Fuck, that lizardman hits hard. He’s tall, easily tall as me, but skinny, I’m surprised he could put so much power behind such a potent shoulder-check, but he pulled it off this time. It didn’t really hurt much at the time, but when I landed, that was painful, and I wound up rolling a fair ways down the slope before I came to a rest. For a moment or two I just lay there, dazed, before dragging myself up, and then I had to waste further precious moments scrambling back up the rise and trying to find my sword. So I was too late to save Art.

Tham … something like that, whatever they hell it was that the imori said, I realise now it must be the archer’s name. I caught sight of her, just inside the range of the light from Krakka’s strange clerical spell, drawing her bow with the arrow aimed square just as he spoke, and she’d already let fly before I could warn him. Thank Thorin, then, for Art’s own uncanny reflexes, he must have heard the shot as she took it because he was already twisting when the shaft caught him, so it didn’t just kill him on the spot. But he still went down, tumbling out of sight, and now I screamed his name even though I knew it was a pointless gesture.

I’m mad now. In the end I don’t bother clawing my sword up out of the dirt, instead I just pull one of the smaller knives I keep strapped up between my shoulder-blades and hurl it at the archer. Hoping I’ll hit her but figuring it’s an even chance I won’t. It’s never been one of my great skills.

She sees it coming, but I ain’t too surprised, I did scream so I’ve given away my presence like an idiot. She swats the knife away but it makes her stumble all the same, clearly I caught her enough by surprise for that, and it gives me the spur I need to attack. So I charge forward at a low, fast crouch, finally snatching Ashsong’s sword up in a little cloud of dust while I’m moving. Preparing to cut her down before she can get her shit together enough to draw and loose on me too …

She’s another halfling, I realise, but next to Darwyn it’s like night and day. This one seems naturally deep tanned, even in this light, suggesting she may be from a good deal further south, which alongside the imori is starting to suggest a theme. Her shaggy black hair’s bound into two high-pinned buns on her head with loose bangs lining her face, and she’s very pretty, even as she’s startled. She’s more typical of a halfling, though, fuller of face than Darwyn, her cheeks rounder, her nose broader and more pronounced, and a fierce intelligence burning in her eyes. They’re brighter than I would’ve thought, what looks like a particularly striking hazel colour, constantly darting about in this strange light.

On the surface she dresses passingly like Yeslee, although there’s more of a professional warrior’s style in her mixture, rather than a woodland ranger type like our Fir Bolg. Like all halflings, she’s clearly happy to move around in bare feet, wrapping her shins, hands and wrists in broad, wound cloth bandages, while she’s not so much armoured as simply padded for speed and ease of movement, favouring a simple, thick gambeson. She carries a knife on her right hip and shortsword on her left, while her compound recurve bow’s almost big enough to look like a longbow in her hands, and from what I’ve seen she certainly doesn’t lack for power in her draw despite her size. She also certainly has quick hands, she’s already pulled another arrow and is scrambling backwards to try and open enough ground to draw on me before I can reach her.

Certainly it’s enough to spur a little extra speed into my own step. Just because I’m so much bigger than she is doesn’t make me any more inclined to take it easy on her, not after she’s hurt my friend. I pull low and barrel forward as hard as I can, cocking my sword ready to cut her down.

Except that in the heat of the moment I seem to have forgotten the bigger threat here. The imori closes faster than I would’ve expected and it’s all I can do to spring aside at the last as he cuts across my middle, his blade coming within a whisker of laying my belly open. Or maybe not, I’m already well aware of how good this armour is. Mostly I just react on instinct, but it’s enough to check my charge as I’m forced to shift my attention. Which could be a problem …

Mindful I have a live archer tracking me, I keep moving, even though it’s got me itching badly. So when he recovers fast and makes another swipe at me I throw myself into a cool, tight roll back the other way, working on putting him between me and the halfling as I find my feet again. I keep low and loose as I back up a step, then two, patient now as I evaluate the threat right in front of me while he’s clearly doing the same with me. The archer hasn’t moved yet, slackening her bow as she’s likely rethinking her own options, and I keep as much attention on her as I dare, waiting for her to try to flank around to find a better shot. All the time trying to concentrate on my closer opponent, knowing he’s the real danger here.

