The corridor round me seems to have grown surprisingly still as the dust finally starts to clear in the air after that particularly big blast Gael chucked out there, and from what I can see some of the black-clad fighters seem to be a bit stunned as a result. I’m getting used to it, though, or maybe they’ve got some way of fine-tuning whatever it is they’re doing to make sure none o’ their companions are troubled by it. Either way, when I lower my hands from over my head and start to stand up again, plucking my battleaxe from where I dropped it when I crouched in anticipation, I don’t seem to be experiencing the same effects. Sure ain’t like when we were done in the ruins the other night, when my head was fuzzy and my limbs were jelly. I’m glad o’ that.
That being said, reckon they might’ve gone a little overboard with that one. So I look back as they take in the damage, hearing rather than seeing a huge chunk of plasterboard and shattered wood drop into the gaping hole in the wall ahead, and fix ‘em with a stare. “Go easy, for Thorin’s sake!” I hiss their way.
Their blush is instant, and they grip their staff tight in both hands against their chest in an action I’m coming to recognise as their show of anxiety. I feel bad about snapping, but work not to show it. They need reining in some. “Yes, um … sorry.”
I hear a crack from somewhere behind ‘em, but all I can make out is the glimpse of a bright flash somewhere from the stairs leading up to us now. At the same moment something small and fast scurries round the corner, and I recognise Brung a split before he jumps right on one of the muddy-headed hoods while they’re still trying to get up. The others, making their way after us.
Mindful that whatever pause we just earned will be short, I turn back and start moving forward again, adjusting my grip on the axe’s shaft as I roll my shoulders. It’s timely, some of ‘em are already shaking off the effects, and as I move in a half-orc sees me coming, frowning as his eyes instantly start to darken, and he scrapes his longsword up with surprisingly steady hands as he starts to stumble my way. His first few steps are unsteady, but he keeps moving forward all the same, using his momentum to approach fast, and then he gets his feet under control and it turns into a feral charge as he lets a snarl go and makes a swing.
His blood’s up and he’s still rattled from the hit, so I just sidestep so it chops wide into the wall beside me with a great splash of shattered plaster chips. The wall’s now too weak for it to stick fast, not with his strong arms, so I jump while he’s still just off balance, not trying a big swing of my own in these tight confines but instead just stepping up close in front of him and jabbing his face hard with the axe-head. His nose mashes instantly, a great, bloody wet crunch popping under the heavy impact of good dwarven steel, the only thing I got left o’ my da’s, and he staggers back as he goes blind from pain and stinging tears, swearing in a great guttural grunt.
Not wanting to give him time to regroup, I twist so I can prime a sharp underhand swing round behind me, wheeling my body as I go so I don’t have to worry about the pitiful small amount of space I got to work with. When I snap back round the whole movement’s taken me a short beat, and he’s barely starting to blink through the tears now so he ain’t got time to react as I bring the axe hard up into his gut, whipping my hip round so I can really power through. It could almost be a shame he clearly didn’t have time to put his armour on, instead coming out in simple britches and a cotton undershirt, all he’s got to rely on to block it are his own abdominal muscles …
So the axe just bites deep into his midsection and I drive it into him so hard I actually manage to lift him bodily off his feet. The hit drives all the air right out of him, the only sound he can make is a weak, winded gasp, and his eyes bug wide out at me as he finally starts to focus, too late to actually do anything now. When I finish my swing his toes peddle in the air for a moment before his weight makes my arms sag again and his legs barely manage to support him on the landing before his knees start to give out. As he starts to drag me down I give the axe a hard yank to free it up … and it won’t come.
Shit. I should’ve expected that. Thel, you stupid bint, you put way too much force into that hit, it’s stuck fast in his backbone. As he collapses forward he almost brings me down with him … and there’s someone coming from behind him already. All I can do is let go of my axe, but that means I got nothing in my hands and I don’t think I got time to pull anything else before they’re on me.
