I pull Ulrich up short of the turn in the track, now faced with two alternative paths that both look frustratingly similar. The only real difference is that, in the advancing afternoon, one gully remains in, for the moment, strong sunlight, while the other’s already growing gloomy. Right now, for the life of me I can’t remember which route we should be taking. I blame the feeling of pressing dread that’s threatening to overwhelm me.

Then I hear a great bellowing, a sound that makes my bones rattle and sets my teeth on edge, and it’s one of those primal, gut-knowledge sounds that sentient species round the world just seem to be wired to start sweating when its heard. Two more answer it, and it takes me a moment to realise they’re coming from all around us. But one of them is directly ahead on the left. Where the sun’s still shining. I look down that way, squint hard, but for now I can’t see anything. I can hear plenty though – there’s more movement in the rocks, and some of it sounds pretty big …

Something clicks and twitters right past me and Ulrich rears in response, and I have to fight to keep him under control. I catch the tiniest flicker of movement to my side as there’s more clattering and I see an arrow bouncing across the rocky ground behind me. A long black arrow. I turn back just in time to see something flit towards me, fast enough to blur, and almost pull my destrier aside to dodge, but in the final moments I realise it’s arcing just to my right. A second arrow, clicking tip-down into the scree at my side, and Ulrich stands his ground this time as it bounces, spinning wildly as it clatters past. Both shots came from the darker turn. Yeslee, showing us the way and warning me at the same time.

Another bellow comes, and this time the responses are much quicker, the sounds of approach louder too, while the debris clattering down rocky slopes is becoming more constant. No more time to evaluate the situation, then. I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle loud to my friends.

“Fuck it … RUN!!!” Art respond just like I knew he would, and the others spur their horses into a full gallop as they rush to catch up. I turn Ulrich round and point down the relevant track as Wenrich snaps the reins hard and guides the carthorses down the right turn. Then I pull back out of the others’ path and reach behind me.

Thank you, Thorin, if it really was you made me decided to pack in earnest this morning. I left my food-pack on the cart before we set off, swapping it for one of my quivers as I was loading up Ulrich’s saddle. I pull my shortbow free from the holster and pluck the string to test it, smiling a little as I feel the reassuring tension spring back, then draw an arrow from the quiver, nocking with practiced ease.

Something moves in the other gully then, the sunlight making it easy to pick up the motion as whatever it is jumps down from one of the ridges lining the path. It’s a good thirty foot drop and they make the landing without even stumbling, and as I turn to watch the impact is big, the low boom shaking the ground a little and displacing more little rockfalls all round us. For a moment I could be forgiven for thinking there was another golem there, already breaking into a run, but while there may be very basic cosmetic similarities this is a very different beast. The grey skin is lighter, rougher, scales like uneven rock that I know are easily as tough too, while there’s more of a recognisable face there, even if it is pretty expressionless. From this distance I can barely see the beady eyes, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see a cool animal cunning in them, defying the evidence of the rest of its hulking, barely humanoid bulk.

The ogre’s covering ground fast, moving with a top-heavy, loping run as it uses its long, powerful arms to propel it as well as its stumpy legs, knuckles and toes cracking the rough stone underfoot as it charges. It’s closing fast.

Fighting the urge to draw and fire on it cuz I know it’d just bounce off, I nudge Ulrich with my knee and he responds in kid, wheeling back round to face the others again as they surge past me. “Go! BLOODY GO!!!” I urge Ulrich a little further round so I can get in behind them once they’re all through, and as I’m looking down the gully we’re just leaving I see another scary big grey shape drop to the ground a ways down and start loping after us too. Still don’t know where the third one is.

Gael, Art and Krakka all rein up alongside me, and I look them over, exasperated. “Don’t look at me like that, just keep going!” I nod towards Driver 8 as he lumbers up to us. “We’ll keep you covered. Go!”

Krakka and Gael nod and do their best to turn their spooked horses round so they can catch up with the cart, but Art stubbornly stays where he is, having to pull his filly up hard as she gnashes at the bit, eyes wide.

