“Should we...say something to him?” Shaveen asked Danandra. McKenzie was ranting unintelligibly in some strange, harsh language – it must be this ‘english’ he’d spoken about earlier: back when he could speak, at least in a way that someone else would recognise as actual words.

“He wouldn’t be able to understand, right now,” Danandra told her.

“I mean, how can we be sure he’s...back to normal?” The thief clarified.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Danandra replied breezily. “He’s never normal.”

“Okay, yeah, but I kinda wanna know if this is anger directed at the trolls or at us,” Shaveen clarified. “And anyway we shouldn’t just let him stand there shouting at crates, we’re on the clock here, mage.”

“I’d advise letting him get it out of his system, mistress thief,” Danandra told her. “It’s faster in the long run.”

“Sod that,” Shaveen said, and marched over to him. “Hey, McKenzie!”

“Yeah, give ‘im what for Shav!” Teria said.

The High Assassin stopped and looked at her, and his face settled into an uncomfortable expression. He put one hand on the back of his head while the other one rubbed at his side uncomfortably. Clearly he was feeling guilty.

“No, no time for this,” she said, then slapped him, reached up, grabbed him round the face and brought it down to her level to kiss him. “There – that about covers what I want to impart. Can we save the fuckin’ day now babes?”

McKenzie gave her an uncertain smile.

“Good,” Shaveen said, and turned to face everyone else. “Let’s all put our bows down and stop prepping death magic, eh? Listen: I’m a fuckin’ thief – I came here to steal from that useless entitled lot,” she pointed to the elves.

“A thief!” One of them gasped - clearly they hadn’t been keeping up with events. “Why were you even permitted aboard?”

“Well, we weren’t wearing the official uniform and they must not have read the signs round our necks saying ‘thief’ in bright pink letters,” Shaveen responded sarcastically.

“Silence, fool!” Briztaz snapped at the elf, who obliged with a cringe.

Shaveen went on. “There’s this thing called honour among thieves,” she said, “and as soon as ‘kidnapped kids’ entered the ever-bloody-evolving fuck-up I’ve actually found myself in as opposed to a nice simple heist, that changed things. The girls and I will help however we can with that, but then we are turning this airship around and taking everyone away from here,” she explained.

“Along with their gold, no doubt,” Danandra pointed out.

“Yep, that’s pretty much a given,” Shaveen admitted freely. “Although to be frank I think we’ve earned it on this trip, and I am not walking away from this with nothing but a vague feeling of altruistic selflessness and the promise of a dinner date with an assassin, who I now suspect of having lied about being romantically involved after...whatever that was just now, and I am slightly hurt despite us not being a long-term thing so far.” She frowned darkly. “I did not mean to say that last part.”

“It’s not a current relationship, if that helps,” Leni told Shaveen. “That was his ex he was talking to.”

“Which one?”

“I think both?” Danandra answered, frowning. “It’s hard to keep up sometimes. Neither of them is actually on this plane of existence, but he very clearly has unresolved guilt in regard to at least one of them, which he really should address. Not that he will: he is, by and large, emotionally illiterate.”

“Maybe we should put him in a magic therapy sack,” Leni muttered.

(“You’re talking about me, aren’t you? I can tell you know,” McKenzie said – but nobody understood him.)

Shaveen sighed and looked over at him. “Why is there always a complicated thing with men’s exes? Good thing I’m mostly into him for what he can do in a hammock when-”

“Stop talking, I do not need to hear the truth about that,” Danandra said. “In fact, please take that earring off. You still have the bracelet on your ankle.”

“What?” Shaveen asked, surprised.

“I only needed to know you were telling the truth about not being under trollish influence,” Danandra told her. “I can, frankly, quite happily live the rest of a long elven lifespan without knowing any additional details about what McKenzie does with girls in hammocks.” She held her hand out to Shaveen.

“I sort of assumed you’d do something...dramatic to me if I took it off,” Shaveen said. “And you’re quite scary. Sorry, didn’t mean to say that, I- ugh!” Shaveen removed the earring and handed it back to Danandra. “It’s a good thing you’re...scarily powerful. That’s what I meant.”

“It really wasn’t – but I’m fine with being scary and thank you for the compliment,” Danandra told her, pocketing the spare charm.

“Can I take mine off?” Leni asked hopefully. “I’ll be fine without it too.”

“No,” Danandra replied with finality. “Don’t mistake the fact that I don’t want you dead yet for trust, Leni.”

Leni looked disappointed.

“Let’s get back to the plan,” Shaveen said. “We hit the citadel then get the hell out of here. Agreed?”

“I can work with that,” Briztaz allowed, and motioned to the drow to stand down.

“Up to a point,” Danandra said. “Briztaz, I will honour my word, but this airship must continue to the centre of Trollheim afterwards. That is what the trolls are expecting to see, and we must not alert them that something is awry. Everyone except Leni, the High Assassin and myself will go with it – I suggest everyone else holes up in the citadel until the coast is clear.”

“Until the coast is clear?” Shaveen asked sarcastically. “Trolls, mage. Lots of them, on the doorstep. They’re not going anywhere - and with them around, neither will anyone else – and from what I understand you are proposing to give their anthill a really big kick.”

“There is a second airship,” Briztaz said suddenly.

“What?” Everyone – apart from McKenzie, who just looked confused – asked.