I start back-peddling, but I got no chance of opening up sufficient space to give myself time as I start to pull the handaxe on my right free, this one’s coming too fast and they’re more with it than the half-orc was. Human, a woman, I realise, although she’s smaller than the average, broad-shouldered and stocky enough to be a particularly tall dwarf, but her smooth cheeks and smaller hands and feet give her away. She ain’t screaming like I would’ve expected with this kind of hard charge, too focused as her eyes are locked on me, and she’s bringing her shortsword to bear to run me through while she’s cocking her handaxe in the other. About all I got is to maybe throw myself aside at the last second and hope she just charges right by, but I don’t feel over confident about that one …
Something bright blue smacks into her and she’s bowled clean off her feet as whatever hit her knocks her back hard, crackling globules of aquamarine light flaring as they dance away before fading. I find myself stumbling back anyway as I start to wheel about, the axe almost slipping from my fingers as I finally yank it free, too late to actually have done anything with it anyway, but Gael’s already turning aside as the crystal in their staff starts to darken again. As I watch they wind the other end up and smash aside a stab before it can take ‘em in the side, smacking their attacker across the side of the head as they spin the staff back round on the counter.
Not bothering to watch the body go down as I get my own nerves back under control, I turn back to my own business again, seeing the woman rolling over onto her side, groaning loudly while she grasps her heavily smoking armoured chest. I don’t doubt that fucking hurt, I seen Gael use that spell before and it puts you down. But there’s another one already coming, so I ain’t got time to muse on it, instead adjusting my grip on my axe while I fish for the other too.
As I slip it loose I don’t bother waiting for this one to come, I just start my own advance, but don’t charge, preferring to watch what they plan on doing. A human boy, looks awful young actually, younger than I seen amongst this lot so far, looks like he’s lucky enough they managed to get hold of a suit o’ leather armour that actually fits him, he’s still short and skinny. But he ain’t moving with any awkwardness, looks pretty focused as he comes actually, handling his sword with surprising certainty. He ain’t gonna show me any mercy, looks like …
But I can’t cut him down, I know that the moment I step aside as he closes the distance so I can dodge his thrust. He’s already recovering as he plants his feet, not rushing past me like some, he’s on the ball, and as I skip aside he barely misses me with a backhand flick of his blade that has him frowning in some consternation as he realises he didn’t connect this time either. He don’t give me time to breathe here either, rushing me again, and I don’t bother trying to dodge this time, just bringing my shoulder up instead and putting all my weight into a bull rush. He ain’t quite quick enough to realise what I’m doing as I barge him aside, and too close to wall so he just slams right into it, bouncing off with a surpried yelp as I spin round to respond.
I twist my left-hand axe at the last as I swing, so I catch him across the side of his face with the flat of the beard rather than the edge. I don’t pull the strike any, though, and his jaw crunches loud under the impact as the bone breaks badly, making him spit blood and bits of teeth as he spins on the spot. For a moment he manages to keep his feet, wheeling in a drunken stagger now, but his eyes are already rolling up to show the white, and his legs buckle a moment later, spilling him backwards into a clumsy sprawl.
I got room to the next door now, and I make for it even as another one comes for me. This one’s another half-orc, not even bothering with trying anything fancy, having forsaken the blades the others are packing in favour of a spiky mace, and he swings while making a clumsy leap at me. The result is he’s just flailing it at me and hoping for the best while he’s still moving, and the momentum’s enough he’s flying headfirst as it comes whistling at my face.
If I was less on-guard right now he might’ve killed me right here, but instead I just duck and it whistles over my head, smashing into the wall with a great dusty crack as the spiky head breaks clean through the plasterboard. His momentum carries him forward and he squawks with indignant realisation as it occurs to him that he’s sprawling face-first while also wide open to attack. I catch the base of his skull on the backswing with my left-hand axe and don’t even bother to watch the body crumple, I just shuck it free and keep moving.
As I shove my way through the door I step right into a choking haze, suddenly I can’t see anything and can barely breathe. I’m a moment realising that’s a mistake, I already clocked I ain’t alone, there’s shapes in here, some I can sort of work out are beds but others are moving, and coughing, I notice. One seems like it might be somebody trying to dig another out from under a big pile o’ collapsed wood and plaster, but another’s already worked out they ain’t alone either, and then they’re coming at me and I can just make out a muted flash of bare steel. That’s enough to put me on alert and I tighten up as they come at me.