For what feels like a very long moment indeed we just watch each other, and the way he’s drawn down too, crouching much as I am while he holds his sword out in a ready guard while he has the dagger in his offhand cocked low, I get the feeling he’s biding his time. Waiting for me to make the first move. He hasn’t seen me fight yet, but I’ve seen him in motion and he is scary fast, I genuinely don’t know if I can beat him, but … right now, he doesn’t know that. Like any true pro, he’s being wary. That’s interesting in itself.

Then the halfling makes her mind up and takes up some of the tension on her bowstring again, crouching some herself as she starts to shift around to the right, and I start to itch even more as I realise I’m either going to have to move or stay. Either way I’m opening myself up to attack, either from the imori if he senses an opportunity or an arrow if the archer gets a decent vantage. Maybe my opponent senses my apprehension, there’s the slightest, subtlest shift in his stance now, while his eyes narrow just a fraction as they stay locked on mine. Ready for either, clearly …

Only for the halfling to get bowled clean off her feet as something bright smashes into her with all the subtlety of a miniature thunderclap. I’ve seen this a few times now in the company I’ve been keeping, so I recognise Krakka’s particularly striking godly smite as she’s tossed several feet off to the side in a clumsy, startled cartwheel. She manages to keep hold of her bow, but I can just make out the shattered remnants of the arrow scattering in all directions, and I get the impression that the bowstring’s good and snapped now too.

The imori hears the cracking sound behind him and can’t help reacting, turning a little before he can help himself as his attention’s stolen, and I don’t hesitate to react in the very same beat, knowing I might not get a better chance by waiting. So I pounce, turning his sword aside with my knife and flicking my own longer blade for his throat as I surge up at him, driving as much force as I can into the stroke with the hope I might be able to lop his head off and end it right here.

My da told me stories about imori when I was growing up, the way he described them was enough to give me nightmares, really. They’re genuinely infamous for their uncanny speed and agility, even the Guild’s finest assassins are put to shame beside them. Worse, they’re about the most cold-blooded race on the face of the Day Lands, not just physically but in morality, almost seeming to revel in murder, which is something they truly excel at. Seeing him attacking Art told me this truly wasn’t just idle rumours.

So I’m not surprised when he ducks my sword almost without even needing to see it coming. It’s close, at least, less than a hair’s breadth but a miss all the same, and as he ducks I find myself a little overextended, having to steady myself as I spin away from him before I can find my feet again. I manage to check it just before I lose sight of him, though, so I don’t quite miss him turning his evasion into a spinning kick, so I just throw myself aside so his foot whistles clean over my head. I drop, roll and whip back around, ready to respond, and that’s when I realise he kept moving, adapting yet again, and this time I am too late …

His tail sweeps my feet out from under me and I’m pitched backwards, but instead of dropping like a stone I twist in the air as much as I can, fighting to adapt in the same way he did. I do not want to find myself lying prone in front of this opponent, so when I do hit the ground I roll over, somewhat awkward but I still manage to get my legs around enough that I find them again on the other side, and instead of straightening up I just scuttle back fast. Opening more space between us as I turn back to him, bringing Ashsong’s sword up again, poised to ward him off if he tries anything.

Instead he just shifts his weight, straightening up now as he looks me over. This time when he bares his teeth it could almost pass for a smile, and it gives me chills. “Interesting … you must be the one she fought the other night. She said she killed you, though. You’re looking unusually spry for a dead woman.”

“Yeah, well cleric magic’s great like that.” I growl back, subtly shifting my stance to open up another inch or two. I raise my blade a little higher but also draw it closer, taking a more ready guard now. This is starting to feel like a distraction.

“Oh yes, that’s right. They said you’ve been hiding in the Round. Which temple, I wonder?”

“Surely you know better than to ask? I’d have to be an idiot to actually tell you.”