“At the citadel, there is a second airship. My employers might have come to an accomodation with the trolls, but they are not stupid - trolls don’t care about the colour of the elves they eat,” she said, with a grimace of distaste. “So a fast, well-armed airship is kept at the citadel, in case the trolls betray us and try to storm the gates.”

“Is there room for all the passengers and crew?” Danandra asked.

Briztaz nodded. “It’ll be crowded, but yes.”

“Okay, we’re totally stealing it,” Shaveen blurted out, then, as disapproving looks were directed her way, added: “For everyone, not just us. Gods above, you people have a really low opinion of my profession.”

“You are literally thieves,” Briztaz told her.

“Hmm, you know what, I think you might be right. Remind me what it was you were doing aboard the fake cruise liner elf trap again?” Shaveen asked her, with an innocent expression.

Briztaz flushed. “I am ashamed that my hypocrisy has been called out,” she said, then swore. “Damn this charm!”

Shaveen laughed. “Here’s another bit of truth for you. Not only are we thieves, we are the best thieves in Vyrinios,” Shaveen said, with a grin, as she gave her two companions a fist bump.

“Damn right we are,” Fanelle confirmed, mid-bump.

“I have long-standing confidence issues even though rationally I know I’m competent,” Teria replied when it was her turn to fist bump, then went wide-eyed.

Shaveen patted her on the arm. “Teri, we know. You shouldn’t have, you’re one of the most skilled thieves I know, and thieves are, like, 99% of my peer group,” she assured her. “Only the best on my crew. I could put that fuckin’ earring back on and say exactly the same thing.”

Teria gave a small smile and nod.

“And these skills is summat you should be glad of, Briztaz,” Shaveen went on, “because it sounds very much like you have need of people who can break into somewhere very secure.”

“You are not wrong, mistress thief,” Danandra said. “Our first order of business is to secure the ship – with McKenzie no longer opposing us, that will not even present a trivial problem. Then, we will make a plan.”

(“I heard my name, but that’s about all. Am I supposed to do something?” McKenzie asked – but was once again ignored.)

“A quick one,” Briztaz said emphatically. “Trollheim draws close.”

- o O o -

“There is no way, on this world or any other, that I am getting in that box. Wait, I didn’t mean that. I probably will end up getting the box because I’m ashamed about becoming the Obelisk’s little bitch and want to make up for it, but since I habitually cover up my emotions with sarcasm and anger I will be a twat about it first to prove some sort of point,” McKenzie said, then: “Fucking hell I’m glad nobody can understand me right now.”

“I really wish we could understand him right now. There’s usually only minimal filtering between whatever he uses for a brain and his mouth, but right now he must be coming out with all kinds of stuff I could use to embarrass him later,” Danandra observed to Shaveen, then pointed a stern look at McKenzie. “Get in the box!”

“Fine!” McKenzie said, then wedged himself into one of Leni’s travel crates.

“When the chest is opened,” Danandra said to him slowly, as if explaining algebra to a dog, “jump out and start hitting drow.” She mimed opening a lid and then punching something for emphasis.

“But not me,” Briztaz – also present – added, tapping her chest then making a ‘nope’ gesture by waving her hands across each other.

“Lid open, hit things, not people I recognise although I’m making no promises if it’s Leni and she slaps me again. Got it, it’s not exactly Machiavelliian in it’s intricacy after all,” he grumbled in response. “If you leave me in here longer than is absolutely necessary, I’m going to kick my way out and start hitting anyone, by the way. Just want to get that out there. Not even a lie because that’s entirely possible, I have long-standing impulse control problems which I wrongly regard as a strength in order to disguise my inability to confront them. God damn this bloody necklace!”

“He’s got a really bad temper,” Danandra said. “The worst, and believe me, I’m an expert. We need to make sure we don’t leave him in there longer than necessary.” She tapped the watch on McKenzie’s wrist – he’d been carrying it in a pocket, but now that the bodyguard jig was up, he’d put it back on – then held up five fingers.

“Fuckin’ better be no more than five minutes,” McKenzie growled.

“See you in a bit, babes,” Shaveen said with a smile, as she fitted a recently-improvised shallow tray into the chest, concealing McKenzie. Onto this was heaped gold and jewels looted from the ship – and then he was sealed in. The chest was picked up by drow, and placed alongside two others on the Posh Elf Titanic’s cargo elevator. Briztaz and the drow mage stepped onto the platform next to them.

“Here – a compulsion to tell the truth will not be an asset for this operation,” Danandra handed Briztaz and the mage a bracelet each.

“My thanks, elf mage,” Briztaz said. “I thought we had none spare.”

“Let us just say that two of the passengers we just rounded up are currently experiencing an unexpected bout of honesty,” Danandra told her.

Briztaz and the mage performed a quick swap – bracelets on first, of course.

“Why are you helping us, elf?” Briztaz asked Danandra.

“We require each other’s co-operation in order to achieve our individual goals,” Danandra answered, with a shrug.

Briztaz shook her head. “You wear a plethora of charms, but clearly you have not enspelled them yet - you are not being honest. It is achingly clear that you – by yourself, with no assistance whatsoever – would be capable of taking control of this ship: I just saw you do it. With the High Assassin of Vyrinios by your side, you did not need our assistance – and only after you placed a truth charm on me and learned about my daughter did you offer me this deal.”

“Briztaz, if you have come to the conclusion that my haughty, irascible exterior conceals a heart of gold or some such similar nonsense, then I want it clearly understood that I will personally teleport a live wasp into your lungs if I catch you spreading that rumour,” Danandra said levelly. “Perhaps two.”

