Leaning into my staff for a few moments, I work to get my breath back. I’m not that winded, nor am I experiencing after-effects of the long-term fatigue I found myself suffering in the first week or so after I’d finally recovered from my … experience in the mountains. Even so, while the weeks of training I had on the road once I’d recovered have got me back into the relatively trim shape I was in before, I realise now it’s been a while since I’ve actually been in a real fight, and I suppose I wasn’t ready for it again after all. Once we dropped into this situation the adrenaline started flowing and I jumped into the fight, but now it’s over I’m crashing hard. I breathe heavy and find myself having to use my staff to keep myself from falling over on the spot while I hang my head, feeling sweat drip from my face. My muscles aren’t exactly sore, but they feel more rubbery than I’d like.
“Gael, hey.” It takes me a moment to realise that Art’s speaking to me, that he’s at my side now. “Hey, c’mon. You okay?”
Lifting my head again, I realise he’s reaching out but stopping short of touching me, and while I’m sure some of his reluctance is the realisation his hands are a bit bloody from his own fight, I think there’s genuine uncertainty in him right now. As if he’s unsure just how welcome he’d actually be touching me right now, how willing I am to speak to him. I can see it in his face now, too. He’s genuinely wondering if we’re still friends.
“No, I’m … um … yeah. No. I don’t know.” Damn it. I take a deep breath and try a smile, and I’m not at all pleased with how weak and insufficient it feels on my face right now, so I try again, something that feels a little stronger. “Sorry … I’m just … it’s been a while, actually. The real thing, I mean.”
He cocks a brow, looking at me for a moment, then finally he smiles again, a little crooked but it’s good enough to make me feel a little better. “It’s okay, I get it. Your magic showed up well enough at least, mind.”
“Really? Minerva, Art … all I did was jump us in, that’s no big deal. It’s not like I started hurling fireballs the moment we landed.” I look around. “Not that it really would’ve been the best idea around here.”
“Yeah, reckon you’re right there.” He looks at his hands for a moment, then frowns a little before simply wiping his paws a little across his thighs to get rid of the excess of the blood. “But that was enough, I reckon. We were needed, so it was good you could just pop us right in the middle like that.”
I have to smile at that, realising he’s right. Then I hear shouting and I turn to see Kesla stepping our way with her bloody sword in hand, looking past us now with a look on her face that seems equal parts surprise and concern. The dwarf warrior’s at her side now, and it’s him shouting, forgetting his own fatigue now as he starts to drag up that great big warhammer he was wielding so effectively after we jumped into the midst of their worrisome predicament.
He's an impressive example of his race, I have to admit. Like with elves, it can be hard to tell exactly how old dwarves are at times, but this one’s clearly in his prime, hale and healthy and really strong. He may be short but he’s clearly as powerfully muscular as the rest of his kin, broad in shoulder with two of the biggest hands I’ve seen outside of an orc, and while he’s stocky he’s clearly pretty trim, likely just made of muscle. His beard’s a little shorter than I would’ve expected, not dropping too far into his chest, although he wears most of the strands from his chin bound into plaits to keep it under control. It's a rich mix of brown and grey that doesn’t make him look old at all, and very glossy, and he's not lost any on top either, leaving it all loose but kept swept back behind his ears and out of his eyes. What I can see of his face is tanned from the road, and there are a fair few scars marking it too, suggesting he’s got a good many more where I can’t see.
His dress marks him as a fighter as surely as his abilities, most prominently a thick and heavy grey gambeson that his tattered hooded wool cloak seems to have been sewn right onto. He also has a few more weapons strapped to him, most notably a very heavy looking longsword on his hip of a style I’ve never seen before. The blade is very broad and comes to a tight, angular point, while the leather-bound grip seems to have been squared off, as has the wide, heavy pommel and fat guard. He’s also wearing boots that seem to be predominantly made of overlapping plate steel, which makes his footfalls very loud so I doubt he cares much about stealth, and they seem to be designed to match his intimidating gauntlets. Everything about him screams warrior, the most overt show I’ve ever seen, far more than Kesla’s more inherently subtle display.
“THEL!!!” he shouts again, and I turn the way he’s looking now, spotting the other dwarf in their small group now running hard for the exit through the perimeter wall. Running with a purpose, clearly, but I have to wrack my brain to think what that might be.
“Damn it, Thel …” he growls, leaning into the long shaft of his massive hammer now like I did a minute ago. “She just doesn’t listen sometimes.”
“What they hell’s she doing?” Art’s frowning as he watches her go too.
“I think that’s the leader she’s chasing. He looks like he is, anyway. Damn fool’s got it in her head to capture him, I think.”
“Well we need a prisoner.” I turn to Kesla now, who’s looking down at the various bodies strewn in our wake. Those few who weren’t killed outright when they were hit by this big dwarf’s hammer are dead or dying too, the few who haven’t already expired twitching through the final throes of that strange choking they all seem to go through. “Shouldn’t we at least try?”
“D’you reckon you even could stop that?” Kesla’s watching me, seeming a little uncertain right now.
“Well I don’t even know what it is, but perhaps if I got to it early enough …” I consider for a moment. “Maybe if whoever it is isn’t badly wounded first … that might be the trigger. I could nip it in the bud before it’s started. If I worked out the source in time, but I’d have to be there before whatever it is trips.”
“Thel’s pretty single-minded, and she doesn’t pull her punches. If that guy fights back, she’ll tenderise him before she takes him in.”
Kesla’s frown deepens at that, then she turns back to me. “Go. Go now. We’ll catch up fast as we can. But take some help, yeah?”