His grin widens a little at that, growing even more unsettling, if that’s actually possible. “Of course. Although simply through process of elimination given your company … Minerva, surely. You’re working for the Silver Order, after all.”

I can’t help narrowing my eyes at that, and it might have been a further attempt to worm past my defences with his words because he comes quick. I’m on the ball, though, enough at least to spot his feint and ignore the bait, so when he swipes at my side on the counter I flick my sword across and swat it aside. It doesn’t unbalance him, he’s too controlled and precise to overextend himself, immediately following up with a slash at my face so quick I don’t actually see it coming, simply reacting on instinct. I twist aside and feel the wind of the blade brushing my cheek, close enough to sting a little, and scuttle back as I turn a desperate one-handed swipe up to counter it.

He spins away, still grinning like he’s actually enjoying this as I stumble a step before righting myself, and I start to suspect maybe he is. His eyes are blazing bright as he weaves about, looking for an opening as he circles one way and then the other, and I step fast to block him even as I keep backing up, hoping to open more ground between us. He’s playing with me now, he’s got my measure and I think he can tell I’m not his equal.

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When he lunges this time it doesn’t feel like a feint, and I hop back even as I swing to swat it aside, but he doesn’t follow through after all, instead weaving aside before I even know it, and then my back foot crunches down on broken earth and I stumble. Fuck … he’s backed me right into the shattered line of holy light and I’m too late realising it as my ankle turns on the uneven ground and I have to peddle to correct as I find my weight shifting beyond my control. I manage to keep the cry from escaping me as I stumble, but that’s all I keep, my balance good and gone now as my one good foot slips out from under me on the loose soil and I start to drop. This time I don’t even try to stop the word as I breathe: “Shit!”

This is just what the imori was waiting for, his plan paying off perfectly, and he springs almost before I start to go down, again almost seeming to blur in front of me, enough that I can’t even see his blades now. The next thing I know I’m tumbling right through the strange, smoky light and it feels cold, genuinely freezing in fact, and just as numbing, so as I fight to turn my tumble into a roll I feel how slow my body is responding. Is this some kind of effect? Has Krakka’s goddess just killed me by accident?

While I’m still fighting to pull my legs up under me the world just seems to slow to a crawl around me, but he still seems to be moving so quickly compared to the rest of it, coming fast now as he lunges. I can see his sword’s swing now, knowing it’ll catch me high in my side before I can twist out of its way, my heart in my throat now as I try to force my body to work even though I know it won’t make any real difference. I’m about to die, I’m sure of it.

Then something shiny bright whips through the air from his left and when it strikes it’s like he’s been hit by a battering ram. I see him fold around the hit, managing to hold onto his weapons but crumpling all the same as he’s swatted clean off his feet. Then everything speeds up again as I drop the rest of the way and the light seems to engulf everything. Suddenly my head seems to fill up with cotton wool and I can’t think about much of anything, any more than I can feel it as I land.

The first I know that I’m not actually dead is when Krakka drags me back out of the light and everything comes back. He tows me in fits across the ground by my ankles, and knowing how strong he must be I’m not particularly surprised. Part of it’s down to Serena, I’m sure, his devotion to his goddess grants him uncanny strength which he uses to wield his huge hammer to lethal effect, but he’s also solid and stocky despite his diminutive height. Then he lets go of my ankles and takes a step back, and the way he weaves badly before finding balance tells me he’s taken a hit of his own. I remember when the imori barged him before, it looked like a heavy hit but I didn’t expect it to mess him up this much …

“Are you … Krakka, you still with me?”

Stopping mid-duck as he leans to pick his hammer up again, Krakka swivels his head my way so he can blink towards me, and he’s clearly having trouble focusing. “Am … am I? What? You … you’re the one took … that hit …”

Grunting, I roll over and start forcing myself up onto my hands and knees. The muddiness is still there, a little bit, but fading quickly now, and after giving my head a little shake I’m able to focus enough to force myself back onto my feet. “Oh … bloody hell … maybe you’re right.”