Briztaz blinked. “I understand, elfmage,” she answered, managing not to sound too afraid.

The drow mage was less unflappable: “Ew, fuck!”

Danandra smiled thinly. “Excellent. You are clear on the plan?”

“I will go in via the front entrance with the chests, and unleash the High Assassin to create a distraction. The three other teams, each with a thief, will attempt to infiltrate via side doors. You will teleport directly inside and create another distraction. Everyone not so engaged heads for the dungeons, attempting to get as close as possible to the hostages before giving ourselves away,” Briztaz replied, then frowned. “Are you sure you cannot teleport more people through the magical shielding around the citadel?”

Danandra shook her head. “Enough to be useful? Certainly not safely. Not without much more power than I currently have access to. I may be powerful, Briztaz, but I am not the Archmage: and as I sense that you are about to ask, no, I will not risk using the High Assassin’s… facility with magic to bring it down. There is too much at stake. The thieves and their lockpicking skills are our best hope. Now go, before those below begin to harbour suspicions at this delay, or McKenzie gets bored and kicks his way out of the chest prematurely.”

Briztaz nodded – other drow began to lower the cargo platform. Danandra made herself scarce, in case a drow below looked up and became suspicious – and besides, she had her own part to play in this plan.

The drow citadel was a large building, part of Trollheim and yet not: it was the furthest from the Obelisk of all Trollheim’s structures, and a long bowshot from it’s nearest neighbour. The drow within were also not just relying on bows - at each corner of the large, crenellated walls stood a ballista, unmanned, at present, and the walls unpatrolled: all to the good.. The generous grounds within were dominated by a large, square building – to Danandra’s expert eye, protected by a magical shield – and, as Briztaz had said, an airship that was smaller than the Rainbow Princess Blessing but also presumably much faster and in better condition. According to Briztaz, each of the citadel’s four inner walls had an entrance which was not protected by the shield: the main entrance through which Briztaz would (hopefully) take the McKenzie-equipped chest, and smaller, armoured doors in the other three. Sand was heaped up against one of the outer walls, an indication of where the prevailing winds blew from. In the other direction, there was nothing but the desert over which they’d been flying – an expanse of sand and blasted rock, inhospitable and bleak. Danandra wondered how many victims of the Obelisk has perished in that desert, not knowing why they were drawn onward through it. It was enough to make even a hardened cynic shudder. Trollheim’s body count must surely number in the millions, by now.

Briztaz was right to harbour a few doubts as to Danandra’s motives for agreeing to what was, on paper, a needless distraction from their primary mission. The elven mage took a great deal of pride in being independent, and even ruthless when the situation called for it. The destruction of the Obelisk, given all the misery and death it had caused, should surely call for some ruthless prioritisation.

But...there was a limit to that. Danandra had heard nothing of the drow, all her life, but bad: they were evil, malicious, nearly feral in their disregard for civilised values – and then when she’d placed a truth charm on one she’d broken down in very real fear for her child. If Danandra was being honest with herself, she was also a bit of an outcast within elven society. Elven mages were most definitely not supposed to go down the path Danandra (and her boyfriend Talius, another misfit) had chosen. She knew a bit about what it was like to be painted by others in largely dark colours.

And besides, like Shaveen had said, children were involved. You’d have to be a cast-iron bitch to ignore that. It was the sort of decision Lemuel would make: we must leave them to their fate, the greater good demands it. Danandra wasn’t playing by those rules any more, and never would again.

She’d been honest with Briztaz about one thing, though: she was not the Archmage. She’d been leaning heavily on her power, and unlike Xixaxa, she did not have an effectively bottomless well of magical reserves to draw on, and she needed to keep something in reserve for what would come after this. She squared her shoulders, took a breath, and joined the other three entry teams by a porthole.

“Ready?” She asked them. Everyone nodded.

“Then let’s begin.”

- o O o -

In a society that, by and large, not only tolerated ‘intense and creepy’ but made a virtue of it, it was actually quite impressive, Briztaz thought, that her employers somehow contrived to exhibit levels of intensity and creepiness that managed to unsettle their fellow drow.

“You have deviated from the plan. Explain.”

This was General Krizak’s blank-faced greeting to her as the platform touched down. He had emerged from the main entrance, accompanied as usual by four equally blank-faced guards in lacquered black armour. Drow society didn’t really have an army, but Krizak called himself a general and nobody wanted to argue with him, because he was known to do things like kidnap people’s children and threaten to feed them to trolls.

“There was a great deal of gold aboard, General,” Briztaz answered. “The Captain thought it wise to deliver it here before we proceed to our final destination. I am ordered to escort it within.”

Krizak didn’t think much of that. “Unacceptable. Take it back aboard and continue as planned.”

Briztaz had not expected this to go well – she had expected demands for explanations, for the chests to be searched, problems such as that – but she had not expected to simply be told to pack up and go away.

“I-,” she began to speak.

“Now,” Krizak insisted.

Briztaz stalled – it was all she could think of. “What should I tell the Captain, sir? She was very clear that I was to carry out her orders to the letter.”

“I said now,” Krizak repeated. “Before-”

“What is this, Krizak?” A loud voice asked. Briztaz looked over the General’s shoulder – a troll was approaching. “We have clients waiting for this shipment.”

He was a large specimen – nearly ten feet, Briztaz estimated, and clad in expensive-looking leather armour: Briztaz didn’t want to speculate as to what, or who, had provided the skin for the leather. A very large bow, and a quiver of similarly oversized arrows, was slung over his back. As he drew closer, Briztaz was treated to the somewhat worrying sight of the General wincing.