“I told you to go!”

Art shakes his head, pulling his mout to the side as Driver 8 joins us, simply stopping in place and planting his feet, no sign of exhaustion at all, if I ever would’ve expected one. “No offence meant boss, but fuck that. You wanna stay, then I do too.”

“We’re not staying, we’re just buying the others some time.” There’s some movement then, up high in the corner of my vision, on the right, and I turn in the saddle without bothering to turn Ulrich. There’s figures emerging among the rocks surrounding us now, just a few but I know there’ll be more. Leather armour, tatty but well-made travel clothes, and some of ‘em have bows or crossbows. I draw and aim for the first one to make a move, loosing before he can quite nock his arrow.

I’m no great master archer like Yeslee, I can’t zero targets at a quarter mile or fancy stuff like that, but da taught me enough to serve at fair close range like this, and my arrow skewers him just under his chin before he can pull his bowstring. Through the corner of my eye I see Art whip both his hands out scary fast and hear a couple of winded gasps as his darts hit, then the clattering of their weapons as their bodies tumbling, much like the man I just shot. I’m already nocking another shaft and I shoot a half-orc crossbowman in the heart before he can fire his weapon, the bolt whistling off into the sky as he drops.

Driver 8 drops into a guarded crouch at my side then, planting one foot behind him and squaring off, tensing. I turn my head just in time to see the first ogre charging up, a great scarred brute that looks like they got ‘least fifty pounds on our Big Man, but as he charges in the golem just cocks his right and lets fly before they can react. The punch slams into the ogre’s face with an almighty crack and there’s a great wet splintering of bone and something else as that great skull just folds in on itself. The stony, muscular hulk turns limp as jelly in an instant and hits the floor, momentum instantly killed sure as the ogre. Big Man simply flexes his hand, the joints barely creaking even though the power behind that hit must’ve been immense.

“I suggest you leave now, both of you.”

A crossbow bolt whips past my face, close enough to my nose I feel the wind, and I turn in time to see a tall shaven-headed human working the lever-action on his crossbow to prime the string again. I draw my arrow and put it through the hollow at the base of his throat before he can slot the next bolt, then see a female half-orc with a bow on his right drop as their eye’s put out with another dart. I feel a hard tap on the back of my shoulder and for a moment reckon I been hit, until I realise it’s Art, getting my attention as he shouts: “Big Man’s right! We’re sitting ducks waitin’ here!”

Thorin bless destriers, Ulrich’s been trained to perfection without the need for reins so I can keep my hands free as I guide him while simultaneously nocking my next arrow. He reacts just perfect as I wheel him round with my knees and kick heels to spur him on, leaping after the others as Driver 8 steps back from the immense corpse and turns to face the fast approaching second ogre. Art gives his own mount a start after me but Ulrich’s faster as we pursue the others at a full gallop, and there’s arrows and bolts whipping round us now, making my back itch and skin crawl as I wait for one to catch me and praying my jack’ll hold up against it.

Chancing a look back I see the second ogre smash into Driver 8 and he moves with them, using the great beast’s momentum against them as he hurls them into the ridge behind. I turn back to the road ahead as they hit, but I don’t need to see the damage to know that probably won’t be enough, knowing they’ll get back up again. Big Man’s got his hands full right now, gotta trust ‘im to catch up on his own.

“Boss!! WATCH IT!!!”

I snap back to reality just in time to grab the reins without thinking, pulling the destrier up hard and making him rear as something immense crashes down just in front of me, landing where I would’ve been otherwise and stumbling clumsily into the wall of rock on my left. The third ogre snarls savagely and I hear a deep, guttural procession of very recognisable curse words as they struggle to right themselves while digging themselves out of the miniature landslide of smashed debris they managed to half bury themselves in. I forget trying to shoot anything for the moment as I whip the reins hard and kick my heels into Ulrich’s sides together, and he surges forward with a great snorting grunt, clearly broadcasting his displeasure. It takes me a moment to realise Art’s not beside me, or ahead, and I pull up hard, wheeling the destrier round.

