This is a bad bloody idea, this. Be Yeshau’s Law come true if we get arrested by local townsguard for doing something we’ve been hired to. Really would. No time to think about it now, mind – bell’s rung, fight’s starting. Start swinging or get pummelled, as Da woulda said. Just one of his many pearls of wisdom managed to stick.

Hefdred’s already in my hand, didn’t even realise I drew it. That’s the commitment right there – all this shit kicking off in the middle of the city this early anybody with a weapon out right now is involved. Knowing Yeslee she’s drawing too – she’ll have nocked arrow the moment she saw me move, but she’s gonna be choosing a target now, ready to cover any of us as needs it. I’d feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickling knowing that with a less skilled bowman, but she’s one in a million – Yeslee Toll could put one of her long black arrows through a kobold’s eye at a thousand paces with that bow.

Initial count looks like a dozen of them already committed, got us outnumbered more than two-to-one. Fair fight’d be tricky, don’t know how good they are – although given how quick they’re dispatching the hired help they’re at least competent at their jobs. Mixed bag too by the look of them, six humans, four orcs, a half-orc and a red-scaled dragonhalf – that one’s decked out in rich, patterned leather armour and a scarlet cloak to match their skin and tall, curling horns, looks to be the one in charge. They’re the real threat, I reckon – hanging back mostly as they bark the odd order, carrying a staff in lieu of a blade. Mage then. Like I said, threat.

The plan was pretty open. Shadow the convoy across the city from the river docks and make sure the delivery went smooth, only jump in if it went otherwise. Dunno if it was smart of them to wait until the wagon and its eight escorting horsemen turned into the narrow side street turning into their destination, an empty warehouse in Hocknar’s meat district. This early in the morning, sun’s still well below the broken peaks and the townsguard’s nightshift are worn out and looking forward to their beds … might be this was the smart move. Not many folk out would notice something going down, least not right away.

Sticking to the shadows as much as I can, I sneak up behind the closest, a human boy, doesn’t even look to be in his twenties yet, trusting my own stealth with each footfall as I go while my heart’s set to pounding and teeth clenched with the tension. Not much of a lookout, this kid, but then I guess there’s much more interesting going on with his comrades than in the rest of the city. Better for me, I guess – I’m right up on him and he’s still none the wiser. I’m tempted to tap him on the shoulder first, make it fair, pretty confident I could take him down before he could alert anyone, never mind even think about fighting back, but mainly that’s just my own squeamishness – da taught me to fight real good, but not fight fair, that kinda shit gets you killed real fast. So I just tense at the final step, and instead of tapping him on the shoulder I give it a hard yank and drag him onto Hefdred’s point.

They’re not the most impressively equipped bunch – mostly just various loosely collected plate scraps and mail coats or leather armour – but it’s good enough for the job, and now they’re making such short work of their intended prey it’s clear they’re accomplished so it makes up for the light protection. This one’s layered up a bit, most likely a mail hauberk under his leather breastplate, enough to feel a certain amount of confidence, but it’s no match to two-and-a-half feet of sharpened steel, especially when I can put around two-hundred pounds behind the thrust. My father’s bastard sword rips through his heart and the only noise he can make is a wet, breathy gasp that I feel more than hear before his weight sags onto the blade rammed right through him. Letting the now lifeless body fall forward, I lower it to the ground gently and quietly, feeling a little regret as I plant my boot in the small of his back to help Hefdred slide free but burying it deep. Time enough to feel bad about such an unceremonious murder later – right now there’s a fight ahead of me.

Okay, that one was smooth and silent enough – looks like the only break I’m gonna get. I got half cover right now – up ahead two of the riders are sprawled dead, one with his foot still dangling from a stirrup at his horse’s side, the beast just standing there watching the events unfolding round it, eyes wide but clearly unable to go anywhere right now. Beyond that it’s merry chaos as the remaining four hired guards charged with the cargo’s security are caught in a pitched battle with their attackers that seems to be heading south fast. Staying inside the horse’s shadow I take a look out to evaluate my next move, distracted enough to almost miss the streak of black gliding past on my right.