“A routine delivery, Bellicus,” Krizak said, “nothing more. All is proceeding as we planned. Your auction will begin on schedule.”

“It had better,” the troll rumbled, coming to a stop to loom over everyone and everything except the airship above them. “Let me guess, a routine delivery of a large amount of gold.”

“Which goes to us, according to our agreement,” Krizak said.

“As long as my initial outlay is covered,” Bellicus said.

Fuuuuuuuuck, Briztaz thought.

“Let us examine exactly how much gold lies within these chests,” Bellicus suggested – although it wasn’t really a suggestion.

Briztaz didn’t know what else to think, apart from fuuuuuuuuuuck once again.

Danandra snapped her fingers three times – an unnecessary gesture to accompany spellcasting, at her level: it had been decades since she’d been obliged to rely on hand movements or words to bolster her control of her power, at this point it was just an affectation.

Three teams swirled out of existence in the Rainbow Princess Blessing’s cargo hold – Shaveen, Teria and Fanelle, each with a support team of three ‘friendly’ drow. They reappeared by the three auxiliary entrances, crouched up against the walls to hopefully avoid being spotted. The thieves immediately set to work on the locks.

Danandra felt the expenditure of power as a twinge deep within her – not painful and certainly not the last magic she’d be able to perform today, but it was a warning she would normally heed, and take it easy.

Instead, she took a breath, squared her shoulders, and turned to Leni. Leni had taken the opportunity to clad herself in drow leathers instead of pale, frilly unsuitableness and looked completely out of place in them. The large sword she’d scared up from somewhere also didn’t look to be a natural fit for her tiny hands, but she held it easily enough.

“Ready?” Danandra asked her, with neither encouragement or scorn. Right now she needed Leni’s strength - feelings could be sorted out later. They always could.

Leni nodded. “Totally.”

“This will hurt,” she said, and grabbed Leni’s hand. She snapped her fingers with her free hand, and drove herself, with Leni in tow, directly through the shield protecting the citadel and into it’s heart.

Bellicus reached down and flicked up the lid of the first chest – which contained only gold, silver and some looted jewelry.

“Hmm,” he said.

“This is hardly necessary,” Krizak said. “There is ample elf-flesh on that airship to cover your outlay, Bellicus, and provide a handsome profit besides.”

“Perhaps,” Bellicus said. “But if all three of these chests hold similar riches, well, that’s a much better haul than certain people led me to believe would be aboard. Strikes me in that case, a bit of a re-evaluation might be indicated.”

“For any future arrangements, perhaps,” Krizak said.

As Bellicus bent over the second chest, Krizak gave a nod to his men and jerked his head in the direction of the nearest ballista. Two of them set off towards it.

Shaveen frowned at the door – it was troll-sized, which placed the lock at eye level, for her.

“Problem?” One of her drow asked.

“Pfft,” Shaveen replied dismissively. She reached for her tools, and a few moments later there was a satisfying click.

“We’re in lads,” she said, with a grin, as she stowed her lockpicks and drew a sword instead. “Charge.”

Danandra and Leni materialised on a table. A drow soldier, who had been enjoying his lunch seated at said table, let a spoonful of soup dribble unnoticed back into his bowl as Danandra’s booted foot appeared on top of the scroll he’d been reading.

They’d appeared right in the middle of mealtime – the drow garrison’s mealtime. There were at least twenty of them, some in leather armour, some not, seated at tables in a large, high-ceilinged hall.

The drow soldier looked up. Danandra already had bright blue electricity crackling between her fingers.

“Hi,” Leni said, from beside Danandra. “Smells nice, what’s on the menu today?”

The drow didn’t, however, want to play. “Elven scum! Kill them!”

“Well, that gets right to it,” Danandra shrugged, and released the lightning.

“I was more thinking this arrangement, Krizak,” Bellicus rumbled. “As well as any future ones. Given what we see before us, I would think you would like to be accomodating.”

“I would take great pleasure in repeating this operation multiple times, but that is a discussion for a future time” Krizak told Bellicus, who was regarding the contents of chest number two with a raised eyebrow. He thrust a huge hand into it, and allowed the glittering contents to trickle through his fingers.

“Is it, though?” Bellicus asked, standing up again and looking at Briztaz. “How much more gold is there aboard, she-drow?”

“Do not answer,” Krizak snapped at Briztaz.

“Oh, go on, please,” Bellicus said, with a playful tone – at least Briztaz assumed it was: everything Bellicus said came out in a terrifying, deep growl.

“Take this inside,” Krizak told Briztaz, with a poisonous look, “and then report to my office.”

The look didn’t escape the troll’s attention. “Went a bit off-script, did she?” Bellicus asked Krizak. “Didn’t check who was visiting before dropping the gold off?”

“That is none of your affair,” Krizak told Bellicus, and seeing that his men had now manned the ballista, strengthened his tone. “You would do well to adhere to the exact terms of our agreement, Bellicus.”

“I’m not worried about your little bow and arrow set, Krizak,” Bellicus said.

Briztaz could have almost sworn that she saw Krizak smirk, as the troll said that.

The troll didn’t notice: he had turned an appraising look on Briztaz. “If you are not happy with this female, perhaps you’d like to outsource disciplinary action to me. Looks like she’d make a tasty example.”

Briztaz took an involuntary step back.