Art’s caught behind the ogre as they drag themselves out their new hollow, broken rock cascading off as the bakaneko fights to control his terrified filly who’s clearly desperate to bolt back the way she came. “Shit.” I grunt under my breath as I drop the reins again and nock the arrow I’m amazed I didn’t drop in the spur of the moment, aiming at the ogre as they finally right themselves and start to lumber towards my trapped friend. It’s an incredibly pointless thing to do, but I loose all the same.

The ogre pulls back a punch as Art fails to keep his horse from rearing in terror, and the arrow pings off the side of its head, spectacularly failing to inflict so much as a scratch on that impossibly thick leathern hide. Even so they pause mid-punch, and with that characteristic grinding slowness they turn to look at me. Which is all the opening I needed.

Thank the gods Art’s on the same page I was. He spurs the filly hard and somehow she’s got enough sense to work out it’s in her own best interest to obey, leaping forward in her haste before breaking into a full gallop past the ogre, who’s not quite fast enough catching up. They give a low, guttural roar as they snatch after Art, catching nothing but a few loose hairs from the filly’s tail, and fix me with a furious glare. No more grace, then. I turn Ulrich fast and kick him into another gallop, and this time Art’s at my side, but with another angry bellow the ogre gives chase, and I can feel ‘em loping hard behind us sure as I can hear ‘em.

The gully’s rising up ahead of us now, and I can see the pass cresting the slope, wider than we’ve encountered lately, a yawning gap between the mountains opening up before us with a sudden spill of afternoon sunlight that breaks up the shadows ahead. Wenrich’s thrashing the draft-horses into a hard gallop now and the cart is thundering along, bouncing wildly over the rough ground, but he’s keeping his seat well enough given the circumstances. Krakka’s keeping pace right behind it, reins in one hand while he’s holding his hammer out at his side, and it’s aglow now with light far brighter than the sunlight would allow. Gael, on the other hand, has slowed, and as I watch they pull their mare up and turn, reaching into their robes and pulling something out. I almost shout an angry admonishment, then I see the firm, determined set to their jaw and hard frown creasing their brow, and recognise what they’ve got in their hand now.

A foot-long shaft of wood, thicker than a twig but still somewhat spindly, dark wood polished and carved in a corkscrew motif that’s recognisably similar to their staff. They mutter something under their breath and point it our way as the tip starts to glow with a cool blue light, and when I shoot a look to Art he’s seen it too. He gives a sharp nod.

I can practically feel the ogre’s snorting breath on my back now as it gets close enough that it could, if it felt like risking it, spring forward on the next stride and make a grab for either of us, or both, and pretty soon I’m sure it will. I fix Gael with my stare and they give a nod, so I nod back and they whip their hand round, flicking their wand at the same moment they mutter something, and I give Ulrich a hard pull to the right, making him swerve perilously close to the looming rocks speeding past. I just have to trust Art to do the same in time on the left as I watch a swirling, nebulous bundle of blue-white energy erupt from the tip of Gael’s wand and race through the air with a soft ripping sound right where we both were a single moment before.

Chancing a glance over my shoulder I see the force blast hit the ogre square in the face and it’s almost like when I watched Driver 8 punch the other one. The bolt flares across those craggy features and they rock back under the impact, tumbling in a wide arc as their feet are whipped out from under and they spin through the air, hitting the ground hard and crumpling as they roll. For a moment I dare to think they might be down for the count, but then they give a winded grunt and start to push themselves up again, giving their head a little shake as they regain their faculties. So that only bought us seconds. I turn back and give the reins another snap with an urgent: “HA!!” Not that Ulrich needs much encouragement right now.