“Got her.” The smallest member of their group’s stepped up now, as he seems to have finished with his own fight, and I’m truly taken aback when I see him. He’s a goblin, of all things. Green scaly skin and a shaggy black mane, with a pair of big grey horns and a beaky maw nonetheless bristling with very big, very sharp teeth. His claws, dangling at the ends of wiry overlong arms, are similarly substantial and intimidating, and there’s a shortsword in one of them that’s got a lot of blood on it. His clothes are largely piecemeal, crudely stitched together leather and scraps of hide with bandages wrapping wrists and feet, but his thick, heavy black cloak is rich wool and looks to be of extremely good quality. Mostly he looks like every other goblin I’ve ever encountered, but something about him …
It’s his eyes. They’re bright yellow and burn with a fierce intelligence, but more than that there’s something in them that almost puts me at ease. Somehow, I really can’t explain it. Perhaps I’m simply projecting on him, but I think he might be friendlier than he looks.
“Um … okay. Well …” Frowning, I look to Art, then at the others. I need someone else with me all the same, someone I know I can trust, who’s good. I crouch and reach out, holding my staff ready with the other hand. “Have you ported before?”
The goblin blinks, looking up at me as he stops just short, and pauses for a thoughtful moment before finally growling: “Once. Not enjoyable. Wouldn’t recommend.” He takes my hand. “Brung.”
“Sorry, I … what?”
“My name. Brung.” He looks right into my eyes, his gaze unflinching, and it’s all I can do to maintain it.
“Oh. Of course, I’m sorry. Um … Gael.” I take a deep breath, counting down as much to reorder my thoughts as anything else. “Sorry about this too, I suppose. Just … hold on.”
I breathe the tone of the spell and Brung’s grip tightens a little, and the world just seems to go away for a blink and I feel it just like always. The jolt. But I come out right where I intended to, and I’ve still got his clawed hand in mine.
Shay cuts another attacker down with a deft swipe of her sword, and we’re lucky we’re so low down because otherwise she would’ve decapitated me too off the backswing. It’s a beat before she realises we’re there, then she just frowns down at me, mouth working for a moment before she can speak: “Gael, what the hell –”
“Just breathe. We need you.” I tilt my staff towards her and flick my gaze to it in indication before focusing back on her. Her frown deepens, but she seems to get it, reaching out with her free hand to take hold of the metal shaft. I port us again, concentrating hard on where we need to turn out this time.
“Oh … oh fucking … damn it …” Shay stumbles as we touch down again, and I can tell she’s fighting her nausea a little bit, but she manages to hold it in. Maybe it’s more indignation than anything else as she rounds on me as I start to stand up, letting go of Brung’s hand as I do so. “What the hell was that about, Gael?”
“No time, Shay!” I nod past her to the dwarf girl, Thel, as she races into a side street close behind her. “We’ve got a chase. Now can you run or do you need a moment?”
Blinking, Shay opens her mouth, then closes it again and turns to look the way I’ve just indicated. She sees Thel, then some way past her, distant but just about close enough to recognise, there’s a handful more of those black-clad attackers who’ve been giving us so much trouble. Smooth as clockwork it seems to click. “Oh, of course. I get it. Of course I can run. Can you?”
“Well enough, I think.” I frown a little as I see Brung’s already chasing after his friend, sword sheathed across his cloaked back again, and he’s running on all fours so he’s covering ground at an impressive speed. “Come on!” I start running after him, and I can just hear the patter of her boot-leather on the cobblestones behind as Shay follows. Within moments she’s caught me up, then overtaken me.
Dwarves may be short and stocky, but they’ve got a lot of strength, and while some of them run to fat when they get old they still tend to retain their active spark. Despite her relatively short, stumpy legs, Thel’s covering some impressive ground, and if she was worn out at all by her fight it’s not showing as she actually starts to catch up to her quarry.
They know they’re being chased, though. How could they miss it? Our boots aren’t exactly quiet on the cobbles, and the sounds of our fast footfalls almost seem to be reverberating from the close surrounds of the tight, winding streets we’re racing through. And there are other people here, the day’s ended and the sun’s pretty much down, the nightlife is coming out now, so there are plenty of open taverns that folk are filtering into or stumbling out of. Some are mindful enough to catch us coming and get out of our way, but others aren’t so lucky and they get barged aside as we pelt through. I apologise whenever I can, but enough angry recriminations are shouted after us that the people we’re chasing can hear it.
When they cut down another side street we spot them going easy enough, and by that point Brung seems to have caught up to Thel. I’m starting to breath heavy and my legs are getting wobbly, but I push through it, determined not to let the side down as I grit my teeth and fight through. It’s not hurting yet, but I know it’s coming.
Shay’s gotten well ahead of me now, she’s pretty much caught up with both of our tentative allies instead, and it starts to dawn on me that I’m not going to be able to keep up with them at all. They might be able to keep this pace up – Thel and Brung both seem to be fit enough for it, and I know for a fact that Shay was built for this kind of thing, she’s skinnier than Kesla but from what I can tell just as strong and sturdy. I’ve definitely improved in my fighting abilities since I first came to be one of the Creeping Bam, but it’s clear now that I’m definitely not made for this kind of thing. Maybe if I had my horse it might be different, but I’m going to fall by the wayside if I try to keep going on foot. I need to come at this another way.
So I start concentrating on our actual quarry now instead of the road ahead and keeping the others in sight, and as they duck down another side street, clearly desperate to lose us now, I decide I’ve had enough of this shit. So I take the deepest breath I can under the circumstances and focus, summoning the magic as I concentrate my intentions. Then I speak the incantation and port again.
As I jump through I realise I haven’t accounted for the fact that I was still running at the fastest clip I could manage when I jumped, and as I touch down on the worn, rubbish strewn cobbles my momentum keeps carrying me forward. Shit. Gael, you are an idiot. It’s all I can do to keep my feet as I have to really dance to stop myself stumbling while I work to bring myself to a stop, but finally I’m able to recover myself and work out where I am.
This is less a side street than just a wide alleyway, and while there are the doors to a few homes and businesses here most seem to be back entrances or loading access. And there’s a lot of mess too, the rubbish is liberally strewn about and the gutters are unpleasant, while the general smell of the place, once I pick up on it, is palpable. It’s mostly clear too, the few people I see are far down and seem to be making themselves scarce already, as if sensing that something’s about to go down. Now I hear scuffling behind me and as I turn I realise that yes, I have overtaken my prey as intended. But that means now they’re right behind me.