Bellicus laughed. “Relax, she-drow. I am not here to hunt. Today, at least.”

The troll placed one finger under the lid of the last chest. Briztaz braced herself, but he did not open it.

“Bellicus, you go too far,” Krizak said threateningly.

“No, Krizak, that would be you,” Bellicus took his hand away from the chest to point at Krizak. “You told me you had sufficient followers to crew the ship. Trustworthy professionals. Instead, I hear, you’ve resorted to kidnapping your own kind to ensure their loyalty – not really that big of a revelation that your orders haven’t been followed to the letter, is it? Personally I’m amazed the ship has even turned up,” the troll said.

“How I hold up my end of the deal is my business, Bellicus,” Krizak said through gritted teeth.

“No, it’s ours,” Bellicus growled, pointing at himself as well as Kirizak. “Are there any other surprises in store for me?”

Bellicus reached down for the lid – just as a bell started sounding from the citadel.

Teria and Fanelle almost literally ran into each other in the citadel.

“Have you seen Shav?” Teria asked.

Fanelle shook her head. “Haven’t seen anyone. You?”

Teria jerked her head over her shoulder. “A couple of guards. We dealt with them.” One of her drow held a bloodstained blade.

“Same. So where do we go now?” Fanelle asked.

“We go down, where our families are being held,” the drow said, jangling the keys he’d taken from one of the guards they’d ‘dealt with’. “Your assistance was appreciated, however.”

The six drow disappeared down a staircase. A bell started ringing, from further within the citadel.

“Shall we go towards that?” Teria asked.

Fanelle shrugged. “Good a plan as any.”

“What have you done, Bellicus?” Krizak asked. “What treachery is this?”

Bellicus looked back towards the citadel. “Nothing to do with me, Krizak. Perhaps you need to put your own house in order?”

With that, Bellicus flipped up the lid.

McKenzie practically exploded out of the chest – he didn’t bother with climbing out, he just pushed in all directions. The tray of gold flew up into Bellicus’ face, all four sides of the chest were snapped flat to the ground with metallic rips and the cracking of wood, and McKenzie kicked himself to his feet.

“Yay!” He said. “A troll to take all this undirected anger out on. Just what I needed in order to avoid dealing properly with the feelings of powerlessness brought on by my susceptibility to the Obelisk.”

McKenzie winced: “In related news, I cannot wait to get this necklace off.”

Then he bent his legs, raised his fist, and straightened himself out in an uppercut to the troll’s chin.

With solid ground to push against the force was considerable. The troll flew up into the air and came back down several metres away.

“Let’s go!” Briztaz shouted to the drow mage, and they sprinted past Kriztaz, his guards and Bellicus towards the entrance.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I’ve got this,” McKenzie said to their backs, with heavy sarcasm – and then something sharp slammed into his side with a great deal of force, knocking him to the ground.

“The fuck?” McKenzie asked, blinking and looking up to where two drows were winding a pair of cranks on one of the fuck-off big crossbows that were a recurring pain in McKenzie’s arse – so far not literally, but that was probably just a matter of time. McKenzie looked at his side – there was something sticky on his jacket, with a few fragments of broken glass stuck to it.

“Yazha tak herat zanaluk?” The posher-looking of the three drows currently looking down at him from behind drawn swords asked him.

“Dunno, about half past two?” McKenzie replied, and then kicked upwards at him really hard.

He didn’t weigh anywhere near what the troll had – he went sailing a lot further and faster.

Krizak thumped to the ground just in front of Briztaz, causing her to swerve out of the way. Four guards were running out of the entrance – whether trying to intercept her or heading for the fight, she didn’t know, but they were in her way. She decided to try and influence their decision.

“The troll!” She cried. “He’s trying to take our gold!”

It turned out that ‘trying to take our gold’ was a potent magical phrase, on a par with whatever mind-altering influence the trollish Obelisk radiated. Any suspicions the guards had harboured instantly evaporated.

“See to the General,” the lead guard ordered, then took his fellows past her and towards the fight.

It did not look like Krizak could benefit from any help Briztaz was willing to give – which was, in any case, none. His head was currently looking up at the sky, but the rest of him was pointed towards the ground.

Another ballista bolt thunked into he ground between McKenzie and the two drows currently backing away from him: they’d seen the reinforcements and were, it seemed, content to wait for them - or for their fellows on the tower to score another hit. McKenzie didn’t like that approach.

“You, come here,” he barked at one of the drows, and lunged forward to grab him. The man stabbed at him, but McKenzie ignored it, got a good grip on the drow’s upper arm, set his feet and then swung really hard.

With a shriek, the drow went flying through the air. McKenzie’s boots gouged furrows in the hard-packed earth of the courtyard but his aim was, for once, not bad. The man crashed into his two mates and they were all swept off the tower to the ground outside the walls. The ballista was set to spinning on it’s mount, like a weathervane in a tornado.

Figuring that he was onto a good thing, McKenzie looked at the other drow, sizing up his weight. The dark elf’s eyes widened and he turned to flee back towards the questionable safety in numbers the approaching quartet offered. McKenzie proved to be a bit quicker, though – he grabbed the drow by the leg. The man hacked and stabbed at him with his sword. McKenzie ignored it, rammed his heels into the ground and spun.

Unfortunately, this time he overdid it. His right foot slipped and instead of the drow being flung into the midst of his fellows, he ended up going in the opposite direction instead. With a shriek, he thumped into the hull of the Posh Elf Titanic with a sickening crunch, then dropped lifeless to the ground.