I have a moment of shock where I nearly strike out in blind reflex, but I rein it back at the last, instead hanging back to enjoy the show. You’d never know it if you meet him social in a tavern, but Art can be a stealthy little bugger when he wants to be, swifter than a viper when it strikes and silent as the grave, both qualities that serve him well if we need him to pinch something. But when lockpicks or rope and grapple give way to sharper edges, he can be a little scary – put a blade or two in his mitts and I’ve seen few could stand against him. He closes the ground to our two nearest opponents in a flash and they don’t even know he’s there, just a dark flash of black leather and darker cloak as he whips up behind one of the orcs and perforates both his lungs from behind so fast I almost don’t even see it happen. The wounded thug stumbles sideways, gasping as he tries to get any kind of sound out but only able to choke as he starts drowning in his own blood, and Art’s already closed on his partner just as he’s starting to register there’s even a threat there. He turns the human’s panicked sword parry with an ease that’s almost contemptuous with the slender long knife in his gloved left and deals another double jab with the similarly slim longsword in his right, first perforating his liver clean through the ineffectual mail of his cuirass and then thrusting the long, thin blade clean through his throat as he starts to double over. All in the breadth of a few seconds.

Art’s already moving on before the second one’s even dropped, but it doesn’t make a difference – they’re starting to take notice now, those who aren’t still engaged already turning our way. The human with the punctured throat goes down face-first and starts to curl up as he gurgles blood while desperately pawing at the holes, but the orc’s still relatively mobile, a big mass of dark green muscle who’s swaying and unsteady but still ticking. Taking a deep breath, I adjust my grip on da’s sword in my right hand while reaching under my coat with the left, drawing one of my hand-axes out from the back of my belt, and duck under the horse’s chin as I rush forward.

The orc turns my way as I close the distance and his eyes are still focused enough that he spots me coming, coughing bright, bubbling blood up onto his chest as he tightens his own one-handed grip on a particularly nasty looking battleaxe. He does a surprisingly good job of squaring his feet and grasps the long shaft with his free hand too, winding up a swing I have no doubt still has enough strength to cut me open nice and pretty, and lets out what I’m sure would be a terrifying roar if he still had air for it. He’s dying fast, but I know orcs well enough to know he plans on taking me with him to serve in his bodyguard in the afterlife.

I sidestep and duck my head at the last second, and that vicious haymaker whistles wide, his momentum carrying him forward so as I can deftly dance round he surges past, leaving his back exposed. Winding up the heftiest swing I can with one arm, I bring Hefdred down in a bright arc and neatly cleave through the muscle, sinew and bone of his neck. As the head tumbles free, the body takes a few more steps, clumsier still, limp fingers releasing the axe to clatter useless on the ground. It’s almost sad watching it fold over.

No time for dwelling, got a job to do. I give the sword a little flick to whip off the excess blood and turn back in time to see another one of the hirelings we’re supposed to be supporting go down, gurgling through a slashed throat while the half-orc that killed him is already turning my way. She’s a tall one, clearing me by a good five inches and I’m six feet in my socks, but leaner, something of a dancer in the way she steps around the soon-to-be corpse, her intense dark stare already locking on me as she performs a similar flourish with her own sword. It’s a lighter, more slender affair than mine, the sword of a duellist like Art, a similar long knife in her left hand – I’ve seen what he can do with that wicked steel of his, and it gives me real pause to consider going up against someone like this.

Wary of this match, I cast a quick look about the battlefield, seeing our prowler’s already moved far from me, engaging a powerful-looking female orc while he’s clearly making a beeline for the mage. Seems their spellcaster’s already aware of the threat though, planting their staff in the mud to the side so they can work their free hands into some kind of sigil that leaves glowing blue tracks in the air, before something starts crackling between their fingers. I don’t have time to bugger around.

The half-orc must sense what I’m thinking, a crooked smile touching her lips as she sidesteps into my path, giving her blades a lazy twirl before leaning onto her front foot and assuming a guarded pose I know all too well, longsword already raised towards me. “Well well, this just got interesting.” she purrs, voice dusky like smoke. “You’ll have to get past me first, sweetheart.”

Damn it … giving my weapons their own deft little spins I highly doubt have any real intimidating effect, I take a deep breath and plant my feet, letting it out slow as I steel myself. This is gonna be a tough one, and I’m not confident I can come out on top this time.