Oh gods … there’s a good half dozen of them. Black-clad from head to toe like the others, but it’s definitely not the same stylish manner as the Thieves Guild, they may be aping their look but it’s purely for function. They don’t want to be recognised, at night it would make them hard to spot, which is likely the intention, but while we’ve still got good light it’s a dead giveaway. They’re still just as much a threat though, all armed, and most are mindful enough of the situation to start drawing on me.
The one in the lead seems a little more well-appointed than the rest, and while they’re all wearing simple black cloth scarves to hide their faces like Art favours, this one has one of those carved wooden masks we saw earlier. It’s a very stylised likeness to a wolf, and there’s a cool, cunning spark in his eye adding to the danger it suggests. He hasn’t drawn yet, but he’s fingering the hilt of the sword at his side, considering me in a way I really don’t like.
“Where the fuck’d you come from?” he pants, not sounding too surprised, mostly just amused.
“Bavat.” The word’s out of my mouth before I quite realise it, and he cocks his head in response to it. Now he draws his sword.
Remembering myself at last, I adjust my stance, plant my feet and take up my staff, pointing the flanged tip towards them. “The Silver Order demands you surrender now, without any more trouble. We have questions for you.”
He regards me for a long, loaded moment, then his mouth quirks under his mask in a way that might be a smile, I can’t really see. “Fuck that noise. Kill ‘em, please.”
To their detriment, none of the rest seem to regard me as a threat. Two charge me and I’ve barely got time to charge a blast in time to hit one, so the moment I throw the force bolt into the attacker on the right I’m starting to prepare for the other. As the bright blue bolt bursts over his companion and they’re hurled away, he lets out a fierce, deep throated growl as he swings his longsword and I step back fast before planting my feet so I have good ground under me. As the sword comes for me I’m turning my staff to answer it.
Thanks to Kesla and Shay, I think I’m getting pretty good with a sword now, but the staff is still my preferred weapon. I parry the sword stroke with ease and as I turn it aside I shift my stance, lifting one foot now to drive forward as I start to spin my staff under his reach. The low end catches him hard in the ribs and he wheezes, winded, as he’s driven back, but by then I’ve already whipped the top round and it catches him in the opposite shoulder. This time he lets out a pained yelp as the tempered steel cracks the joint and he stumbles, as much in surprise as hurt. By this point I’m already dancing away, and I give the staff a deft twirl that might look like I’m showing off, but it’s all about building fresh momentum when I sweep low and whip his feet out from under him. He loses his sword with a clatter as he drops like a sack of potatoes.
Ending the swing in a half-crouch with the staff tucked under one arm pointed away from me in what I’m sure looks like a particularly gratuitous fighter’s stance, I fix the leader of the group with the most sly look I can muster. Unfortunately, since I can’t see his face I don’t know if it actually has the desired effect.
One of the others helps the one I blasted up and he wheezes heavily, doubled over in clear pain from getting smacked in the chest with the magical equivalent of a battering ram, so while I’m impressed he’s on his feet at all I know he won’t be much use for a while. Others are clearly re-evaluating their situation, and now I can tell that their leader’s one of them, but he’s still not backing down yet. So I just put on a tougher face I can and beckon them to come in, hoping a little reverse psychology might finally cow them.
Again, the man in the wolf mask cocks his head, looking me over for a moment, and I start to feel a little less confident in this plan. He’s seeing through me, I just feel it, he can tell I’m not the great shakes in a fight I’m pretending to be, and they’ve all got some serious blades in their hands. For a moment I’m transported to that mess hall hanging over the Hungrenn Gap, fighting for my life with just a sword in my hand, but then I remember my magic was being blocked, and right now I have it to hand if I need it. So I keep smiling and hope I’m not wrong.
He charges himself this time, whipping his sword up but as I back-peddle to give myself room he turns it into a feint and dodges to the side and then tries a sneaky little lunge from under. I see it coming in time and snap down hard on the blade with the end of my staff, but this just turns it away and his recovery’s swift, turning the fouled attack into a more focused frontal jab that very nearly catches me. Twisting backwards from the waist I’m unbalanced for a moment, and I have to skip back few steps to keep from falling over, and this is enough for him to press his advantage as he follows through with three sharp, swift and very fierce jabs. I’m barely able to deflect each in time, and it’s only by dancing backwards and hoping there’s nothing behind me that might trip me up that I don’t get cut down as he finishes with a ferocious slash clearly intended to open me right across my middle.
The alley’s not straight, it twists at angles, and I’m not quick enough realising it as I back into the turn and the wall scrapes up on my left. It’s becoming clear to me that this one’s a genuinely talented fighter, and he’s sharp enough to spot the advantage as my attention’s stolen enough to give him a chance to strike me. He lunges again and I catch it in time to bring my staff up but I’m not quick enough realising I don’t have the room to manoeuvre as the metal shaft catches on dirty brick. I back-peddle again and it’s barely enough to keep from getting impaled by the blade of his impressively sharp longsword, but as I fumble he gives his weapon a well-judged whip and knocks the staff buzzing from my fingers.
Shit … no, this is really not where I wanted to be, this is bad. I grasp for the staff as it bounces from the wall and start to spin away from me, but he gives his blade another flick as he presses forward and I jump back, a little startled now. In the process he knocks the tumbling metal shaft further aside and I have to skip backwards again as he pushes forward past it. Now I’m unarmed.
Wait … no I’m not. I step back again and turn as I’m going, reaching across my body with my right hand but I’m trying to do it in such a way he doesn’t immediately realise what I’m doing. Kesla never taught me this move but I’ve seen her do it enough times now that I think I might have the method worked out … as he charges again – and I think he really is grinning behind the mask this time – I take hold of the scabbard hung from my hip with me left hand and turn it at enough of an angle that it’s pretty much horizontal as I grip the hilt with my right. Planting my feet, I grit my teeth and twist with my waist in the same moment I draw the sword, letting go of the scabbard in order to bring my hand up to drive the stroke across as hard as I can.
