pure horror, thoroughly dismayed by what she’s just done, she knows she’s gone too far and Roe’s plan worked after all, whatever hooks Ashsong had in her she’s broken free now. She turns to me as I fall to my own knees beside them, and she’s breaking badly. “Oh gods Shay, what have I … what … what can I do … help me please …”
“We need to … we have to … oh fuck …” I put my hand on Roe’s chest and he gapes up at me, working his mouth like a landed fish, drowning in his own blood. “I can’t do anything … we need … Krakka!”
I hear him coming before he reaches us, loud on the stone of the floor, and the extra loud thunk close by tells me he’s just laid down his hammer as he pours over the scene. “I … oh hell … this is bad. I can … we need to get the blade out of him, I can’t fix this while it’s still in, but I’ll have to work fast, he’ll bleed out quickly –”
“No …” Roe wheezes, spitting bright red bubbles. His eyes are glassy now, but there’s enough focus in them still to catch us all. “Save the … prayers … you’re going to need … everything you have … finish Ashsong …”
“Gods, no … Roe, please –”
“Shay … Min … it’s been my life’s honour and my great joy … to have known you both … to have fought alongside you …”
“Stop it, oh you stupid idiot, just –”
“Get in there and kill him!” he spits in my face with all the anger he can muster, which in truth doesn’t seem like much, he’s all but spent. “Make this … make it right …” He goes fast now, his final word turning into a low sigh that peters out in a wet rattle, and his head slumps as that last little spark of light in his eyes snuffs out.
“Oh gods … no …” I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother cry before, but tears are pouring down her cheeks now, her features contorting in sorrow and grief, and there’s guilt in there too. A sob escapes her, then a second, and then a snarl as she fights to choke it all back down, and then she drops Roe’s body, no ceremony, as she surges back to her feet. I have to scramble to react in time as she rounds on the others.
“You … you did this … this is your fault!”
“Mother, please, just stop it!” I try not to scream it but don’t quite succeed. I put my hand on her shoulder and she doesn’t shrug me off, but I doubt she can even feel it through the armour. “They’re just trying to help. They didn’t do this. You didn’t do this, not really. Roe chose it, to reach you. This is all Ashsong’s fault. Please can you just hear me on that?”
She glares daggers at Kesla for a long time, and I can see the mercenary’s still tense, but now I think it’s more nervous anticipation, just in case she has to fight off another attack after all. Those axes still glow white hot, and I don’t like to think of the kind of damage they could do to my mother right now, seething with that kind of righteous power. And how much would it actually take to stop her, the way she is right now?
Then she lets a long, ragged breath out, still hitching a little in her grief, but she’s coming back to herself. The blood still colours her eyes but not so bright now, they’re more amber, and that’s a good sign. Finally they turn and take me in again, a softening in them that’s a small relief to me despite the tragedy of the moment. “Shay, I … gods, I’m so sorry …”
“No, Roe was right, we have to finish him. Otherwise our friend died for nothing, just like every other one of our friends up there. Please be with me on this.” I offering her my hand.
There’s no hesitation at all in her as she takes it, such a tight squeeze it’s a wonder she doesn’t crush my fingers in that huge gauntlet. She leans into me then and I respond, and as our brows touch I close my eyes, finally able to breathe again.
“Let’s end that bastard.”