Unable to make out any details in the roiling cloud of dust, I just concentrate on the sword this vague shadow’s hacking at whatever they can see in front of ‘em, and I respond in kind, knocking the blade aside before stepping in to swing with my other axe. I don’t pull this hit any more’n the last, jamming the full beard up into the centre o’ that darker mass in the grey, and they must not see it coming cuz they practically walk right it. I feel the blade strike home and the body jerks, and that nagging voice in the back o’ my head takes too long to remind me that I don’t know who I just killed. Which is a problem, ‘course it is …
Not bothering to step forward, instead I just drag the body on the end of my arm forward and try to blink through the haze at whatever I can make out of a face, hoping whatever strength they got left in their failing legs is enough to keep ‘em from just falling on top o’ me. Ain’t the half-elf, I lucked out there, instead it’s just some nondescript human male spitting blood as he collapses to his knees, so I just give the shaft a little yank upwards to tug the blade loose and yank the axe free. Finally I step aside and the body just topples past me as I step towards the only two other individuals I can be sure are in here.
Waving my axes in front of me to try and clear the air just makes it worse, this whole room’s a mess. As I move forward another cracking sound spills down at my side and a massive chunk of wall falls away, dropping on top of the wreckage already settled in here. As this throws up a fresh cloud to make things worse the buried individual cries out, so even as I lose track of both of ‘em in the blinding wash of fresh dust I can still keep track of roughly where they are. Throwing my arm over my face I try breathing into the crook of my elbow for a few moments while screwing my eyes tight shut so I won’t be blinded, but it stings all the same and I cough out a frustrated little curse. What the fuck was I thinking coming in here?
More coughing close by wrenches my attention and I have to blink over my arm, and for a moment or two all I can see is more swirling haze, tears filling my eyes now as the dust stings ‘em worse. Leaving my arm where it is I blink a few more times, hoping the tears might wash my eyes clean after all, then I can start to make out basic shapes in the blur again and I got a fix again.
“Just …” A gruff voice breaks into a particularly aggravated coughing fit. “Fucking leave me, you …” More hacking. “Fucking idiot …”
“No, I …” The shape ahead of me seems to stiffen now, and I’m a moment realising they rumbled me getting close. “Shit!”
As the one under the rubble starts coughing and spluttering again the other one drags something up from the floor next to them and charges me through the broiling miasma … I realise it’s a sword a split before the blade comes whipping right at my face. Round the same time I realise I actually recognise this sword, then I’m ducking aside to avoid getting my head struck right off …
Something strikes my back and I’m already stumbling aside from a perceived attack when I realise it’s just the frame of a bunkbed. Then the blurred silhouette hacks through the space I was just in and strikes the support instead, cleaving deep into the wood and fouling their blade, and in the seconds it takes ‘em to yank it free again I’m starting to recover my composure. I plant my feet, hawk up a mouthful from my throat and spit it aside as I lunge.
Tog catches the movement surprisingly quickly, but he’s only just the got sword free and he’s on the backfoot in this fight. The parry he manages to turn my own stroke aside is clumsy, if there’d been more art to it he could’ve unbalanced me, instead I’m already swinging my other axe up from under and all he can do to avoid getting tagged is jump back. I press my advantage now and charge into his centre of mass, able to aim myself well enough since we’re so close together my shoulder hits home pretty perfect.
If the bed hadn’t been behind him I might put him down, but instead he tumbles backwards over the mattress and then the whole thing’s in-between us. Shit … yeah, I didn’t really think this out. But my blood’s up so I just jump right up onto the lower bunk after him and keep moving forward, and while he’s already scrambling back to try and clear some distance I just stay hot on his heels now.
He's close, I got him now and he’s on the run. My blood’s up now, I’m so focused I can almost see him now through the dust, and as I jump down on the other side I charge, already winding up for another chop.
Not even bothering to try getting up again, Tog just scrabbles backwards with his heels, swinging his sword in big lairy haymakers that I imagine are intended to ward me off. For a few moments it works, I’m wary enough to realise that if that blade catches me as I try to lunge in that’s gonna ruin my whole day, but finally I throw in a block and my timing’s true, battering the blade aside with a great ringing buzz. I can’t see him well enough to make out his face but I know that hurt, his fingers’ll be screaming from that jolt, and I can make out enough to give me a target as I start to follow through with my other axe. Aiming to cleave that smug little face clean in two even if I won’t get the chance to enjoy his expression when it happens.
“STOP!!!” The shout is … there’s something about it, there’s more to it than just urgency that stays my hand at the very last split, when the beard of my axe must be a single hair’s breadth from his forehead. It’s strange … it’s almost like my whole arm … hell, my whole body has just been locked into a banded prison of thick dwarven steel. I couldn’t move if I tried … and fuck knows I am trying right now.