Then I hear a raspy, singsong voice cry out: “Mother Luna!” just behind me, and something whips past me, too fast to see but so very bright I almost regret looking for it. A bolt of blinding white light hits my opponent square in the midsection and she’s hurled a good twenty feet, taking down one of the remaining human raiders as she goes. I’m not too proud to let out a relieved sigh as I turn around.

“Looked to be a tight spot there, boss.” A short, stocky figure swaddled in a mud-spackled dark grey hooded robe trimmed in silver with a big raven’s beak poking out of it stalks up with surprisingly weighty confidence. He shoulders that big damn war-hammer of his, Bloodmoon, barely a foot shorter than he is and its heavy silvered head still glowing a little with the light of his patron, the moon goddess Serena, cocking his head as he looks up at me with something like a grin.

“Might’ve been able to handle it myself, but wasn’t a sure thing. Could be you pulled the smart play.” I manage my own cocked grin and resist the urge to reach under his hood and give the thick feathers on his head a ruffle. He wouldn’t mind but it might look a bit funny under current circumstances. Remembering this I look back in time to see a great crackling flash go off, lighting up the whole place in the pre-dawn gloom far brighter than our tengu cleric’s guiding bolt ever did, the wooden side of one of the buildings around us erupting in a great rain of splinters. For a moment I think Art might’ve been hit, but then I see him roll out from under the cart, felling another raider with a deft thrust before he’s even up again, and it’s a blessed relief. “Yeah, hold that thought.”

“Mage?” Krakka chirps, softer, more lilting this time, cocking his head to the other side to emphasise the question as he hefts the hammer again. It never ceases to amaze me how often his speech sounds like genuine birdsong. It’s so often beautiful.

“Yeah, mage.” I nod back. “Speaking of which, where’s Gael?”

“I’m here!” A slender figure jogs up, clearly struggling to maintain the integrity of their various satchels with one hand while juggling a bloody great staff in the other. Our wizard’s as tall as I am but nowhere near so imposing a figure, no matter how flamboyantly majestic their white and silver robe might make them look, the sheepish look on their fine-boned half-elven face further underscoring their awkwardness. Once again a curly lock of their jet black hair tumbles into their eyes and they shove it back with a frustrated scowl. “Sorry. Guess I wasn’t ready for a fight.”

“Well you need to get ready. It’s here and we gotta deal with it.”

“I know, I know.” Rummaging for a moment in one of the smaller satchels under their coat, Gael removes a white crystal and screws it into the hollow in the fat head of their spiral-carved staff. “What’s the new plan?”

Feeling a little sorry for speaking harsh to the newest member of our party, I soften my tone a little as I put my hand on their shoulder and point out into the fray. Art’s carved down another of them but the merely wounded and untouched fighters are still in it, and it looks like they’ve felled the last of the hired guards so there’s nothing distracting them from him now. “The mage is the priority. You two need to take them down before Art gets turned into a smear. Me and Yes’ll clear you a path.”

Krakka simply nods, already squaring up his decidedly broad shoulders, ready for the fight. He ain’t even five feet tall but he’s near as broad so he can be surprisingly imposing when he needs to be. Gael still looks a little more wary, but I’ve seen them step up to the fight often enough to know they can handle themselves. A little gulp and then the nervous little crease between their fine eyebrows smooths out, and they give a nod too.

Looking up to the rooftops around us I don’t see anything, but I know Yeslee’s got herself a good vantage point and is already waiting on my signal. I almost smile as I raise a hand, trace a circle in the air with my fingers a few times, then point towards the fray. Then I make my charge round the left side of the cart, trusting Krakka to follow while Gael goes right.

There’s five left now, three still untouched by their original prey, as well as the mage. Art’s being corralled by two of them, a human man warding with a pike while the male orc with him hefts a huge, jagged broadsword, ready to strike, and the remaining three are already turning our way, readying their own charge to meet us. I just square my shoulders and pick up my pace, not even bothering to ready a defence. The male orc in the lead starts to grin seeing this, thinking he’s gonna have an easy time of it.

