“Skräg [Skreygg]: Verb derived from the dwarvish tongue pertaining to the crude act of belching in another person’s face that you generally despise. The word has since evolved into a catch-all term used by youths of ill-repute or retired uncles who don’t give a skräg what you think about them.”

- Into Dwarven Minds, Vol III (By Sir Sire & Co.)

I was not prepared for this fight. My right shoulder was still wrapped in tight cotton and the arm resting in a sling. All I had on after I’d taken off my jacket was the simple black tank top given to all cadets. Combined with my pants and boots, I was sure I didn’t cut an imposing image.

Time to change that.

I pressed the activation rune on my left bracelet, and the crystalline shape spread like water across my limb. I took several long steps toward the struggling men as they tried to pin down the normally reserved she-elf. Now, however, the animal had awakened in her. She punched and kicked and clawed. For every cut and bruise on her body, the men had three. One of them managed to lace his arms under her shoulders and two others punched her viciously in the sternum. Her breath escaped in a wet whoosh.

I reached them.

“Leave now!” I yelled at the men, my gauntlet raised and ready to strike.

“Who the skräg are you?” One of them asked in an accent I didn’t recognize. It was like his mouth didn’t understand the need for consonants.

“I’m the Fang,” I declared boldly.

“Who?” He demanded, incredulity written plainly in his eyes even with the half mask he wore to cover his nose and mouth. I wilted slightly, embarrassment briefly flicking through my mind when I realized how stupid I must’ve appeared to these men. Lysandra looked up from where she hung limply along one of the men’s locked grip. Blood dripped from her lips and mixed with saliva as her gaze faded in and out of focus.

What chagrin I felt burned away in an instant.

“Looks like you’re about to find out, bud.” I didn’t wait for a response. I simply shoved forward with my feet and jabbed my gauntleted fist straight into the first man’s gut. He doubled over but I was already moving on. My balance was a bit off with one arm in a sling, but I managed to remain upright as I swerved under a wild haymaker from one man and punched up into the armpit of another. This man screamed as the razor-sharp spikes of my gauntlet tore through flesh and tendons like wet paper.

A kick landed in my back and I flew forward into Lysandra’s slumped form. The new weight was enough to knock all three of us to the floor. I scrambled up, but the new pain in my back, mixed with the aches in my shoulder, were enough to stall me. Another kick connected with my jaw, and I felt something pop. Lights danced across my vision, but I managed to raise my free arm on instinct. It was just in time, as a howl followed a sick thud against the tip of my fist. Then more thuds, these far more wet and sickening as my vision cleared.

“You hurt my friend. You will die now,” someone near me said, but there were too many miraged figures that went in and out of focus for me to discern who said that. A man moaned on the ground next to me. One of the blurry figures whipped their arm around so fast I flinched only after the action was completed. An object sailed through the air and embedded itself in the skull of the man who had held Lysandra.

As for the elf, she groaned and slowly got untangled between me and her assailant. I didn’t help as nausea turned me to my side and vacated my stomach across the hallway’s carpeted floor. A hand patted hard against my back.

“It is okay. You will not die,” she said numbly, and I finally put a name to the voice.

“Gwynneth, what in the hells are you doing here?” I asked, but it came out more harshly than I’d intended. She took a step back and I rose awkwardly to my feet.

“I heard the sound of battle and came to see if there was anything left for me. I saw you get kicked. I punished them.” Her explanation was as brief as it was alarming.

“Well, thanks,” I said after a long moment of simply staring at the young dwarf girl in front of me. She nodded once, then went to collect her tomahawks from out of the heads of our enemies.

“Th—thank you,” Lysandra whispered. Her eyes were wide and blood still dripped from the side of her lip. “I—” Before she could strain her mind into speaking further, I rushed over and gently began to check her body for injuries.

“Don’t worry. Just checking for anything broken. You took quite a beating, but then again, so did they. And that was before we arrived.” My words didn’t have the intended effect and Lysandra began to back up slowly. Her tangled raven black hair was matted against her bruised and bloodied face in places, making for a stark contrast to the fire in her eyes. “Oh, sorry. It’s alright. I’m just saying you did quite well, holding up against those men. Well done.” She eyed me like I was a hydra.

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“You’re one of his, aren’t you? He sends men to collect me just so that you two could gain my trust? Well, that’s not going to work. Get out.” Lysandra bit off the last word like it was a curse. Gwynneth raised a single eyebrow at the elf, and I shrugged helplessly.

“We weren’t sent by anyone, Lysandra. I promise.” She glared at me, fury written in her tight expression while she wiped the blood from her split lips. One of her eyes was already swelling after whoever had struck her there.

“That’s what they always say. Geoffrey, Ynil, Ema, Fόrn…You’re all the same. You get me to trust you, but the second I let you in, you prove your true colors. Every time…” Lysandra slumped against the wall and breathed raggedly. “He always wins.”

