Wilson ‘Twerk’ Turk | Usain ‘Usa’ Bizra | Izildra ‘Izil’ Bizra | Georg ‘The Hoffmeister’ Hoffman | Victor ‘Pecs’ Balinski | Eddie ‘Fortune’ Rich

The women of Urlay led Wilson’s party northeast to their village. His companions were far from keen on all aspects of the mission. The villagers’ talk of a supernatural enemy unsettled some of them, especially since Stiff’s instructions were that Bletcher should stay in Mer Khazer. But Stiff had given the decision to Wilson, and he wanted to take the challenge on. When he reminded the Apples that they would get paid to see off what might be nothing more than a single madman, they came around to the idea.

They made camp in a small vale about half way to their destination. It was a perfect place for a little village—protected by the hills around it, with a stream running through. The emptiness of this region reminded Wilson just how lightly settled Gal’azu still was. Eisenberg remained the most westerly settlement of any note; while Urlay, according to his employers, was the farthest settlement yet established along the Auster. The source of the great river was somewhere in the rugged lands to the north, as yet totally unexplored.

The Hoffmeister started the fire and prepared their meal, going about the camp chores with his usual brand of efficiency. He was calm and unflustered in everything he did. Quite my opposite, the gnome acknowledged.

The Hargon served up the food—sauerkraut and sausages.

‘Ha!’ Fortune said, pointing. ‘Compare Twerk’s portion size with Pecs’!’

The Hoffmeister looked a little nonplussed. ‘That is how you like it guys, isn’t it?’

‘It’s perfect,’ Wilson said. ‘Just ignore him.’

He sat next to Pecs with a sigh.

‘Something the matter?’ the big man asked, giving the gnome a full view of what was in his mouth.

‘Oh, just the damned nickname Ashlyn gave me. It irritates me.’

‘I don’t like mine, either.’

‘What? Pecs? Surely it’s a compliment?’

‘Not really. Not to me. It’s just about a part of my body, not about me as a person. It makes me feel self conscious, and…I don’t know the word.’

‘Objectified?’

‘Yeah. That.’

‘I understand. I suppose mine’s not so bad. It doesn’t really mean anything—just a silly rhyme with my surname.’

‘You’re allowed to not like it.’

‘You’re right. I still fucking hate it.’

‘These sausages are good,’ Fortune complimented The Hoffmeister. ‘Got a bit of a kick to them.’

‘I am pleased to hear it.’

Fortune caught the Bizra brothers grinning at one another. ‘And what’s so damned funny to you?’

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‘Nothing,’ said Usa. ‘It’s just, in Alinko, we have food that is actually spicy. These sausages are tasty, but a kick? No, my friend.’

‘But the cabbage is spicy, no?’ The Hoffmeister said.

Usa and Izil’s grins turned to wide-eyed stares. Their expressions were identical—a trace of anguish at the suggestion.

‘Sauerkraut is not spicy, Georg,’ Usa told him. ‘It’s sour. Next time we are in Avolo, I will buy some chillies from the marketplace. I don’t care how much they cost. Idris and I will make you all a meal that will blow your minds.’

‘Yeah, and probably cause an explosion down below as well,’ Fortune said.

They all laughed at that. Toilet humour is universal amongst mercs, even gnomekind.

The light was fading when they reached Urlay. It was small, without the extensive fields of the agricultural settlements Wilson had visited in Gal’azu; or the industry of places like Eisenberg. Its significance lay in the wooden bridge over the Auster that they crossed to enter the village.

Wilson couldn’t see an inn, or a building of similar size. Eyeing the wooden houses, built close to the river, he supposed they’d be staying in someone’s home tonight.

The ambush caught him completely by surprise.

Fortune took an arrow in the thigh, the archer firing from the roof of a house ahead of them. The next struck him with force in the shoulder. He fell to the ground, having lost 20 hit points. The third and final arrow hit Pecs, costing him 11 hit points.

Wilson didn’t even see his attacker. The knife stab avoided his breastplate and sank into his arm, dealing nine damage. The second struck home in the same place, taking another eleven hit points. His arm went numb, from fingertips to shoulder.

‘That’ll do,’ came a voice. Sauntering around the corner of a house, came a young man with a drawn longsword. He stopped in front of the downed Fortune, and let out a whoop. ‘Damn, Tree!’ he shouted. ‘That is the best shooting I’ve ever seen you do. Three for three, and all of them were punishing hits as well.’

‘Rylan,’ Usa said.

Wilson knew that name, and tendrils of fear grabbed at him. In the dim light he could see the twisted scars of burned flesh on one side of the man’s face.

‘Apologies, Fortune,’ Rylan continued, ignoring Usa. ‘But I told Tree to target you first. Take it as a compliment on your sword work. Talking of which, I see you have a new blade. Boy. This Stiff fella really is handing out magic weapons like sweetmeats, isn’t he? What does it do?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Really.’

‘We’ll see. And Pecs, you’re a big unit. Had to knock you down to size. Then,’ he continued, turning to Wilson, ‘there’s the little man. I’ve heard stories about you. Thought Smoke here needed to persuade you not to do something foolish and take us on.’

Wilson turned.

‘Careful,’ came a voice. It belonged to the knife wielder who had nearly severed the gnome’s arm.

Wilson moved slowly.

The Alinko held his knife as a warning, but his smile was friendly. ‘No hard feelings, I hope. It wasn’t cool of me to sneak up on you. But better than getting into a real fight, where someone gets killed.’

‘It’s fine,’ Wilson said. ‘My fault for letting you.’

‘Hey chommie, don’t beat yourself up about it. This ain’t my first show.’

‘Why are you here, Rylan?’ Usa asked. ‘We came on a mission about some wight.’ He gestured over at the women from the village who had led them here. ‘They’ll tell you.’

Wilson recognised the annoyed look that passed across Rylan’s face. I make that same expression myself from time to time, Wilson thought. But there was something about the man’s eyes he didn’t like. A madness, maybe. Or a lack of something. He knew they were in trouble, and that there was no one else coming who might save them.

‘I know why you came here, Bizra. But we’ve got some talking to do. Now, put your weapons on the ground. All of them.’

They had their hands tied behind their backs, then they sat on the ground in a circle. Rylan clearly intended to carry out his interrogation outdoors. He had three of his mercs build a fire. Beyond its light, Wilson could just make out some of the villagers, watching the event unfurl. Had they been in on Rylan’s plan? Did the wight that haunted the moors even exist? He didn’t know; but he knew he wasn’t the one who would be asking the questions tonight.