“Nearly … I nearly got you killed …” He drags Bloodmoon a few feet before finally managing to heft it again, and the heavy hammer rips an impressively deep groove in the ground. He wobbles again once he’s upright, and I lunge forward fast, grabbing his arm and yanking him straight before he can drop. “Oh! Thank you … I’m sorry …”

“Forget it.” I keep hold of him for a few moments more, making sure he’s there enough to not just keel over the moment I let go. “How the hell would you have ever been able to predict that? It was just an accident.”

Blinking again, he looks up at me, and this time he’s able to properly focus. He’s bleeding badly, the whole left side of his head is shiny wet from a wound somewhere in his scalp, and it’s darkening his armour and robes even more than usual in the strange cold half-light. “I’m … that lizardman … oof …” He screws his eyes shut tight for a moment, raising his free hand to his brow as he presses his fingers hard into his crown. “Oh, that bastard … that fucking hurt.”

“Can you get your goddess to give you a quick fix?”

“Perhaps …” He groans a little as he drops to one knee now, turning his hammer over so he can set to head on the ground and grip the end while leaning his bowed head against it. “Oh my …” The way he slumps somewhat doing it tells me he’s still feeling light-headed, the hammer’s shaft holding him up as much as anything else now.

Turning around, I cast about, finally realising my hands are empty and we’re still in the middle of an accidental battleground. Fuck … where the hell is my sword? Then I realise I can’t see the imori anywhere, and that makes my skin tingle with fresh goosebumps, my senses perking up as I realise the potential for further threat. “Shit.”

There’s blood, though. Not a lot, just a few scattered droplets on the ground, or maybe it’s all I can make out in the strange, fitful silvery white light. Krakka hurt him then, but of course he did, I saw him take that hit, our cleric lifted him clean off the ground. The fact that he’s not a crumpled broken jumble of long, wiry limbs on the ground just speaks for an even more impressive constitution than I would’ve expected, but he must be messed up from it. He’s just … not here. And after a moment I realise the archer’s gone too, all I can see of her now is the shattered remnants of that arrow.

“Um … Krakka?” I look his way now but he doesn’t respond. He’s muttering quietly now, still slumped but not so much he might be about to pass out, and while I don’t see any change … no, he must be healing. If his goddess is happy to mend the rest of us she won’t even need to think about tending to her own servant’s needs. Especially right now.

I catch sight of a glint of metal just beyond the broken line of light, and I’m sure that’s my sword. Okay, well I’m definitely going to need that …

I’m a foot away from the light when I remember the numbing experience of passing through that light, and it brings me up short. Dropping into a crouch, I ponder for a moment, and need overrides my hesitation, so I just drop to one knee and start to lean in, taking a deep breath and gritting my teeth as I start to reach through. My fingers tingle immediately on contact with that strange smokiness, and I squeeze my eyes to narrowed slits as I just shove my whole arm through, concentrating on just getting this over with as quickly as I can now. My fingers don’t lose all their feeling, at least, there’s enough left that I’m just about able to find the hilt lying just beyond, so I don’t have to shove my head through and risk further brain-freeze as I take up the best grip I can under the circumstances.

Even so, I come close to losing it dragging it back through this mess. The sword almost slips out of my numb fingers just as I’m finally able to yank my hand back through the light, but I whip my other hand up quick and grasp the hilt, and there’s a strange, almost melodic ringing from the metal of the blade as I pull it the rest of the way through. For the split of a second it’s almost like the edge and tip leave a track of light in the air, as if it was a little reluctant to let it go, but if there was resistance I didn’t notice it.

When I try to straighten up I get a small light-headed spell, but it’s gone in a blink and I turn quickly, just in time to intercept some movement on my right. Ignoring my numb left hand now, I grip the sword up in my right alone and tighten my grip as I turn into it, cocking a stroke ready to drive the full length of my blade into the threat when it presents itself –

“Whoa!” Art raises his hand as much as he can and it immediately makes him wince and drop to one knee as his face twists in clear hot pain, and his other hand grips the bloody wound tighter, bringing up a second wince. “Ah! Shit … fuck, Shay, please don’t kill me!”