The thing is, as I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move a single inch, it gives me a moment to think, and I’m quick catching up to the fact I can actually see my opponent now, proper make out his features, really recognising him now. Tog actually really does look younger than I would’ve thought he was before, it’s not just the fact that he’s a half-elf so he’s youthful, but the look on his face gives him away too easily. He’s scared right now, a rabbit in torchlight caught in a night hunt, crossed eyes locked on the blade frozen barely short of the centre of his face. The fear checks me too, I reckon … but actually being able to see it gives me that additional pause I need as I look through the corner of my eye …
Gael’s stood close by, staff in both hands with the crystal blazing bright white in its tip, and now I finally get that the air is suddenly very clear, barely more than the odd stray mote of dust lazily wafting through the air now. Like they’re exuding some kind of aura that’s clearing the air, or maybe they just made it all disperse while I was distracted. They look … different, mind, there’s something smeared right across their mouth, for a moment I think they’ve been splashed with blood, or maybe been chewing on someone, but it don’t look right, it’s more like a powder, although it’s sure red enough to mistake. Then, as I watch, they turn their head aside but keep their eyes locked on me as they spit something out, and I realise that powder ain’t just on their face, they must’ve crammed a handful of whatever it is into their mouth to chew on. Another component for their magic, then.
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“Thel, please, just stop it. You’ve caught him. Don’t kill him.” They’re imploring with their tone, even while their stare remains intense, unblinking even though their eyes must surely be stinging bad as mine have been. “You remember? Why we’re here?”
Fuck … damn it, the skinny kid’s got a point. I’d growl if I could but I can’t, somehow my vocal chords seems to be froze up much as the rest o’ me. All I can move is my eyes, so I just roll ‘em instead, and hope that’s good enough to interpret.
“Oh … shit. Of course …” Gael adjusts their grip on their staff as they shift their stance, moving a little closer, then pauses. “I forgot you can’t … look, just please don’t do anything stupid, okay? I don’t want to freeze you again, but I will. All right?”
There’s nothing I can do but stare right back, but I hope that can convey enough of my frustration to cut through. I see ‘em frown some, and there’s a subtle flush starting in their cheeks again that means they must sense my frustration … then they mutter something under their breath and it’s another of those strange sensory things where it’s felt-not-heard, and my muscles are suddenly released again. I start to collapse, as much because I was frozen in a somewhat overextended position, and I can barely catch myself in time to keep my blade axe from cutting down as I instead fight to swing it aside again.
Tog winces even so as the blade just brushes the bridge of his nose before I can withdraw it, and I know he’s desperate to try and scramble out from under, anything to get away, but I’m already dropping onto all-fours on top of him as my limbs give out. The axes in my hands clatter loudly as I land, and he’s skinny enough I can easily straddle him, my weight clearly substantial enough to lock him in place. He’s a little winded by the impact on his midsection, but mostly just rattled as I sit forward fast so I can lean close to his face. “Hello again.”
“Um … I …” He falters, his eyes locked on mine now, then I catch the scrape of steel as he shifts slightly, remembering the sword still gripped at his side, and I tense, ready to push up so I can swat it aside, although I’m not sure if I can actually keep from killing him after. My blood’s still hot right now.
Except Gael’s already there, I don’t hear their footfalls but their staff suddenly snaps down and batters the sword hard down again, sending the whole thing twisting out of his fingers with a great rattling buzz, and Tog winces again as he snatches his hand away. “Argh … fuckin’ bitch! What are you –”
“Shut … the fuck … up.” I push myself up on my knees now so I can lean forward a little more, bringing my face as close to his face as possible, ‘til I’m pretty much nose-to-nose with him. “Another sound escapes you ain’t asked for I’m gonna break your arm. Just cuz I can’t cut you don’t mean I can’t hurt you.”
He goes very still again after that, looking up at me even as I start to sit back again, finally planting myself on top of his belly now as I draw my knees up so I can plant my feet, and after a moment’s consideration I give both my axes a good hard shake. They’re not so gory as they could be, but they’re still messy, I don’t fancy slipping either one back into their loops just yet, not in this state. So instead I finally just give the left-hand one a little toss down on my side so it thunks fast into the wood of that floor by my side, making sure it’s out of reach of Tog’s own hand, then cast about for something to wipe the other one with.