“Who is he?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I knew I was wading into dangerous waters, but there was a shade of a familiar sentiment in her eyes that was mirrored in my own.

She was here on a mission too.

Lysandra peered up through the partially lidded slit of her swollen eye. Despite how beaten up she was, she didn’t appear broken. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“No,” Lysandra retorted coldly.

“We just saved your life, you ungrateful little—” I hissed, frustrated at her stonewalled nature. She didn’t flinch or pull back. She simply stared, assessing us while Gwynneth cleaned her tomahawks on one of the dead man’s cloaks. Outside, the heavy patter of inverted rain hit the bottom of the dual-sided rooftops. I took in a deep breath and adjusted my arm’s sling. “Please. We just want to help. It’d be nice to know if this sort of thing will happen again. Should we set up a watch, or just pretend we don’t hear anything the next time six men try to beat and kidnap you?”

“Why would you set up a watch?” She asked softly from the floor. I cocked my eyebrow at her.

“Because we’re not heartless monsters! We heard you scream and came running. That’s just the kind of people we are.”

“I heard battle,” Gwynneth amended calmly.

“You’re not helping. Besides, when it mattered, we came to help. If we were a part of whoever it is’ gang or whatever, why would we kill our own men. Wouldn't it be easier to coordinate the whole thing and ensure there were sentries available to detain these men? Killing seems a bit over the top.”

“They wouldn’t be able to talk this way,” Gwynneth chimed in from where she knelt.

“Who’s side are you on?” I yelled at the dwarf. That seemed to sting more than I’d intended. “I’m sorry, Gwynneth. You’re my friend and that came out wrong.” I turned to the elf. “We’re not a part of some twisted person’s games. We’re two cadets, just like you, okay?” I smiled at her while she still sat there and assessed me. When she didn’t respond, I shrugged, unwilling to lose more sleep over this lost cause.

“Come on, Gwynneth. I think it’s time to leave this elf to her thoughts.” The young dwarf nodded sagely at me and together we walked away back down the hall.

“My room is one level above, so it is a waste of energy to walk along this hallway when the other stairway was closer,” Gwynneth remarked beside me. We took our time down the corridor to where my room was. I turned to her coolly. Her lip barely teased upward when she added. “It’s nice. I—I like being inefficient with you.”

“Thank you?” I replied with a short laugh. She patted me hard on the shoulder and we were almost all the way to my warded door when Lysandra called out after us.

“Wait!”

We turned. She got up and followed us, dragging her wait along the wall to near us. I groaned a bit and returned the way we came, not willing to let the injured she-elf do all the work. She paused as we reached her.

“Sangal.” She spoke the word like a whip cracking over our heads. Neither of us reacted. Given that Gwynneth was a statue made flesh, that wasn’t a big deal. But for me, only confusion stirred the exhaustion in my mind.

“Potatoes,” I replied sarcastically.

“What?” Lysandra asked, now just as confused as I was.

“Sorry, I thought we were trading randoms words with each other.”

“Seriously?” Lysandra answered, incredulous.

“I can do it again. See, watch: Bramblekin. Okay, your turn,” I quipped back.

“Vorin Sangal? That name means nothing to either of you?” Her words sounded hysterical and she gently shook her head as her shoulder bore the majority of her weight against the wall. Thunder clapped overhead and bright illuminations cut through Lysandra’s open dorm room.

“He is the current seat of power for the Eldorian Triumvirate,” Gwynneth responded easily. She cleaned her fingernails with the tip of one of her small axes.

“Aha! You do know of him!” Lysandra answered angrily and pointed between the two of us. Faint realization dawned over me.

“Oh! Is that the name of one of those stuffy elves you lot have for rulers? It must be so hard to keep track of three of them. One is so much easier,” I replied tiredly.

“He’s my father,” Lysandra said before either of us could react.

“That’s the worst. I’m sorry he sent a bunch of guys to kidnap you. Talk about a görnach,” I answered when her claim finally registered. Lysandra deflated. To my right, Gwynneth nodded sagely.

“Skrägging görnach,” was her contribution to the conversation.

Dishonorable belching stoneless coward. Nice, I mentally complimented my strange friend on her educational profanity.

“How about we talk you to the medical sect and you can tell us about how your dad is the worst?” I offered tentatively to the girl. Silently, Lysandra nodded. With my good arm, I slung her limp one around my shoulder and we started for the stairs. This time, we passed by the six corpses that now littered our hall.

“The uncle who disowned me said that this is the best way I’d make friends,” Gwynneth spoke suddenly as we averted our eyes from the gore.

“There’s so much to unpack in that one sentence, Gwyn,” I answer with a quiet chuckle. We began down the stairs when I noticed that the dwarf had stopped at the top. She stared down at me with the biggest grin I’d seen her make. “What?”

“I like it. Gwyn. Please never change that.” Her smile never left as she helped me haul the wounded elf to the medical sect.