Until a long black shaft catches him in the left eye, the arrow flying with such force that the jolting snap of the impact actually breaks his neck, feet kicked out from under him as he tumbles, already limp, to the ground. The human man to his right falters for a moment seeing this, looking up for the threat he hasn’t even identified yet, but the one on his left, who almost looks like his brother, just charges on, not even registering that there’s any danger yet. He takes three arrows in the chest and just folds up mid-run, crashing down with a gurgle. Now I ready my attack.

The remaining fighter has enough presence of mind to collect himself once he realises I’m still coming, bringing his longsword around in the hope he could ram it into me before I can check my own momentum. I try not to seem contemptuous as I brush it aside with Hefdred, smashing my axe down into the side of his skull, just above his ear with a particularly nasty crunch. Krakka rushes past me as I check my pace enough to hook the axe free while the man staggers, and I dance in place on the balls of my feet for a moment, looking up to the rooftops again as I wave my thanks for the assist with the axe. I think I catch a glimpse of a gangly blur loping across the slate tiles overhead, but can’t be sure. Yeslee, already repositioning.

Turning back, I’m already breaking into a charge again as Krakka leaps at the dragonhalf, letting out another cry of: “Mother Luna!” as Bloodmoon sears brightly through the air in his hands, a wild haymaker of a swing that’s sure to deal some crushing divine damage … only to bounce away after hitting thin air, a stretch of shining dome appearing for a moment in the space right where he hit. A shielding spell then – looks like this one’s a wizard like Gael. Krakka lands soft and rolls, barely even registering the impact and ready to spring again.

Their mage takes a moment to look around and evaluate their situation, their hot green eyes seeming to flash with anger as they growl something under their breath, then reaches into one of the bags at their side and pulls something out of it. For a moment they lock eyes with me as they lift the object in their hand, what looks like a shiny black egg, and crushes it in their hand, producing a small bright flash that’s quickly engulfed in a puff of black smoke. Then the sky overhead seems to crack right open, a gaping black hole maybe ten feet across that hangs for a few moments as something drops out of the seeming emptiness. Another flash and the portal’s gone, and there are ten fresh fighters standing right there in front of me, blinking with disorientation as they take in their new surroundings.

Okay … I kick up a little muddy gravel as I scrape to a halt, checked by this new development. Reinforcements, brought in with some kinda weird magic – that’s just cheating. Clearly they want this bad. Gritting my teeth, I charge again, trusting I can at least rely on the element of surprise to take some down before they know what’s hit ‘em.

Thankfully most of them landed facing away from me, clearly clueless what they’d find on the other side when they arrived, and the two looking my way ain’t ready for an attack yet. The first one’s a somewhat grizzled older human in a full mail cuirass who looks like a proper hardcase, so I don’t even give him a chance to bring his sword or shield to bear, laying him open from shoulder to hip with a deep slash from Hefdred. The second, a female orc, is quicker on the uptake, but her swing with her battleaxe is reckless and clumsy, easily turned with the flat of my blade before I bring the axe down and sever her left arm at the elbow. She squawks, shocked by the sudden dismemberment, and that gives me away. My father’s sword removes her head before she can make further noise, but the damage is done.

Some of the new raiders are jumping to aid the few remaining originals, but enough turn my way to make me doubt my chances. Taking a couple steps back, I warily raise Hefdred, axe lower but ready too, and flex my fingers to adjust both grips. Four of them, a human male but two orcs and another half, all start moving towards me, their own weapons ready, and I got a feeling they don’t intend to take turns to make it easy for me.

“Kes! Big burn!”

I don’t even think about it, I just jump back hard, bringing my arms up to throw over my face without even bothering to drop my weapons first. I’ve only seen Gael chuck a fireball once and that was from a distance, but it was scary, no way I wanna be right in the middle of that kinda mess. I’m still in the air when it hits and with my eyes screwed shut I don’t see anything but the sudden hot burst that turns the insides of my eyelids translucent red, I mostly just feel it, an immense heat and crushing impact blowing me back another ten feet. At least I was already prepared for the impact, but it still dazes me as I crumple on my back.