I saw Kesla kill a man once doing this. The fight was over in a single move, she drew her sword and cut him down before he’d even had a chance to get his own blade clear of its sheath. When she first started training me she pulled the same move on me, and I know it was only the fact that I was already drawn and that she was only using about a third of the speed she usually uses that kept me from meeting a similar fate. That being said I know she wouldn’t have followed through with the stroke in a sparring match, but it was one hell of a wake-up call, and parrying it hurt a lot. I know how devastating it can be, so if I can get it right –
He sees is coming, and the juddering shock in my hands as he deflects the blow before I can strike him very nearly makes me lose my grip on the sword just like I did with the staff. It was such an easy counter it felt almost contemptuous, and as I edge back a little I turn my sword away and give it a little flourish in an attempt to shake off the shock from the reverberations. Yeah, he is definitely smiling under that mask, I can tell. He presses forward again and this time I decide to hold my ground, growling a little in the back of my throat as I pull down into a crouch and cock the sword, ready for a lunge. As he brings his sword up to chop down on me I spring, lunging forward so he has to rethink his attack while he’s still making it.
When I make my feint this time I’ve judged it better, he twists out of his downward stroke in a scramble to turn his falling blade in time to parry my thrust, but by then I’m already whipping aside and rake a cut up across his side. I’m nowhere near as strong as Kesla, so the thick leather of his armour stops some of the blow, but my blade cuts just deep enough to open the plate and carve a shallow gash across his ribs. By this point I’m already ducking past, and I’m almost tempting to drop into a roll like Kesla and Art seem to enjoy doing in the middle of a fight, but I’ve never really gotten the knack for it and there’s no way I’m going to risk falling on my backside right now. Instead I let my feet skid across the slightly slick cobbles and take up position behind him.
Which puts me between him and the rest of his crew now, some of whom are still in fighting fit shape. Okay … maybe that wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made. So I just focus on the one in front sweep my free hand up towards him as I push. I put a little finesse into it and as I hurl him backwards I give his body a little flip, whipping his feet up from under him so he starts to spin in the air as he flies. One of the others dodges well enough to miss the hit but the one behind him isn’t as lucky, getting kicked in the face and toppling with a wounded squawk as his hands go to his smarting jaw. The flying thug smashes into the one at the back and they all go down in a tangle, leaving only one on his feet to goggle at me in clear surprise.
And that was a particularly rudimentary spell for me. I can’t help a little smile as I tip him a playful wink, and he blanches seeing it. He recovers soon enough though, remembering the blade in his hand, and he looks from it to me and likely begins to consider his options.
Nodding past him, I simply say: “Not so fast. Watch your back.”
A frown crosses his face, visible even under the hood and scarf, like he’s trying to work out if I’m bluffing, but he must sense the threat because he turns to see the coming attack. The first one I fought’s straightening up, still gripping his wounded shoulder, and while he’s still holding his own sword there’s no way he can lift it, so when Brung leaps at him he does it with his claws turned away. He pummels the man in the face with his tiny fists and there’s clearly impressive strength in his deceptively small limbs because his opponent goes down hard. Thel’s right behind him, bringing her battleaxe to bear as she prepares to fight, and she looks really angry right now.
Turning back to the man in the wolf mask, I find him with blood on his fingertips, clearly from the wound in his side. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s re-evaluating again. Hopefully this might’ve put a dent in his resolve to continue the fight, because while I know I’m getting better with my sword I’m still not sure I can beat him. Not that I let it show, plastering the most confident smile I can muster across my face as I take up another ready stance.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
He cocks his head seeing that, keeping his sword-hand low as he takes half a step back, but it doesn’t look like a defence, at least not yet. “Maybe I misjudged the situation. You reckon maybe we could come to some kinda compromise about this?”
Cocking my own head, I try not to frown as I start to look him over again. “What exactly do you think is going on –”
The lunge is fast, and direct, and I’m barely with it enough to catch it in time to keep from getting skewered while he has me distracted. I turn it at the last but he’s got me a little off balance and he turns fast, swiping a cut at my face that I barely duck in time before bouncing off the wall behind me. Stumbling out of a fall after that actually saves me from catching a third attack as he tries to catch me across my back, instead biting brick with his blade and pelting me with chipped stone. I wheel about and swing my sword wildly before I’m oriented again, and this is just enough to catch and turn away another lunge, but I’m still not balanced enough to take advantage before I back up and finally plant my feet. I’m panting hard through clenched teeth now, but when I bring my sword back up it’s steady in my hand.
I’m on the outside of the fight again, same place I came out before, or perhaps a little further down the alley now, and I can see the fight raging beyond my opponent now, Brung and Thel making short work of their own foes. Shay’s rushing in too now, and as I watch her she draws her sword, letting a snarl go as she selects a target.
“As I was saying, you really do seem to have misread the situation.” I point with my sword as I square up, nodding past him. He doesn’t take the bait, though, as if I actually planned to attack him like that. “There’s no negotiating your way free of this. You’d do well to just surrender now.”
Maybe I’m just reading too much into it, but I swear the way his mask seems to shift ever so slightly on his face is from him frowning. The light in the alley’s fading fast now as the dusk’s drawing in, but I can make his eyes out well enough with my elvish nightvision, so I can still see his eyes through the holes in the mask. So when he looks past me I should think it’s just a distraction, an attempt at a feint, something to get me to look away so he can attack … if not for the subtle itch I suddenly feel riding up my spine. Something’s behind me, or it’s arriving behind me. That’s what it is, I’m a moment late realising the tingle I’m feeling is a sense of magic happening close behind me, along with the subtlest puff of air that gives me a hint of what it is. Someone’s just ported in behind me.