“Oops,” McKenzie said, twisting his lips into a chagrined and disappointed grimace. He turned to face the approaching guards. “That’s on me, sorry. Got carried away.”

This was completely incomprehensible to the four drows, but they certainly seemed to have taken something away from the sight. They came to a halt, then backed away, and then turned and ran towards the entrance.

“Oi!” McKenzie shouted after them. “I wasn’t finished with you lot! I need to be seen to be very strong and fierce right now to counter the very real fear of losing my free will! Dammit!”

Before he could start running after them, though, a new enemy came to his attention – the troll got back to his feet and unslung a huge bow from his back: something else McKenzie didn’t have good memories of.

He snarled and charged the troll.

Leni and Danandra were fighting back to back in the mess hall. The table they’d been standing on – like all of the others in the room, thanks to a strange green mist Danandra had conjured – had morphed into a wooden statue of a wolf and attacked the nearest drow with a menacing creak of wooden legs. Leni was similarly engaged, swinging her oversized-for-a-tiny-elf sword to keep back a group of his colleagues. Danandra had called forth an oval-shaped blue glowing shield, which she wielded with her left hand, blocking arrows and fireballs: there were two mages among the enemy. With her right hand she was directing orange bolts at any target that presented itself. When she scored a hit, the drow she’d targeted was frozen into immobility, the only sign of life their furious surprised blinking. They were out-numbered, but that was fine: their role here was to attract attention.

“Why can’t I just cut these little bastards to shreds, Danandra?” Leni asked.

“Because that’s not the plan,” Danandra replied. “The plan is noise. The plan is a huge fight that attracts attention. Most of all the plan is you doing as you are told.”

Leni suppressed a disappointed sigh. “Yes ma’am,” she said.

The first arrow took McKenzie in the left shoulder, making a tearing sound and leaving a glowing trail as it flew through the air. It hit him so hard that it spun him counter-clockwise three whole times before he hit the floor, dizzy and now pissed off. With his quintessence suppressed, there wasn’t even the leavening thrill of power being absorbed from what McKenzie realised was some sort of magic projectile.

“Well fuck,” McKenzie said, doing the Jadhara trick with his legs to kick himself upright. “That hurts. You just earned yourself some extra pain, arrowfuck.”

The troll laughed – apparently not at all bothered that the arrow had failed to penetrate - and nocked another one. McKenzie feinted as if he was going to dodge left, then went right instead, lined himself up with the troll and jumped for him, high and fast.

This arrow hit him somewhere much more painful – with an accompanying explosion. There was, in fact, only one other place on his body that ranked above it in terms of where he least wanted to take an arrow, let alone an exploding one, and that was very much down to special circumstances.

“Okay so you’re quite good with that then,” McKenzie gasped, picking himself up from the floor for a second time.

“I know who you are,” the troll told him. “The demon that now controls those black-dressed fools in Vyrinios. It matters not whether you’re here for me or the drow, assassin – before this day is over, your Guild will need a new master, and I will taste demon-flesh.”

McKenzie, of course, heard this as nothing more than a series of snarls and growls. The troll pulled another arrow from his quiver and fitted it to his bow. It began to glow.

“Arrow fight, is it?” McKenzie asked. He looked sideways and upwards, to where the recently de-crewed ballista was still spinning slightly on it’s gimbals. “Hmm.”

Briztaz and the mage tore down the stairs towards the dungeons – they were clean dungeons, even well-lit: Krizak was a firm believer that all drow, even hostages, were several cuts above lesser species – but they were dungeons nonetheless.

She was terrified and besides herself with anxiety. The plan had been for her to get inside before unleashing the High Assassin – instead he wasn’t even in the building.

When she arrived on the lowest level, she saw the thing she had dreaded above all things.

Some of her fellows had got here before her, and there had evidently been a fight: the two armoured bodies were testament to that. Briztaz had to get past several drow, men, women and children, on the stairs – and some open cell doors showed from where they had been freed. She did not, though, see the face she was desperately hoping to see.

Until she reached the middle of the long corridor that bisected the dungeons. Then she saw her daughter’s face – with a knife held to the throat below it.

“Mother!” Her daughter called.

“Traitor!” The drow holding her hostage called out his own, hate-filled greeting. Briztaz recognised him: Lazark, Krizak’s lieutenant.

It appeared to be a stand-off. The fanatics were arrayed behind Lazark and her daughter. Her allies faced them. Briztaz pushed to the front.

“It’s going to be alright, Pharoza,” Briztaz told her daughter.

“I can guarantee that it is not”, Lazark replied, with an ugly thin smile.

“If you hurt her,” Briztaz told him, icy anger pushing aside her fear, “then my vengeance upon you will be beyond your most horrible expectations. Generations of drow will shiver with fear when the end of Lazark is recounted to them. Your suffering will become the stuff of legend.”

“And yet my knife is at her throat, and thus I am safe,” Lazark sneered. “Let us now discuss your surren-”

He stopped talking mid-flow, his mouth working. He tried to cut Pharoza’s throat, but he appeared to have lost all strength – Pharoza broke free of his grip and ran to her mother.

Shaveen, stood behind Briztaz, lowered her throwing arm. “Or, you could shut the fuck up,” she said to Lazark as he collapsed to the floor, clutching at the needle embedded in his throat.

Two drow went to his aid: Shaveen’s hand blurred again, and they too fell to the floor.