For maybe a minute I just lie there, my head ringing a little, my face hot but not so bad that I might’ve actually been burned. Then I try sitting up, feeling a little protest in my upper back but it’s already loosening up, and I didn’t bump my head either. When I open my eyes it’s all pretty blurry, but after a few blinks I realise they’re just watering, and a few head-shakes and dragging the suddenly warm leather of my left bracer over my face clears it up, enough at least for me to take in the damage.

The whole middle of the street is on fire. It’s not a full-on raging inferno but the flames are still big and angry, a proper crater blown in the slick, scrabbly ground in which four … I hesitate to call them bodies, really. They’re burning up fast, and one of them is still moving, rolling around as they try in vain to beat out the flames that have completely engulfed them. Least there’s no screaming, that would be really bad …

“Fuckin’ hell, Gael.” I mutter under my breath, rolling onto my side so I can start to pick myself up. Coming face to face with the half-orc duellist, who’s in about the same state as me, finally starting to force her sore body upright against the wall while the breastplate of her leather armour smokes from that smiting blast. She’s grimacing, face taut with pain, but doesn’t look anywhere near so messed up as I might’ve hoped for under the circumstances. And her deep, dark brown eyes are glued to me.

“Ah.” she grunts, casting about for her weapons.

“No shit.” I respond, now realising I’m unarmed too. I manage to get a knee under me, and my right hand’s already going under my coat for my spare hand-axe while I slide one of my longer knives out of its sheath in my boot with my left. Hopefully without her longsword this’ll be a more even match.

Something explodes on the other side of the fire and my attention’s torn away. I look back in time to see the blaze very nearly extinguished as another blast of white light radiates out, picking out various figures still locked in combat. Krakka’s going at their wizard on one side while Gael attacks from the other, but they’re clearly holding their own, while Art’s fighting hard, clearly getting pressed by weight of numbers. Not be a great time to be distracted. I turn back to the half-orc and she’s clearly thinking along similar lines.

With a sigh, I push myself upright, wobbling for a moment before finding my balance again. “Might be best if you ain’t here when I come back.”

She gives me a long, intense look, and this time I ain’t got a clue what’s going through here head. Her eyes narrow, lips pursing a bit, and it’s a really interesting expression with her lower canines long enough to stick out like they do, head cocking slow as she regards me. Then she just shrugs, slumping into the wall again. “Guess we’ll find out about that match some other time, then.”

Unsure what to read into that, I give her my own look, marking her good and hard into my memory in case I need to recognise her later. She’s a striking one, all right, now I’m absolutely certain now I wouldn’t wanna face her in a straight fight. Then, with a shake of my head, I turn back to the fight, taking a moment to slip my knife and axe away again so I can retrieve my discarded weapons from the ground as I run past.

With Hefdred and the bloodied axe comfortably in my hands and only a little warmer than they were before the explosion, I pause before I get too close to the fire, which has already picked back up. Yeah, no chance I’m jumping through that. Thankfully it didn’t land exactly square in the centre, there’s just barely room enough to slip by on the left. Hugging the blistering wood of the wall I’m able to inch through sideways, but still stumble on the other side in my rush to get through … just in time to avoid getting impaled on the blade of another orc on the other side as he staggers towards me, bloody from several puncture wounds in his leather breastplate but still with enough fight left to be dangerous. Gonna have to have a word with Art one o’ these days about following through on his kills.

Bouncing off the wall as I nearly go down in my surprise, I manage to accidentally dodge another vicious hack from his nasty long, jagged-edged broadsword as it smashes deep into the wooden boards with a puff of splinters. The blade lodges tight and the orc grunts, yanking on the hilt for a moment before realising it’s proper wedged. Seeing me regain my footing, his eyes narrow as he spits a bloody mist between us, drawing a shortsword from one side of his belt and a particularly nasty hooked knife from the other. Tottering for a moment, he finally regains his balance and plants his feet firmer, tensing for a strike.

Stepping to my back foot, I raise the axe between us and ready myself. He’s surprisingly fast when he comes, his bloodied condition belying how hard it really is to take his kind down, and I have to skip back to keep from getting skewered right away, catching the sword thrust at the last with the axe and hooking it aside, twisting his arm with it as he stubbornly fights to retain his grip. He’s unbalanced in that moment, and I don’t intend to give him a chance to recover, ramming Hefdred hard into the centre of his chest.