It’s all I can do to check myself before I turn and swing on whoever it is, knowing well enough it could be Tulen homing in on me with one of my friends in tow. But something about it doesn’t feel quite right, so while I stop short of attacking without looking I still turn fast and tense, ready for anything.
Like an orc blinking as he orients himself, distracted and likely a little uncomfortable from the shift like everyone always is after that spell, but he’s recovering fast. Gods, he’s a big one too, one of the largest I’ve ever seen. Well over seven feet tall, and broad as a wall, with hands big enough to close a fist right round my head before crushing it, now I think about it. His face is scarred, but youthful despite the marks, a braided goatee hanging from his squared chin, and he wears his long black hair bound back tight. He’s dressed in similar fashion to the rest, but more like the man in the wolf mask, his own leathers of better worth than most of the rest. And the broadsword in his hand, while heavy and brutish like most orcish steel, looks to be scarily well-made, and very sharp.
He’s not alone, either, although I can’t make out much of the other figure much like the others who’re clearly so determined to hide their identities. A woman, I’m sure enough of that at least simply because of her figure and the greying black curls that peek out from under her deep hood, dressed in a mixture of dark travel clothes and robes surprisingly like my own, albeit cheaper and a deal more threadbare. Her general presentation all but screams wizard, even if I ignored the fact she’s carrying a worn but serviceable wooden staff with a notched top into which she’s already screwed a crystal. It reminds me very much of my old one … so much in fact that I start to wonder if it might’ve come from the same source.
No … that can’t be right. There’s no chance a Silver Order wizard would be involved in this, I just can’t accept that. And yet … somehow, I don’t think I’m looking at a common-or-garden hedge wizard right now.
Whatever disorientation the jump caused in the orc is clearly short-lived, his attention locking on me after a bare stretch of moments, and he starts growling almost immediately when he sees me. Shit … I have no chance taking on a full-blooded orc with a sword. He’d carve me to pieces without any effort at all, and given what I’ve seen of his masked companion there’s the distinct possibility he’s a good deal more talented with that sword than some of his kin. As I draw back a step I see him tense too, tightening as he squares his shoulders and raises the blade, taking up a two-handed grip on the hilt now. He’s going to come hard, then, but with a judged, controlled attack. As I reasoned, I have no chance of beating this.
My back’s itching, knowing the man in the wolf mask is behind me now and just as likely to stab me in the back as join the fight with his friends. I can’t take my eyes off the orc but I need to check, so I turn sidelong to my new opponents and chance a moment’s quick peek before returning my gaze to the orc. He’s there as I suspected, squared with his own sword, ready to act the moment I’m charged, and again I swear I see him smile under that bloody mask. Knowing they’ve both got me dead on the spot. Even if I could beat the orc he’ll cut me down as soon as I’m engaged.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on the bigger threat, and a strange calm falls on me after a moment. To hell with it …
The orc breaks into a charge with a low grunt that’s almost like a clipped bellow, and I raise the sword to point two-handed towards him, unleashing the force bolt I’ve been brewing. It’s a strange feeling doing it like this, I’ve never focused a spell through a blade before, only ever through a staff or wand or simply through my hand, and once without any focus at all which nearly broke me. My sword vibrates in my hand and it’s strangely like when I’ve taken a particularly jarring strike in the blade but without the pain, it just tingles like some strange static charge. That thing called electricity, which we learned about back at the Academy, but most still haven’t been able to effectively harness yet. That’s what it’s like. Certainly using my sword as a focal point is just as effective as the other means, but there’s the added effect that it seems to sing for a long, drawn-out moment, a beautiful ringing, rising note that’s half steel but also something I’ve never really heard before.
I’m not sure if the bolt continues to sing out as it rides through the air, it flies in a blink and perhaps I’m just reading too much into it, but when it hits it almost seems to strike a musical chord in the very air as it bursts across the orc’s chest. I don’t wait to see him go down as I turn to my original opponent, and I’m smart to do so, he’s rushing me quickly, already winding up a low slash to open me from below. This time I’m ready for it, though.
When my blade meets his and strikes it away, the ringing returns and the contact makes my blade sparks, strangely blue in hue but still almost blinding. This time when I meet his eyes through the mask they’re wide, as surprised as I am, I suppose, but without any understanding of what might have been behind it. I press the advantage and flick my blade up fast, and he’s not quick enough reacting so I cut him across the shoulder, the tip of my sword biting deep under the leather of his pauldron and drawing blood. He stumbles back with a growled oath and I’m ready to follow through with a more concerted attack when I catch sight of Shay behind him. She lops the head from one of the other hoods with nothing more than a flick of her wrist and her eyes immediately snap past me to lock on whatever’s going on behind me.
“Gael, duck!”
No thought, I just react as I’m told to, and as I stoop low something big and heavy cracks hard into the wall just beside where I was stood. A great steely ringing sounds as broken brick chips pelt me while I scramble in a clumsier turn than I’d like since I’m already a little unbalanced, and the orc’s right there, grunting with muscular effort as he struggles to yank his sword free from the deep gouge he’s just cut in the wall after missing my head by just a whisker. What the hell? That force blast should’ve put him on the ground, and a good dozen paces away. There’s no chance he could’ve shaken it off that quickly. But here he is, eyes red as blood now as he finally plucks the steel from the ruined stonework and immediately sets to winding up for another strike.
The wizard behind him … it’s her. She must have muted the effect of my hit somehow, I didn’t watch for long enough to see how but it doesn’t matter now. She’s pulling something from the satchel at her side, her components bag I’d imagine, and whatever she’s brewing won’t be good. I have time enough to do one thing right now – either counter whatever that’s going to be, or protect myself from the coming strike. I can’t do both.
Damn it … again my own survival trumps my higher senses, and I put up the best guard I can with my sword as the orc lets out his loudest bellow yet and cuts right down on top of me. As a last moment afterthought I put a touch of push into the guard as I lock it and grit my teeth, and I suppose this is enough because the blow doesn’t smash my sword right out of my hands as he chops down towards my face. He’s bigger, stronger and a good deal more ferocious than me, if I tried to block that hit with just my own muscles I’d die in an instant. Instead it stops him, driving my arms down hard and forcing me onto one knee but not breaking my guard like he probably expected. Even so, the effort’s enough to cause another powerful reverberation through my sword while every fibre of muscle in me screams in protest, and after a beat I realise I’ve voiced my own in sympathy of the pain. Tight and strangled, but a cry all the same.