“I got a whole lot of these,” she announced. “Who wants to try next?”

Briztaz gathered her daughter into her arms. “My thanks,” she told the thief.

“No big thing,” Shaveen replied.

The drow mage called forth red fire from both his hands, and held it ready to throw. The ruddy glow threw strange dancing shadows against the walls, competing with the steady radiance of the dungeon lights.

Briztaz turned back to the other drow, who were looking uncertainly at their comatose leader and the pair that had tried to help him.

“General Krizak is dead,” she said, “and his scheme undone. Hark at the alarms above – we came here with powerful allies. We will prevail. Decide now if you wish to die – because that is the fate that awaits any drow that does not lay down his blade right, the fuck, now.”

Swords started to be placed on the ground.

“I dunno what you just said, Briz,” Shaveen remarked. “But whatever it was, I think it did the trick.”

Briztaz turned a slightly frosty glare on Shaveen.

“Oops,” Shaveen smiled uncomfortably. “Not a nickname type person?”

Briztaz forced her features into a warmer configuration. “Actually, Shav,” she said, “I think it might grow on me.”

McKenzie jerked and swore as yet another of the troll’s arrows struck him – this time in the back, as he’d just tried to jump up to the top of the tower and had, with weary predictability, miscalculated sightly and only managed to get his fingertips over the edge of the crenellations. This one seemed to explode, shoving him painfully into the wall, and this time a few streams of magical fire ran down McKenzie’s back, to smoulder on the ground below.

“Who the fuck are you, the troll Robin fucking Hood? Do you never miss?” He asked the troll – or the wall, rather, but in any case neither of them could understand him. “Bad news if you don’t, because I’ve got a weak spot that I’m really, really lucky is only legendary on a different planet and not this one. Dammit necklace, that? Seriously?”

Fortunately, fingertips were as good as a firm handhold for McKenzie. He pulled himself up and over, and examined the ballista.

It was some sort of fancy, repeating model – smaller than the examples he’d seen (and been shot by) so far – the spare bolts half-spilled from a canvas bag on the floor were only a couple of feet long and the whole contraption was much more compact: it had some sort of complicated-looking arrangement of springs up front to provide the all-important death-twang, with only short arms. It was fed from a hopper that contained - he looked up to do a count, and received an arrow in the neck for his trouble, which slammed him sideways and down, bouncing his head off the outer crenellations. Electricity also sparked up and down his body, causing him to bite his tongue.

“Thatff hurtff you big greenff fuck!” He shouted, numb-tongued, at the troll while he rubbed his neck. The troll in question was advancing while he drew his bow again. “And using fucked up magic never-bloody-miss arrows is cheating, by the way!”

McKenzie worked the crank that pulled the string back – the springs up front were pretty heavy-duty, and it wasn’t so much a string as a hefty piece of metallic cable: the crank was geared appropriately. Even with his strength it was slow going.

“Fuck this.” McKenzie wrenched the crank mechanism from the ballista and tossed it away over the wall. He grabbed the cable with two fingers and jerked it backward: it engaged in the release mechanism with a crisp snick, and a bolt dropped neatly from the hopper, ready to be fired.

“Better,” McKenzie said, and lined up on the troll.

The troll fired. McKenzie squeezed the big lever beneath the ballista which served it as a trigger.

The troll’s arrow took McKenzie in the other shoulder, this time, because presumably the universe thought he should have an annoying pain in both shoulders. He staggered back against the outer crenellations, the force shifting the big stone a couple of inches out of position. This time the arrow spun in place, apparently trying to drill into his flesh. McKenzie grabbed it and snapped it in two, then pushed himself back up to see if he’d managed to do any damage in return.

He had – the bolt seemed to have penetrated the leather armour over the troll’s chest. The troll wasn’t taking it particularly badly, though. He reached up and plucked the bolt out.

“Your reputation as a slayer of my kind would seem to be exaggerated, little assassin!” He roared up at McKenzie, whose only take-away was ‘welp, someone needs shooting again, then’. “It will take something a lot more powerful than-”

And then he stopped. The ballista bolt (and his own bow) fell from his hands, and he collapsed backwards. His limbs thrashed, the frenzied thumping so intense that McKenzie could feel it transmitted through the ground to the stones of the wall – a loose bolt vibrated at his feet with a tinkling sound.

Finally the troll’s death throes came to an end.

“Hunh,” McKenzie said, with a frown. “You fuckers are usually a bit harder to kill.”

He picked up the loose bolt and squinted at it, giving it a closer inspection. It was all steel, even the flights – apart from the tip, which was glass. Within was some sort of black liquid.

“Iiiinteresting,” McKenzie mused. “This should come in handy later. Also possibly now,” he added, as he remembered that he was probably supposed to be inside, not out here.

The wooden wolves had been reduced to sawdust or ash by the two drow mages – something their smug expressions showed they thought a victory, although Danandra had conjured them solely as distractions. More and more drow had entered the hall, trying to press an attack on Leni or Danandra from behind shields.

Their only reinforcements, so far, had been Shaveen’s two accomplices – a number of unconscious drow indicated that they’d scored a few needle hits: hence the shields. The girls now stood with Leni and Danandra inside a semi-spherical shield that the two drow mages were trying to bring down with bolts of lightning, abetted by some drow with crossbows.