It’s a tougher job than that first thrust was at the start of the fight – orcs are insanely robust folk, thick-boned with muscles that might as well be carved outta wood, and I really have to grit my teeth and shove to get the blade to pierce all the way through his chest and out the back again. He gasps and gurgles as I give da’s sword one final push, bright red eyes going wider than ever as we’re brought face to face, and I can see they’re still wild with fire and fury. Only now realising both my hands are busy and he’s still got a knife free ..

The stab catches me high in my side, and for an instant I think that’s it, I’m dead meat right here in this crappy side street in the bad part of Hocknar. I whoop as some of the breath’s driven out of me, but while there’s pain from the jab, I don’t feel any penetration, the knife stopping on impact with a loud metallic click. Then I remember I’m wearing my jack-of-plate under my tunic and a wave of relief washes over me. I see the dawning confusion in his bulldog-like face and indulge myself with a cocked little grin. Then I give the sword a twist and he winces as the strength finally starts to leak out of him.

I let him down gentle, unhooking the axe from the shortsword so it can clatter from his limp fingers, mainly just hoping I won’t need to fight again right away with my own sword stuck good and fast. I risk a look over my shoulder, already tensing in case I need to break free so I can fight back, but as I watch Art’s already laid the last of his opponents low, an older looking male half-orc writhing on the ground while trying to stem the urgent gush from his slashed throat. Only the mage remains now, already backed into a corner, staff held out as in a warding gesture with the tip sparking with lightning as Krakka cautiously advances on them, his warhammer a beacon of searing white light. Gael’s hanging back, their own staff planted in the mud beside them in order to work their hands in a sigil, blue light starting to crackle from their fingers. This one surviving raider doesn’t look anywhere near as composed or confident as they were when we started.

Okay … reckon I can risk stepping off the front-burner a touch for now. I give the axe a little flick in my hand to get rid of excess blood and brain matter from the blade before I tuck it away with the other again, reasoning I’ll need both hands for this job, then stop as I feel something poke me under the arm. There’s a jagged piece of metal jammed into my tunic where the orc tried to stab me, and I’m a moment realising it’s the tip of the knife, snapped off and snagged in the cloth. I pull it free and regard it for a moment, then stuff it into a coat pocket, reasoning it’ll make a nifty souvenir once I’m at peace with that narrow escape, then reach under my arm and feel for the hole. My fingertips push through the leather, the thick felt outer layer of the jack too, only meeting resistance when I touch the thick scale of iron that saved my life, tracing the tiny fresh divot now poked into it. I let out another breath at that, then turn back to the task at hand.

Grasping the hilt with both hands, I plant my foot into the rock-hard torso like before, pushing down as I start pulling on the sword. It’s a lot harder this time, the corpse clearly reluctant to release its grip, and I’m proper sweating with gritted teeth squeaking in my head when it finally pops free all at once, unbalancing me some. I stumble back, surprised, and nearly go down, only stopping at the last as a pair of wiry but surprisingly strong arms grasp me.

“Whoa, careful there, boss!” There’s a little bit of a chuckle in Art’s voice, a boyish chirp that gives his youth away a lot more clearly than anything else. He arrests my fall enough for me to get my balance back, and we stand there for a moment, both breathing heavier than we’d like, as much from the slowing rush of adrenaline from the ebbing fight as anything else. Finally I pat his hand on my shoulder with my free one, and he steps back, impossibly lithe.

“Y’know you only wounded half the folk you pricked with that thing, right?” I try to sound stern, but I can feel the half-smile tickling my lips give me away.

Art pulls down the black scarf that’s obscuring much of his face, grinning back at me. It’s a decidedly sharp, toothy smile, but then he’s got a feline look, being bakaneko, his face covered in shaggy grey fur striped with black. “Hey, they still die, it just takes ‘em longer. I still slow ‘em down for you, don’t I? Reckon it just makes it more of a team effort.”

I look him over for a moment, his cocky, casual stance, longsword barely even gripped in his loose right hand, the playfulness of his smile, that devilish little glint in his impossibly bright green eyes. Damn it, I just can’t get mad at this kid, no matter how hard I try. “Fair enough. Just don’t leave me hangin’ too bad in future, yeah? That got a lot hairier than expected.”