Gods … that really hurt. I don’t know if I could take another hit like that.
Then the wizard finishes whatever spell she’s cooking, completing a sigil between her hands that births what seems to be a swirling globe of dancing lights and static, and before I could even think about uttering a counter-spell she’s hurling it our way.
“Shit!” I don’t even bother trying to shove the sword still pressing down on me upwards as I just yank my sword free and throw myself to one side, and I hear the orc mutter a startled oath as he’s suddenly unbalanced and practically faceplants before he can react. I feel the orb sizzle right over my back as I dive more than hearing it, and this time I’m not really thinking as I do what Kesla and Art would do after all.
This is really not what I’m used to, I never got the hang of these crazy acrobatic rolls. So when I manage to make the roll itself and my feet meet the ground on the far side I’m too surprised to really think about what I’m supposed to do next, and then the wall’s racing at me. Shit! I turn as I start to rise, but it’s all I can do to turn my face away from the impact. My shoulder hits the brick hard and I feel something fold, and the pain is spectacular, a bright white flash robbing me of my vision as it whips through me like a wave as my whole arm goes limp. Needless to say I lose my sword as I crumble.
For a moment my head is swimming, a great unbalanced wheeling spin that has me down on my backside floundering against the wall as I try to work out where the hell I even am. Mostly I’m just hurting, my shoulder feels like it’s on fire and I reach up with my one remaining good hand, only tangentially aware that it’s shaking badly. My vision’s not gone for more than a beat, I’m sure, and while I missed the flaring orb hitting whatever it was ultimately intended for, I’m quick enough coming back to my senses to catch the effect.
Looks like It hit the man in the wolf mask. I can barely make out the carved face as he stumbles back while it expands around him, or perhaps through him, as I watch it looks more like it’s dancing right through his limbs as he flounders. It keeps growing as he blunders about, and I see Shay scrambling back fast, as desperate to avoid contact as the rest of them. He doesn’t cry out as it expands enough to envelop his entire form, or perhaps the sound simply doesn’t penetrate the forces wheeling around him, but the crackling whir of the orb is loud enough on its own. Then it’s just … gone, in the blink of an eye. I don’t even see it snuff out, or flare out, or whatever it does, it’s just gone. The man caught in the middle of it’s gone too.
In the back of my mind I’m going through the possibilities. I don’t think he’s just been disintegrated, even if it looked so much like that. It was weird as hell, I’ve never seen anything quite like it, but it could have been some kind of transport, a really weird kind of teleportation spell I’ve never seen before. There are spells somewhat like it, I’ve even learned a few of them, but they’re temperamental at best, I wouldn’t risk using them on anything alive.
Whatever it was, he’s gone now, and everyone around us is trying to make sense of it. Then I see Shay coming to her senses, shoving one of the hoods right out of her way as she starts to scramble towards me, and the look on her face is enough to put the fear of the gods in me. She’s not angry at me, she’s scared for me. Through the pain the idea manages to pierce through that I’m in danger again.
Then Thel just winds up her big battleaxe over her head and flings it, and it’s all I can do to watch its progress as it spins with terrifying speed and lethal accuracy right at me. No … no, that’s not quite right, it’s aimed just a little bit off to my side. Shay seems to sense it coming and ducks aside as it whips by close enough to brush her with the wind of its passing, and at least her roll is as flawlessly executed as I would’ve expected her to manage. The rational part that’s still working in my brain is a little jealous of her for that.
As the axe whisks past me I continue to track its movements, which gives me a shock as it strikes the orc’s sword as he swings it at me again and hits it clean out of his hands. It spins in the air for a moment and then the tip smacks into the stone barely three inches behind my head and I’m snapped out of my trance enough now to jump aside as more broken pieces rain down around me. Thel’s axe clatters at my feet and I realise seeing it that I’m at my attackers’ mercy and completely unarmed right now. Hoping my good hand’s not shaking too much I let go of my shoulder and fumble for my knife as I struggle to turn.
The orc’s attention’s torn now, at least. Startled by the foiling of his attack by such an impressive throw, he’s regarding Thel now, but likely aware of Shay as she scrambles up again after losing her momentum in the roll, and she’s bringing her sword to bear now. The look on her face … if she was rattled she’s ignoring it, or perhaps she’s too focused on the threat to me, right now she looks really angry. Gods, I don’t think I’ve seen her this angry since that night in the mountains. When Ashsong murdered Tarrow …
Maybe they sense it, too. The orc’s scrambling for a weapon, and I see now that while the sword’s gone from his grasp he’s got plenty more on him, an impressive variety of blades, and he’s already turning to draw one of the shortswords on his hip, then the other one too. But the wizard’s already stepping up behind him, and as she lays her hand on his shoulder I feel the incantation rather than hearing it as she makes it. They’re gone before my eye can quite catch it, that weird moment when I almost see the portal that seems to open through them before they both disappear.
Seeing this is the final straw for me, I just slump against the wall again, my knife slipping from my shaking fingers to clatter across the cobbles. I look back at the others, finding the fight’s pretty much done now, most of the remaining hoods are dead now but there appear to be two that are still alive. Well, I say alive – I can already see one, bleeding from at least three wounds, two in his right arm but the third low in his torso, is doing a dance on the ground that’s becoming frustratingly familiar. He’s yanked the scarf down from his face with his one good arm, but isn’t finding any air as he gags and chokes while his face and throat swell. He’s not long for this earth, then.