Up ahead, Gael whoops in delight at the success of their ploy and pumps their fist into the air. I cant’s help a little sympathetic grin at that, but it can’t last, and I give my free hand, still holding my bow, a little wave to attract their attention before stabbing my finger past them down the road. They frown for a moment, then it clicks and they wince, pulling their horse round and jumping into a fresh gallop after the cart again. Chancing a glance at Art I see him grinning with clear amusement, and I almost respond in kind. Then I see something moving on the slope of the mountain to our right, and my heart jumps right up into my throat as realisation hits.

They’re almost too high up to recognise, but my eyesight’s just good enough to recognise the dragonhalf wizard, making their third appearance now, perched on a ledge high on the towering, near vertical slope. Maybe they can see me looking, maybe not, but I see them stiffen for a moment, then they starting whipping their hands about, faintly visible blue lines growing in the air as they form a sigil, then they raise their hands high. A moment passes and this time I’m sure they’re looking right at me, then they thrust their hands down together hard, seeming to smash them right into the sigil which erupts in blinding sparks and a surge of energy that’s thrust down into the stone directly below them.

A great thunderous crack seems to split the air around us, a great booming crash that reverberates from the cliffs and peaks around us, echoes bouncing long and loud through the range, and the whole side of the mountain seems to crack and splinter at once. I catch a moment’s flicker of impossible darkness, just a hint in the midst of the explosion at the core, but it’s enough to tell me the dragonhalf just used their portal spell to bounce away before they got annihilated. Then all the shattered rock that’s just been blown free starts to move in the only direction it can – down.

Thorin … the bastards’ve been herding us. It all unfolds with some kind of terrible slowness as I take it in, the whole cliff-face starting to crash and smash apart and spill down the near vertical slope with unstoppable speed and unbearable weight, set to fall right for where we’re racing to. There’s no way any of us could survive that if we get buried under it, but if we pull up now we’re trapped and they’ll overwhelm us under sheer weight of numbers. Especially if they got any more ogres on their side.

I don’t bother trying to shout – the rockslide’s so loud there’s no way my friends’d hear me over it anyway – so I just kick Ulrich hard as I can and hope he ain’t right up to his speed limit already. He jumps and bucks for a few strides, almost like he views it as an indignity, then snorts and drops his big head and puts on a furious burst of fresh speed, but then he needs no further incentive right now. Art’s clearly read the situation the same way, he’s whipping his filly into a frenzy, and she’s managing an impressive clip herself, but even so Ulrich’s still pulling ahead again. One last time I chance a look over my shoulder, and I almost fall off I’m so surprised.

The ogre seemed so focused mere moments ago, but I’ve learned over the years they tend to be a whole lot brighter than you’d imagine from their appearance, and they’ve skittered to a clumsy halt in the road now, already falling back as it watches the encroaching avalanche. Discretion’s the better part of valour an’ all that shit. Then it jumps to the side fast and hard … no, it gets knocked down as something that appears superficially similar barges right past it, knocking it to the ground in a surprised tangle. Driver 8, looking entirely unharmed by his recent battle, already putting on a genuinely intimidating burst of speed as he races to catch up with us. Despite the situation I feel genuinely relieved to see him right now.

Wenrich’s whipping the carthorses on harder than ever now, and while I can’t hear him over the deafening roar I know he’s yelling at the top of his lungs to urge them on, stood up on the bench now. Krakka’s pushing his horse hard too, bouncing in the saddle they’re going so fast, but Gael’s drawn their horse to a halt now, looking up at the tumbling wave of rocky oblivion, and for a moment I think they’re frozen in terror, until I realise … oh gods, Gael, really?

They dismount. They step off their horse with a billion tons o’ rock about to rain on their head and give the mare a slap on the arse, though she doesn’t need the encouragement right now. She takes off at a full gallop right after the cart, and Krakka doesn’t even realise there’s anything wrong until the riderless mount thunders right past him. Then he reins up too, looking back in clear wide-eyed shock. Damn it Gael, what the ten hells are you thinking?