“Gael?” I hear coughing from outside the room, and as I chance a look up again I see that, in fact, the dust was just forced out of the room and into the corridor instead. After a few moments I hear someone call their name again, then descending into another coughing fit, before a hand emerges from the billow of dust beyond the door and starts shaking about like it’s probing. “For the love of … are you there?”
“Oh! Shit … sorry!” Gael almost drops their staff now as they start juggling it, then steps forward and takes hold of the hand before it can flap about more. “In here.” They pull and Shay is towed into the room, still coughing as they emerge, looking a sorry sight indeed, actually.
I remember seeing her when she first came down from her room in the hotel earlier, dressed up in her full armour and looking pretty fucking lethal if I’m honest. Certainly is was quite the impressive, stirring sight, I already thought she’s attractive but in this getup she’s genuinely hot … but since this all kicked off she’s clearly been through it some. She doesn’t look to have taken any damage, but she’s definitely fucked somebody else up, liberally splashed as she is with blood, although most of it seems to be concentrated around his arms. Unfortunately the dust seems to be clinging to that with some stubbornness now, and as a result it’s giving her a somewhat piebald look.
Looking back down at the boy now, I see his own attention seems to have been drawn by the new arrival, but he’s clearly also been trying to take advantage of my own distraction as he’s reaching for something underneath him, in the small of his back. Tossing the axe to my other hand, I shoot my right hand fast under him and grab hold of his fist as he starts to withdraw it, squeezing good and hard and more than a little pleased to feel how his fingers start to compress a little too much under my grip. He yelps again, flinching as he tries to pull away from me, but I got him tight and I’m still weighing him down, he’s got no leverage right now, so all he can do is comply as I drag his hand up. I give his hand one last little crush, harder than ever this time when I see the knife he clearly intended to draw on me, and this time I hear the bones in it crack.
Needless to say he can’t hold on any longer after that, so when I finally let go he immediately drops the blade, which just clatters at his side. Grasping it with his other hand, he lies back, whimpering in miserable pain, while I fish the knife up off the floor and give it a look over.
“You … ah, fuck, you bitch, I can’t believe you … you broke my fuckin’ hand you little cunt!”
Sitting forward much faster this time, I bring the knife up too and wave it in his face, finally pressing the flat of it against his cheek. “I don’t like that word, don’t reckon there’s any lass likes that word, you unpleasant lanky piece o’ shit. So I suggest you shut your mouth like I already suggested before I decide to just start cutting on you anyways an’ let you choke to death like the rest o’ your mates just cuz I don’t like you any. How about that?”
“I … I thought you …” He shuts up the moment I press the blade a little firmer, even though I’m making every effort to stick with the flat of the blade. As a knife it’s nothing special, but it’s definitely sharp enough to do the trick.
“Maybe, but you an’ me been dancing round each other for a good week now an’ I’m getting a little tired of it. I might actually enjoy getting chewed out for killing you early if it means I can watch you shuffle off this mortal coil.” I cock my head, watching him for a long moment and very much making my point while I do it. “We done?”
He don’t speak, don’t even make a sound, just watches me like I’m a fucking demon, and I can’t help smiling at that. So I just sit back again, tossing the knife over my shoulder to clatter away somewhere in the corner without taking my eyes from his.
“Excellent. Glad we could finally get that sorted out. Best not try anything else, mind.” After a moment I reach to the side and drag one of the blankets loose from the nearest bed, taking up a handful and using it to start wiping my axe clean. Keeping my eyes locked on him the whole time.
“This him?” I hear Shay before she arrives, stepping close now but stopping a few feet short as she seems to tilt in the corner of my eye, likely shifting her weight a little as she regards my prisoner.
“In the flesh.” I slip the axe into its loop on the belt at last, before groping about for a moment before I’m able to retrieve the other, pulling it free from the board without breaking my stare from Tog. “A little beat up but no leaks. As requested.”
I hear the floorboards creak subtly under her as she leans closer, taking a look at him now. “Huh … he is not what I imagined.”
“They seldom are, I found.”
“You all right?” she asks after a moment’s pause, taking me somewhat by surprise. I can’t help breaking eye contact with the boy now so I can look up at her.
“How d’you mean?”