The other one, though …
Shay’s stood over the one I battered with my staff at the start of the fight, who looks to be in a similar state to me, her sword laid gently against his throat, mostly by the flat since she’s clearly mindfully cautious of that fierce edge. Perhaps he senses the danger, but mostly he’s clearly just beaten like me, but also nowhere near death’s door, despite his injuries. Still very much alive in spite of everything …
“Gael, you okay?” she says after a pregnant moment checking that the fight is, indeed, done. I see Thel and Brung starting to come down from their own battle-readiness, the young dwarf starting to slump where she is now with her hands conspicuously empty after that amazing rescue. The goblin mostly just looks bored now, although I imagine it’s more just how his face is made, and he uses the cloak of one of the fallen to clean his shortsword without needing to stoop. When he sheathes it across his back again his eyes turn to me. Cool, strange, and curious now, I think.
“I really don’t think so … to be honest ...” I breathe through clenched teeth as I try to shift myself through using my back alone, trying to keep my weight off my bad shoulder. It still hurts. Every movement hurts, to be honest. “I think I broke my shoulder.”
“Shit.” Shay looks down at our captive and then back to me, and again I really don’t like the look on her face, although it’s for very different reasons. She looks scared now, and I think I know what that’s about. She’s my friend now, we’ve become very close very quickly, and she’s fraught with worry now seeing me like this. She lost friends back in the mountains, when we first met, a lot of them, and those wounds are still pretty raw for her, brave face as she’s been putting on lately, and this is the second time I’ve seen it resurface since we began this frustrating hunt. She’s not quite as haunted as she seemed when I caught her looking at Sonagh’s twins after the attack, when I knew she was thinking about Tarrow, but it’s clearly still very bad. She wants to abandon her guard over our one and only prisoner, but she knows she can’t and it has her so torn it’s hurting her.
Finally she turns to Thel and hesitates, and I wonder what’s going through her head as her mouth works without any words coming. Finally she frowns, a subtle growl sounding deep in her throat, and pushes forward. “Um … hey, listen, we’re all on the same side, right?”
Thel turns to look up at her at last, one eye peeking out from under the curtain of her feathered bangs. After a loaded moment she twitches her head to flick it from her face, and I take what might be the first truly good look I’ve been able to get at her since this all started.
It’s not my first time encountering a dwarf woman, although I’ll admit my own experiences of them are few and far between, which makes her a real exotic rarity in my experience. She’s very striking indeed, typically squat and broad and stocky but somehow softer despite her muscles. She’s very pretty too, her round, somewhat cherubic face a little at odds with her broad nose but ultimately it works just fine, and she has the most beautiful, wolfish hazel eyes that dance with clear, sharp intelligence. Her bobbed hair is an interesting mixture of jet black and sandy blonde which I swear looks entirely natural, while her beard’s mostly restricted to fine mutton chops lining her jawline and a thicker goatee that brings her chin to a point. It looks particularly stylish in the way it plays off her rich, smooth caramel-coloured skin, which seems largely unmarked by scars. At least what I can see of her face and neck, anyway.
Like the other dwarf she’s dressed half for travel and half for combat, but this more typical for sellswords in general than their race in particular, certainly given what I’ve learned from being around Kesla. Thick and heavy rough leather gear and quilted, padded cloth, but not so much that it bulks her out so much she can’t even move anymore, certainly given what I’ve seen she’s easily capable of moving fast and agile when she needs to. I’ve also noticed she’s as well armed as any other dwarf I’ve met too, complimenting her battleaxe with a pair of surprisingly substantial bearded handaxes hanging from either hip, and a lot of knives of various sizes too. Everything looks battered and worn but nonetheless in good condition despite the ageing, so she clearly cares a lot about the upkeep of her things.
After a moment regarding Shay, she shrugs as she takes a step past her. “Sure looks that way, don’t it?” There’s something a little exotic about her accent, a little thickness and an unusual lilting tone, and after a moment’s scrabbling it somewhat reminds me of Mistress Daste. So she’s from Abharet, then. I’m surprised I didn’t already make the connection from her darker complexion to any other dwarf I’ve seen before. “Who are you all, anyway?”
“The Creeping Bam.” Shay’s lips tighten awkwardly the moment the name’s out, and I realise this is probably the first time I’ve heard her actually say our group’s name. Clearly it doesn’t feel comfortable in her mouth yet. “Listen, my friend’s hurt, I need to do something. Can you watch this one?”
Thel gives her another long look, then nods. “Easy enough to do, I reckon. He don’t look like he’s in any better a state to go anywhere than your own, after all.” She steps across to stand over the slumped, sprawled and still clearly alive hooded man, who’s now pulled down his makeshift mask so he can breathe better. He looks young, couldn’t be much more than twenty, downy cheeks just starting to darken, his features a little sharp and pinched. And he looks very nervous indeed. “Stay put, matey boy.”
“Just, um …” Shay falters, still flustered, and she’s still searching, like she’s having trouble finding words right now. “This lot keep dying on us, just make sure you don’t break him anymore. I don’t know why he’s still breathing but we really need to keep him that way.”
“No, I get it.” Thel shoots a glance to Brung, who’s just leaning against the wall now, long arms folded loosely across his torso, looking largely indifferent to the whole situation now. “We seen it plenty too. It ain’t pretty. You reckon it’s magic?”
Shay frowns. “Well I … I don’t know –"
“Yes.” I manage to spit the word out as I try once again to find one position in which I can sit in some relative comfort. “It’s definitely magic, but no kind I’ve ever seen before. If it’s a curse it’s a very strange and very specific one, clearly tailored for a very specific effect. The way it only seems to trigger when they’re clearly wounded badly but not so much they’ll die before they can talk … it’s strange. And I don’t see why it hasn’t worked on that one yet, either. So I’m with Shay. Let’s not press our luck with him anymore than strictly necessary.”
This time I’m the one that the dwarf spends several long, loaded moments examining with her keen, bright eyes. Finally she nods, turning back to our captive as she slowly drops into a crouch right in front of him, fixing him now with that piercing stare. “I hear that loud an’ clear. Y’know the stakes then, lad. Don’t press us any if you know what’s good for you.”