“You can say that again, boss. I thought this was s’posed to just be overwatch. What’s the deal?”

Shrugging, I flick the sword clean as I can and turn back to the last pocket of resistance. “Let’s find out.”

The dragonhalf clearly sees us approaching, those blazing eyes dancing back and forth over us, taking in the situation and making quick calculations. They’re powerful, that much is clear, but they’re starting to look a little ragged now I’m checking them out, clearly a little battered from the fight, plenty of char-marks to that snazzy gear that I can only ascribe to Krakka’s hammer and one nasty gash in their forehead. The blood’s already covering half their face, and that eye keeps blinking, trying to keep clear. On the ropes, it looks like.

After a moment’s thought, I sheathe Hefdred and step forward, laying a hand on Gael’s shoulder. They start, the growing force bolt in their hands flaring for a moment, but it goes out as they see me and start to realise my intention, giving me a little nod as they start to relax. I don’t do the same with Krakka, trusting his continued tension will make my point for me. “Alright then, reckon maybe you wanna talk things over now, yeah? ‘Stead of trying to blast your way out? All your mates are dead, ain’t like you got any more help comin’.”

Their eyes narrow a little and I can feel their gaze zeroing on me this time. I raise my hands enough for placation, cock my head a touch, keep my face cool and neutral as I can. There’s a wire-tightness to their jaw that tells me they’re still seriously considering a fight, then they just growl something under their breath. There’s a kind of tearing sound, subtle but clear enough that I can almost feel it, and it’s as though the air just rips open into an empty black doorway right around them.

Krakka snarls a wordless sound of anger as he charges forward, the glow of his warhammer flaring as he lunges forward, but it’s too late – the mage is just gone along with the doorway, which vanishes in a smoky poof that hurts my eyes and makes my ears pop. I’ve never seen a portal spell work before but I’ve heard Gael speak of it, they still ain’t quite got the hang of that one yet and it’s really frustrating them. No wonder they snap: “Bollocks!” under their breath.

“Well that was just rude.” I sigh, finally stepping up so I can rest a reassuring hand on Krakka’s shoulder, feeling him still quivering with frustration as his own unfulfilled adrenaline starts to crash. “Buck up, ‘least we won.”

He looks up at me then, and I see the anger’s already leaking away, that kind-of smile returning to his face. Tengu features can be hard to read, but I’ve known this old bird for years, I can always tell what he’s thinking now. He hefts his hammer again and lets it rest across his shoulder, cocks his head back towards the others, and I smile back.

“That it, then?” Gael asks after a moment, still looking around. They’re clearly still a little wired, expecting it to suddenly start up all over again just to spite our relief. After that nasty little trick the dragonhalf pulled summoning reinforcements I wouldn’t rule anything out. I glance down the far end of the street, and from this angle I can see a little better past the fire. That fascinating duellist seems to be gone. I’m not sure how I feel about that yet, but there might be a little relief in the mix.

“Looks like it. The cargo still intact?”

“You mean this?” Art’s poking his toe into the side of a wooden crate that seems to have landed, top down, in the mud nearby. The cart’s sagging on its side, already half in flames, obviously from when it was blown over by Gael’s fireball.

“Probably.” I look round the scene one last time, at the various bodies, foes and intended friends alike, several butchered horses among them while the few mounts that survived the attack itself were killed by the blast and are now smouldering away like those other poor bastards. Oops. “Okay then, now what do we do?”

“If you don’t mind, perhaps this is a conversation best had indoors?” The voice takes us all by surprise, and I feel my friends tense, readying weapons and spells as I spin on my feet, hand on the hilt of the sword as my muscles tense, heart already pounding again.

I didn’t hear the big double doors open behind us, or the four men with crossbows already trained coming out, but I don’t feel so surprised as I should be. Then the speaker steps out, such a strangely calming presence I can already feel my tension easing. He’s a halfling, middle-aged by the look of him, shaggy-haired and ruddy-faced but still dapper in a travelling coat and set of flowing robes decked out in silver and white much like Gael’s. Maybe that’s what most readily puts me at ease. He gestures behind him, into the darkened warehouse beyond, his jovial smile growing. “Please?”