“Oh!” I lower my sword immediately, giving my numb hand a hard shake now to try and wrest some feeling back into it while I rush forward, already reaching for him. “Yes! Sorry! Fuck … oh gods … are you okay?” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth but it’s already too late.

The look he gives me is enough, anyway. “Thorin … Shay, for such a bright lass you can be a bit dumb sometimes, can’t you?”

“Shut up, Art.” I growl at him, deflecting my own surge of guilt now as I pretend to be offended, but my recrimination doesn’t sound any more convincing to my own ear than it likely does to his. Giving my fingers a last flex, I switch my sword between my hands and dip under his arm as I drop to my own knee, ducking low so I can swing his good arm round my shoulders to help him up. He still hisses loudly in pain as I straighten up as much as I can with our difference in height, breathing fast and heavy now, and I can feel the heat already burning in him, hopefully more from effort and suffering than an infection. “Oh … I’m sorry.”

“It’s … ah! Oh … it’s not your fault, this is just … ah!” He tries to keep his own feet under him as I guide him back to Krakka now, he wants to help but it’s clear his legs are getting rubbery weak now. It’s a nasty wound, I can see now, not just the blood that’s still pouring out of him but the very obvious tear which must have happened when the shaft snapped. The way his arm’s dangling limp as a wet noodle … yeah, it’s definitely broken something.

“Just hold on.”

“That fucking archer … how the hell does a halfling shoot like that? Bloody bow was big as she is.”

“I think perhaps you just answered your own question. That bow had a serious draw on it, hence the power.” As we approach, I see Krakka’s no longer slumping, seeming to have found his strength again, and he must sense our approach because he starts to turn even as he pushes himself upright again. “Um, Krakka?”

“Oh my … Goddess …” His eyes go wide as he takes Art’s wound in and intercepts us in a few big steps, hefting Bloodmoon one-handed now. “Oh, yes … set him down, please.”

Art cries out again as I start to lower him to the ground, but his legs giving out actually helps as I sit him down and drop to one knee beside him. Taking up position on his other side, Krakka sets his hammer standing close by again as he gives his hands a little shake out and reaches for the wound, slow and cautious now, regarding it with a critical eye I’m becoming familiar with.

“My Lady … oh, this is bad. What happened?”

“Bloody shaft broke when I went down.” Art hisses the words through tightly clenched teeth, eyes narrowed by sharp pain. “Feels like something just … snapped in there.”

“Hmmm … well this is going to hurt.” Krakka holds his hands just shy of the wound and gives Art a very stern look. “Ready?”

“Not really.” he growls “But … yeah. Just do it already.”

When Krakka takes hold of him Art stiffens immediately, something halfway between a groan and a full-blooded scream escaping his mouth as the cleric starts probing, and I’m sure he’d have yanked right away from the contact if I hadn’t taken hold of his other arm at the same moment. I’m gentle as I can be gripping him, but I exert force all the same, not wanting him to hurt himself any more. A wound like this, he’s likely not entirely in his right mind right now.

“Shit … well, it’s definitely broken something in there. This is not going to be a quick fix.” Krakka looks at me now. “You need to find the others.”

“What? But what about –”

“Shay! Please.” The look he gives me genuinely takes me by surprise, I don’t think Krakka’s ever looked at me like that before. “Gael … I couldn’t find them. After I took that hit … they were here, and then they weren’t. Something’s happened to them.”

Oh … oh gods no. I don’t so much let go of Art as my fingers just lose all their strength, allowing him to yank his arm free on his own as I step right back up again. I can sort of hear Krakka speaking to the wounded prowler now, warning him that he’s going to have to pull what’s left of the arrow out before he can do anything else, but I’m not listening now as I start to wheel around. When Art screams there’s a part of me that registers it, the wailing anguish as Krakka draws the shaft and head from the wound definitely loud enough, but I’m already walking away in something less like a daze than detached determination.

My friend needs me. Something’s happened to them and they need me, and gods help me but I don’t have the first clue where to actually look for them …