To his credit, he doesn’t quake with fear, doesn’t blub or bluster, nor does he try to look tougher than he clearly feels. He just looks up into her eyes and gives the subtlest of nods, and this must be satisfactory to Thel because she doesn’t draw the blade she’s clearly fingering on the left of her belt.
“We need to get the others down here fast.” Shay’s already making her way to me, still fretting as she picks her way over the tangle of bodies. “They might be coming already, but with Gael hurt –”
“Of course.” Brung doesn’t even hesitate as he scurries off, and within a few steps he’s already dropped to all fours so he can start racing. He’s gone before Shay reaches me.
Dropping to her knee beside me, she sucks her lips in tight as she looks me over. Her eyes linger for a moment or two longer on my face than I’d like, and since I don’t remember taking any hits there I decide she’s taken in my likely pallor and pained tension. “Gods … Gael what the hell did they do to you? I don’t see –”
“No, I did it to myself.” I growl, trying not to grit my teeth too tight against a fresh stab of pain from my wound. “I was trying to be flashy and paid for it, smashed my own shoulder against the wall. That orc was … they’re clearly not mindful to fair play, are they?”
Shay reaches out for my shoulder and I wince in anticipation, making her pull back with a tight, shocked look that quickly turns to recrimination when she looks to me. “I didn’t even touch you yet.”
“Sorry, I’m just … oh shit, this is unpleasant. I could really do with Krakka’s touch right now.”
“Why is it always you?” She tuts as she reaches out again, very careful now as she starts to probe my shoulder. Her touch is feather light in its tentativeness, but even so it really smarts, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from wincing again. “Yeah … it’s swelling up something fierce, and it’s bent. You’ve definitely broken something. This is bad, Gael.”
“No shit …” I growl through another stab and she withdraws at last, instead reaching up to press the backs of her fingers against my forehead. I guess with her fingerless gloves it would’ve been difficult to use her hand.
“Where’d they even go? How’d that orc get out of here so easily? And that … Thorin, I don’t even know what that other thing was. That man just …”
“There was a wizard. A woman. Powerful and skilled. If I didn’t know better I’d swear she was Order trained.”
Her eyes narrow to slits in an instant, a sharp, suspicious look crossing her face now. “You can’t be serious … like Garnon? You don’t think she was just some overqualified hedge wizard?”
“No, she was much too precise for that. But that spell in particular, together with whatever this other magic it is that keeps killing all their people so we can’t take them alive …” I shrug without even thinking and my shoulder screams, and it’s all I can do to keep from following its example. My head snaps back against the wall as I let out a long, sharp hiss and clench my jaw again as it is. “Ah … fuck … no, if it was her behind that, however she did it … that’s no Order magic I’ve ever heard of. I’d almost say it stinks of a warlock.”
“You think –”
“Minerva protect me, I really hope not. That would just be too much of a coincidence right now, wouldn’t you agree?” I open my eyes enough to take her in again, and she watches me for a loaded moment, thinking deep, before a crooked smile touches her lips.
“You really think our luck’s going to let us off right now?”
“Damn it …” I puff out my cheeks and manage to blow my hair back into my eyes again, but Shay reaches up again and brushes it aside for me, her touch still gentle. “Thank you … you’re right, it would be awfully convenient for us if this were just purely accidental.”
Shay watches me for a moment, and that smile starts to warm up a little. Finally she shrugs, and I have to admit I’m instantly envious of her for being able to do that right now. “You’re too bright for you own good sometimes, you know that, right?”
“Speak for yourself, Swift-Kill.” I try to smile back, but I’m not too confident with how it feels, never mind how it must look. Still, her own softens a little more seeing it, and she leans forward now, very gently cupping her hand around the back of my head before kissing my forehead. Finally she just leans her own against mine and we stay like this for several moments, just sharing the most comfortable silence I can manage in my current state.
Soon enough it’s shattered by another puff of displaced air and Shay jerks back, stepping out of her crouch but keeping low as starts to draw her sword again as she rounds on the new arrivals. She relaxes almost immediately though, taking in Tulen with her hands resting on both Art and Krakka’s shoulders, my old friend’s bright eyes already wide before she can even take in my predicament.
“Gods … could you please not do that?” Shay straightens up at last, stepping aside as Krakka immediately rushes to me. “We just finished one nasty little fight.”
“No shit!” Art snaps as he shoves past her, rushing right after our cleric, who’s already dropping to his knees at my side and immediately reaching out to my shoulder. It’s almost like he can already sense where I’m hurt.
Tulen lets something like a sob go as she starts to follow too but Shay lays a gentle hand on her shoulder and holds her short. “Let him work. He … he knows what he’s doing.” My friend gives her a wounded look but it doesn’t last, her lip already starting to quiver, and Shay just pulls her into a hug, watching us over Tulen’s shoulder, still looking haunted.
Putting his hands together, Krakka mutters a low prayer I can’t quite make out and fixes his eyes on mine as he reaches out with the left, pressing it to my shoulder a little more firmly than I’d like. He ignores my sharp wince and presses a little tighter, and after a beat I can feel it starting to warm up. It hurts, by the gods it hurts, but that familiar tingling starts deep within the pain and ever so slowly I can feel it starting to ease off.
“What happened?” Art finally manages to get out, and when I open my eyes again he’s looking at me with a mixture of concern and simple shock. “Are you … did you … what …”
“Orc. There was an orc. Biggest I’ve ever seen, pretty much. He looked like he could’ve given Yes some trouble in a straight-up fight.” I turn to look at the huge broadsword that’s still wedged in the wall nearby.
Art’s eyes follow mine, and when he sees it they widen considerably. His mouth falls open and he immediately starts to stand up again, moving slowly, almost jerkily, as if guided by an unseen force as he approaches it. His face is far beyond haunted now, some deep, dread recognition writ large across it now. He knows that sword.
“Oh shit …” He mutters, not quite realising he’s even spoken as he reaches for it.