“You’re …” She frowns, reaching up now with a clear intention of brushing her bangs from her face, but she stops short just in time to keep from smearing what’s still all over her gloved hand into her hair. This only seems to deepen her frown. “I’m sorry, but … I mean, you’re in quite a state.”
Looking down again, I inspect myself, for what I realise is actually the first time since we started. I’m pretty liberally caked in dust now myself, it seems, clinging to the blood the same as it is on her, but in my case there’s a good deal more of it. “Hmmm … oh no, I’m fine. None o’ this is mine, any more’n I imagine any o’ that’s yours. They fought hard, but I fought harder.” I look back down at the half-elf, still clutching his hand, watching me with the same rattled wariness. “Most weren’t up to snuff anyway. Once I started moving outside I was through the door almost before there was any real alarm gone up for the rest inside.”
“I see.” Shay says it almost like a sigh, and when I look back this time she looks weary deep in her bones, and I wonder if maybe she’s starting to feel it again, the fatigue. I know she’s been putting a brave face on since we set out this morning, I saw how hard she found that climb. Reckon the fight itself probably didn’t touch her when she was in it, not once her blood was up, but adrenaline can only get you so far. She’ll be crashing now.
But there’s more to it than that. There’s been something in her since we met, if I’m honest, under everything else. A touch of melancholy, I think. Something happened to her, maybe quite recent, even before she almost got killed the other day, something that’s still weighing on her. Something heavy. Every now and then something’ll happen, like seeing something particular dark just triggers it, and she goes all quiet. Withdrawn, haunted even. I seen it before in others, I recognise trauma when I see it.
“Shay.” Gael’s voice seems to stir her quick enough, at least. The young half-orc blinks, her frown evaporating slightly, but I think it’s more just the tone of the voice than anything more specific. “Shay, you might want to see this.”
Gael’s crouching next to the man who’s still trapped under the rubble, clearly having given up trying to drag himself out now he’s seen that he’s surrounded. As Shay turns to regard ‘em both, I sit back, leaning some so I can take a better look myself, but I’m careful to shift my weight as little as possible now while I’m distracted. If the wizard thinks this might be noteworthy …
Hmmm … once I can see past the dust caking part of his face, I get what she might mean as he blinks, spitting a little as he tries to clear his mouth. He’s clearly older than most o’ the folk we been fighting, both in here and before, in the other groups. He’s human, I can see, somewhat rugged and worn, so the years really show … into his forties now at least, maybe older still, and hard-lived years too from the look of it. His face is clean save for a scruff of salt-and-pepper stubble, his jaw thick and square, brow heavy. He’s got the look of a hard, serious man, but something in his eyes, teary as they are from the dust … there’s a clear intelligence in ‘em.
He seems more dressed up than the rest too, like he came from outside instead o’ just throwing the gear on in the rush. He has leather armour on, but it’s pretty rich, and there’s a fine cloak strapped around his shoulder, kid leather gloves on his hands. As I watch Gael looks about, seeming to spot something, the way they frown as they lean forward enough to pluck something up from the floor … with a subtle scrape of metal on wood I realise it’s a sword even before they’ve raised it, holding it out to Shay now. A longsword, styled like the rest of the gear they’ve been using, well-made, simple but of a surprising high quality, but more than that the steel’s unusually dark. Guild-made, then.
When Shay takes the sword from ‘em, she’s clearly thinking the same thing as she lifts it, turning it a few times in her hand as she checks it over. “Hmmm …” She shifts her stance a little, then turns and jabs the sword hard down into the floor so it wedges in place well out of the man’s reach now. Then she takes a step forward and drops into a crouch on his other side from Gael. “Who are you?”
Blinking again, the man looks up at her, and there’s none of the fear I seen in Tog, or would expect in any of the others. He works his mouth a little, and I expect him to spit, but instead he simply growls and mutters: “Piss off.”
“He wouldn’t leave ‘im.” I say after a moment, around the same time the cogs in my head start turning proper again. “Tog, I mean. He was dead set on getting him out.”
“I seen him before.” Darwyn takes us all by surprise, we didn’t see her come in, but she’s stepping over now too, and she doesn’t have to crouch like the rest of ‘em to get a proper good look. The look on her face is complicated, I wonder if there’s more going on with her right now than I can see, but she’s clearly focused right now. “A while back, he was younger, but … yeah, it’s him. When I was just coming up, we had to deal with a bunch o’ punks from down the docks, tried to pull a fast one over on us. Half the crew ended up getting the air cut out of ‘em before we chucked ‘em in the harbour. This was one o’ the ones got let off with a warning, to tell the tale. Didn’t get his name at the time, but … seemed like he might be a bigger deal if he learned his lesson.”