The thing about half-elves is, no matter how much human blood or whatever else they might have in them, the dominant part is always an elf, and it always wins through. Once upon a time, before the Sundering, when Tao supposedly wasn’t one world but the conjunction point of maybe half a dozen, the Tuatha de Danann were one of the most powerful races in all the known worlds, second only to dragons. They couldn’t just harness magic, they pretty much were magic. Then the Sundering broke everything and the races that got trapped on our side of the resulting rift were trapped here in lesser forms, and the Greater and Lesser Clans of the Tuatha de Danann were forced to adapt and evolve. But they never lost that innate, bone-deep connection to magic, and sometimes it shows through clear as day. Even in someone who isn’t even all elf.

As they muster all the magic they can inside of them, Gael starts to glow. There’s no other word for it, that already slightly pearlescent pale skin seems to light up with its own inner fire, and within moments it’s a tiny bit blinding, and I have to start squinting against it. The wand in their hand’s glowing too, that normal cool blue suddenly seeming strangely hot too, more iridescent and brilliant than ever, and I can tell that whatever they’re cooking up is gonna be big. Which is a problem right now.

I rein Ulrich up again hard as I reach her and his hooves kick up debris as they skid. I don’t even think about it myself, I just jump down myself, but ‘least I got enough presence of mind to hold onto the reins. I don’t think the destrier would abandon me, we’ve made a real strong connection and he seems genuinely fond of me, but right now I don’t know if he’s really gonna be able to think straight, and I don’t wanna push my luck. So I hold onto him as I stalk up close and yell loud as I can into Gael’s blazing bright ear: “What the fuck d’you think you’re DOING?”

“What I can.” They barely mutter it, and there’s no way with all this devastating, ear-shattering noise I could possibly hear it, the crashing roar’s so loud I feel it right through me and it hurts, but somehow I do. Then they mutter something under their breath and raise something in their other hand, what looks like a large egg, delicate blue-white shell with dark speckles, if it’s from a bird I never heard of that kinda species. They raise it over their head and touch the wand to it and the shell shatters in a flaring star of white light, then they spread their hands and suddenly the air right overhead ripples, seeming to fill the whole track up to maybe ten feet above us. Just as Art reins in his horse and jumps down before she’s even stopped, following my example with a tight grip on his reins. Just as Driver 8 reaches us too, completely ignoring everything else and just concentrating on us.

Just as the avalanche hits.

We should be crushed. We should be buried under hundreds, maybe thousands of tons of shattered rock and dirt and whatever else got caught up in that great smashed tumble. We should be completely obliterated, reduced to nothing by the sheer weight and force of what’s raining down on our heads. Driver 8 might remain in something vaguely resembling one piece cuz I seen him weather some pretty insane hits, but even then I’d be surprised if he still continued to function after the sheer force of all that impact. This should be the end of the Creeping Bam.

Instead the air above us, where it seemed to ripple a mere breath before, suddenly flares with that weird blue light I’ve come to associate so well with Gael’s magic as the stone hits it, and it stops. It’s like it just hits some impossibly hard barrier, far stronger than the very cliff-face it all used to be, it hits and bounces off, starts to pile up on top of it in quickly thickening layers as all that unfathomable tonnage starts to bury us under what looks like thin air. All of a sudden we ain’t in a gully any more, but a tunnel.

The light from overhead is snuffed almost instantly, as I would’ve expected, but we don’t suddenly plunge into darkness like I’d also expect. Instead Gael becomes a beacon, her incredible glow the only source of illumination we have right now.

Even so, they’re far from unscathed. The moment all that rock crashes down, it’s like they’re hit with at least a fraction of the weight and forced down hard, seeming to bow under a whole lot of pressure in an instant. Somehow Gael manages to keep their feet, but it’s clearly a battle, their knees buckling and their back arching as they keep their hands up, wand blazing like some chemical flare in one hand while the other’s splayed like they’re really pushing against something. They let out a pained scream that I feel in the core of my being and it hurts my soul hearing it, and I don’t even try to fight the urge, I just let go of the reins and rush to them. To his credit, Ulrich stays put.