Danandra had hoped to have McKenzie’s assistance, by now. She was more than capable of dealing with all the adversaries facing her, but not without leaving a lot of corpses on the ground. Unbelievable as Danandra found it, given his preferred combat technique of laying wildly about himself with his overpowered fists (or some manner of weapon as blunt as he was), McKenzie tended to knock people out, or break bones, more often than he killed people. She’d rather that than reducing two dozen drow to charred corpses.

Enter, almost on cue for a change, McKenzie. He was holding a huge torsion ballista without, it seemed, any undue effort.

“Oi!” He shouted – a recognisable demand for attention in any language.

With a deep twang, he discharged it into the ceiling – a solid metal bolt thunked into a beam and vibrated there. He then reloaded with a single, effortless jerk of his hand, levelled the siege weapon at the nearest drow, and said something else in his native tongue.

“Nobody move!” He roared at the drows.

Nobody moved – except to stare warily at the ballista, if they hadn’t been already.

“Good,” he said. “Now, everybody-”

He was interrupted by some total asshole firing a crossbow at him. It took him directly in the forehead. He didn’t even move – the bolt bounced off and clattered somewhat pathetically to the floor.

McKenzie turned his head slightly to glare at the drow who was slowly lowering a discharged crossbow.

“Are you,” he asked, swinging the ballista around to point at the drow, who was currently re-evaluating his life choices, “taking the piss?”

The drow said something.

“Charge him! He only has one shot, then he must reload!” The drow said – slightly desperately.

“He reloaded it with one hand,” one of his fellows pointed out.

“If we rush him now, he may not get a chance to fire it at all!” The crossbow drow urged them.

“Easy for you to say. If we rush him, he’s less likely to fire at you,” another drow said.

“He killed the General!” Another more recent arrival said. “We should avenge him!”

“Or, y’know, maybe say thank you and move on?” a dissenter offered a different perspective.

“Traitor!” The crossbow drow said scornfully. “The General gave us back our honour!”

“The General’s got my son in the cellar, Drizak, you frothing-mouthed fanatic,” the dissenter said. “I’m not taking a ballista bolt for him.”

“There is no need for further violence. We are here only to rescue hostages, then depart in peace. Anyone who lays down their weapons will be treated fairly – my word of honour upon it,” Danandra said. This wasn’t a complete lie, but she wasn’t going to mention the part where they departed in peace with both of the airships.

“And why should we trust the word of a cursed elf?” The crossbow drow demanded.

“That’s for you to decide, not me,” Danandra shrugged.

“Fuck this,” the dissenter said, and laid down his sword.

“Wise choice,” McKenzie said, seeing this. “Give that drow a cigar.” A few of the drows looked at him curiously.

“What language is that?”

“Who is that?”

“That, gentlemen,” Danandra said, “is the High Assassin of Vyrinios. I am not entirely sure what the language he’s speaking is called, but let’s go with ‘demonic’ for now.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, now we’ve got the Guild’s attention,” another of the drow said, also laying down his weapon. “I said the elves would not take this lying down. This deal gets worse and worse.”

“Steel your spines, you cowardly scum!” The crossbow drow called out, somewhat desperately.

“Okay matey boy, you are really starting to get on my tits,” McKenzie grumbled, then raised his voice and spoke very slowly and loudly. “Shut the fuck up, otherwise I will crossbow you right in the fucking face.”

The drow didn’t understand the words, but he did understand the ballista being waggled meaningfully at him.

Unfortunately, not well enough. “We will never bow to inferior, low human scum and their elven paymasters. We will-”

McKenzie started walking forward – drows parted for him, shuffling backwards out of the way as if embarrassed.

The crossbow elf yammered out a few more words about drow superiority, and then McKenzie spun the ballista around and slammed the butt-end of it into his face with a deeply satisfying crunch.

“See? Told you,” McKenzie growled out at him. “Crossbow. In. The. Face.” Then: “I feel a lot better now I’ve followed through on a threat with some performative violence in front of an audience, although I’m not at all sure what that says about my personality and my need for validation. Ouch.” He winced.

Leni noticed the wince, and couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I’d get quite a lot of satisfaction out of hearing McKenzie actually being honest with himself.”

“Oh you have no idea how much I wish I spoke that language right now,” Danandra agreed, forgetting, in her amusement, to be disdainful to Leni.

McKenzie glared at her. “I wish you could both understand me saying ‘fuck you’ right now. I’m genuinely on the verge of turning the Q-fu back on and risking the Obelisk, just for five seconds of swearing at you two.”

“The High Assassin has asked me to tell you all that he considers this warning enough, and unless you all surrender, the terms of this Arrangement will permit him to start taking lives without dishonour,” Danandra extemporised something Assassin Guild-ish.

“Are you pretending to translate for me? Stop it!” McKenzie protested.

“And that you have ten heartbeats to comply,” Danandra added.

“You are such a cow,” he told her.

“Now now, High Assassin,” Danandra smirked, “no need for that.”

It remained quite tense in the mess hall for a few moments: there was clearly a cohort amongst the drow that would be quite happy to throw the towel in, but it was equally clear that most of them weren’t sure what would happen if they did, because the crossbow guy on the floor was clearly not the only hard-liner in the hall.

What really sealed the deal was Briztaz and Shaveen bursting in through the far door, followed by a torrent of drows in civilian clothing. There were a number of emotional reunions.

“The hostages have been freed!” She announced, and she was holding the proof in the shape of a mini-version of herself, whose head was buried into her shoulder. “Gods’ deep, you fools, must more drow blood be spilled today? Stop this insanity!”

And, just like that, the insanity stopped.