The man looks her over for a moment, then just lets out a frustrated sigh, looking up at Shay. He cocks a brow, as if waiting for her to speak again.
“Who are you?”
For a long beat he just looks back. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” He says it in such a matter-of-fact manner it doesn’t feel like bravado at all.
Cocking their head for a moment, Gael just leans forward and reaches out, and he flinches away from their touch when they poke his face, just by his brow. Where the blood’s running down, from his scalp. The blood … wait.
“He’s still alive.” Gael says it in a low tone, almost as if they’re not really thinking about what they’re saying, it’s just idle musing as they look at the little smears of blood on their fingertips as they work at it with their thumb. “He’s bleeding, and he’s trapped … but he’s still alive.”
For a long, drawn out moment nobody speaks, or moves. ‘Least not in here – I see movement just outside the door, slowly becoming aware that the dust must finally be fading because of it, but mainly cuz I can actually see Krakka standing just outside the doorway now, looking in but not joining us. As he sees me looking he frowns, taking the scene in, but still doesn’t step forward. Like he senses the gravity of the moment.
Finally Shay shoots her hands out, grabbing his left wrist hard and fast before he has a chance to yank it back. He tries to jerk it away now, but when she holds on he stops, giving up at last, and it’s clear he’s one cool customer, he knows he won’t get anywhere fighting her like this so he just won’t bother. So when she starts unstrapping the bracer on his wrist he just lets out a sigh and lowers his face, looking at the floor now. Waiting for the inevitable.
When she’s finally got it free she chucks it away without ceremony, and I find myself shifting a little more, starting to lift my weight ever so slightly as I start to crane so I can get the best view I can. I already suspect what this is, but I wanna see all the same. So when she yanks the sleeve of his shirt up from his wrist I don’t bother fighting the urge anymore, I just step right up as I start to move over, wanting as good a look as I can get now.
His wrist is clean. There’s not so much as a freckle under the thick hairs growing on the back of that forearm, and certainly no tattoo. “Son of a bitch.” I hear myself breathe it before I quite realise I’ve even spoken.
“There’s no mark.” Gael mutters, sounding as surprised as I feel.
“But that’s …” Darwyn look around the rest of us, then past me, and that’s enough for me to remember my charge again, so I’m already turning back to find Tog’s seen enough sense to just stay where he is on the floor when she manages to stutter: “That’s … it’s … but all the others … I mean every other one out there is dead now. Even the ones shouldn’t have died from those wounds …”
“Except him.” Shay muses. When I turn back to her again, reassured Tog’s not going to try anything after all while I ain’t looking, she’s already straightening up again herself. “Because he’s not just one of the flunkies, like the rest.”
For a moment none of us speak, just looking down at the man as he lets a low, frustrated sigh go before finally turning his head so he can look up at Shay again, having to crane somewhat now. He doesn’t look fearful at being caught out, he just seems resigned.
In the end I’m the one who says what the rest must already be thinking. “So this is Vik.”
“Yeah.” Shay’s actually starting to smile now as she turns to me again. “It fucking is.”
“Well that’s a neat turn-up for the books.” I start grinning myself, although reckon mine’s got more of an edge. “Best part is it means we don’t need this little twerp anymore.”
Reckon I see the start of a frown form on Shay’s face as she catches up to my meaning, but by then I’m already moving. I don’t bother going back, I just wind up with the axe still in my hand as I turn, using the twist to help me whip it as I toss it spinning at Tog’s face while he’s still propping himself up. He don’t have time to react, barely even gets a chance for his eyes to widen before the axe splits his skull with a nice, satisfying thwack, and he’s dead before his limp body hits the boards again.
Letting out a long, relieved sigh, I give my neck a little roll to work out the kinks and look down at my hands, then have a crack at dusting ‘em off. I’m a few moments noticing the dead silence in the room, but when I look up I make the connection at last.
Everybody’s looking at me in open, dumbfounded shock. Gael’s even got both hands over their mouth, eyes wide as I ever seem ‘em, looking particularly pale now.
Shifting my stance, I can’t help frowning over at them all, and offer up a shrug. “What?”