“Gael, what the hell –”

“GO!!!” they snarl, barely getting to word out, and it sounds like they’re in such a spectacular amount of pain I’m amazed they’re still conscious. “You need to go now!”

“Forget that shit!” I put my hand on their shoulder and they’re incredibly warm to the touch. Not so white hot I burn my hand like I would’ve expected from the glow, but it still feels like they’ve been stood out in the summer sun for hours, baking away. “I ain’t leaving you!”

“I can’t hold this for very long! Minerva, I’m amazed I managed to make it hold at all! You … you need to leave me! JUST GO!!!”

“No!” I tighten my grip on their shoulder but don’t try to pull them. I couldn’t even begin to understand what the hell they’re even doing here right now, how this is possible beyond just, y’know, magic, and in spite of everything I’m terrified that trying to pull them away could just … stop this whole thing. Hells, they’re probably like some kinda plug now, holding the whole mess together.

“Listen, you ain’t quitting on us, I ain’t quitting on you. I ain’t leavin’ you.”

“Neither am I.” Art’s stepped up on their other side now, reaching out to place his paw on their other shoulder.

“Fuck that.” I snap at him now. “Art, you get going now. You too, Big Man. Get the others outta this … whatever it is, if they ain’t already cleared it.”

“Boss, I ain’t leaving either of you –”

“YES YOU ARE!!! I’m serious, I need you to move right now. I ain’t leavin’ Gael, but there’s no way I’m gonna let you get flattened too if that’s what’s gonna happen. I need you both outta here now. Understand?”

“Kesla …” It’s barely a whisper, he so rarely calls me by my name anymore that when he does it always means he’s about as serious as he can be. The look on his face right now could bring me to tears, but I fight hard against it.

“GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!!! I’M SERIOUS!!!”

He stumbles back a few steps, seeming genuinely stunned by the sheer biting, vicious fury I put into my words. I’m almost ashamed enough by that that to just retract it right away, but I know the venom in my voice is all I got I can save him with. I stare him down and he takes a deep breath that almost turns into a sob, then his face hardens and he nods. “I love you. Both of you.”

As he leaps back up on his horse she almost doesn’t even wait for him, clearly completely freaked out by this whole bizarre situation, and she’s galloping hard before he’s secure in the saddle, making him fight to right himself. Driver 8 takes a step after him, then pauses again, slowly turns to me. His eyes are a particularly brilliant glow now, even in Gael’s radiance.

“Kesla …”

“Just go.” I barely whisper it. “Please.”

Big Man watches me another moment, then turns and takes off after Art, lumbering at first but quickly picking up significant speed again. I turn and I can see the sweat pouring down Gael’s face and neck, their hand scrabbling in thin air as if for purchase now, veins and tendons standing out in her neck and temples and forehead from the sheer effort. Her eyes are as brilliant as her skin now, and for a moment I’m just lost in the beauty of it all, absurd as that might be right now. Then Ulrich nudges my shoulder with his nose, I suspect more from urgent concern than affection, and I reach out without looking and somehow manage to snag the reins again as I absent-mindedly stroke his cheek.

“You … you should go …” The strain must be getting too much, they’re visibly weakening.

“Can you get us outta here?”

“I … maybe … I don’t know … I don’t know if it would work, and ... this is hard enough …”

Letting out a weary sigh, I lean into them a little, letting my forehead rest against the side of their face. “I ain’t leaving you. I swear, I ain’t got it in me. If this kills you, it kills me too. So you got an out, use it.”

They’re clenching their teeth so tight I can hear the creaking, but somehow they get their jaw working enough to answer. “I’ll try … when?”

“Not yet. Give ‘em time to get out.” I start counting down in my head – I don’t wanna leave this any later than I have to, but they can only move so fast. Still, the tension’s getting to me sure as the strain must be wearing on Gael, and then finally I can’t wait any longer. “Do it.”

Gael lets out a grunt of unbelievable effort, shifts their weight a fraction, then they say something under their breath that I feel rather than hear and there’s this great crashing sound and a whoosh and it all goes black …