One of the great things about having a massive golem in your party is that, if you want to stay discreet, they can be a real bonus. Might sound weird, what Gael sometimes like to call a paradox, but it’s true. Take now, for example – since we’re being hunted right now, we’re trying our best to hide, but since there ain’t much forest round right now, we can’t just screen ourselves with trees or undergrowth while we make camp. Just stopping right in the valley floor right now’s a dumb move too – we’re easy to spot right now, what with our horses and a big bloody cart, and starting a campfire’s just asking for trouble. So we gotta find some proper decent cover right here in these barren climes, which is a tall order.

Thanks the gods for Yeslee, then. She found us a nice cave an easy climb low in one of the cliffs near our path, complete with some nice screening rock ridges lower down we could hide our horses and cart amongst. But of course, you might say, what about when you try to light a fire? That’s gonna light up a hole in the side of a mountain clear as a beacon, right? Or are you all just gonna go in there in the dark and not have a fire, just cold dry meat for dinner and some of you can’t even see what you’re doing?

That’s where Driver 8 comes in. He settles in the modest little crevice that forms the mouth of the cave and we could’ve set a whole big blaze down in here and nobody’d be any the wiser out there. He can stand there all night if he wants, no complaints, no problem at all. Guy’s like a statue, albeit one that keeps a close eye on the night. Best part is he can watch the horses and cart in their nice little alcove below from here, no need for any of us to camp out down there to keep an eye on things. We’ve already brought all our gear and supplies up into the cave with us, Big Man lugging the big mystery crate himself without any trouble at all, so we’re safe as houses.

Not that Kesla’s that happy about this arrangement. She’s happy with the cave and the precautions like the rest of us, but she seems real uncomfortable having that crate in here with us, and when we were eating she kept casting wary, suspicious glances in its direction the whole time. I don’t know what her problem is, but it’s making me a tad nervous too, now I’m thinking about it.

She’s chilled some since the others bedded down for the night, but I still catch her eyes flickering to it every once in a while. To be honest there’s not really much else for her to do right now – given their condition when we arrived, Kesla took it easy on Gael, foregoing the usual sword-training-come-torture in favour of some tips, tricks and advice she largely imparted verbally. Not that she was any less merciless in making sure her student was absorbing it all, hammering points home until Gael was able to repeat them verbatim, but the young wizard responded impressively well, picking it all up very keenly indeed. The trade-off is that Kesla has no need to clean or sharpen her sword tonight while we sit our watch, so all she can do is stew.

Personally, I’m fine. Like I usually do when I find I some downtime and nothing to occupy myself with, I take out one of the various little pieces of wood I collect during our travels and get out my special whittling knife. I rarely keep the pieces I finish, preferring to make gifts of them as we travel. I gave a few to Paul’s kids when we last came into Hocknar, which went down wonderfully well indeed, while several others have gone to various girls I’ve known during my years on the road, both on my own and with the party. Others just go to friends on the way, and each of my companions have been gifted at least one little keepsake in our time together.

I don’t tend to put a lot of thought into the whole process, but as I’m whittling away the wood tends to talk to my paws, guiding them well enough that I don’t really have to think too much about what I’m carving out with my knife either. Most pieces form on their own, whatever they want, I have no preference of subject matter, but I do find myself carving cats or prancing horses more than most other things. Who I wind up presenting the pieces to is often incidental, but every once in a while a piece in particular might decide it definitely belongs with one specific person, and I don’t tend to argue.

I started this particular piece two nights ago, and it’s turning out to be a fox, a haughty one sat back on its haunches with its big bushy tail swishing cocky behind it, and I reckon it’s gonna have an equally cocky expression on its face when I’ve finished. It’s a nice fit, this particular piece of wood has a nice kind of reddish colour to it so it could look almost real when it’s done. Something tells me I’m carving this one for Gael.

Thinking about that makes me think about them, and my mind starts wandering a little more than it usually does when I’m whittling. I got no fear of cutting myself by accident not paying attention, I’ve always had a kind of uncanny talent for blades means I’ve never slipped in my life doing this, I could probably carve this out with my eyes closed, though I doubt it’d wind up looking too good if I did. Might be like Kesla when she’s looking after her gear, that wonderful infuriating calm she’s always able to summon through such rote, mechanical maintenance. Clears the mind, so I can concentrate on other thoughts.

Gael was incredible today, they really were. I seen ‘em do some crazy shit in our time together, but nothing like that. They really saved our arses today. We would’ve died under all that rock, fact I’m amazed they didn’t kill themselves anyway holding it all up like that, an’ it wasn’t for lack o’ trying. And then that escape … wow. I’m still a little blown away by it all, truth be told.

I’m glad they’re okay. I think they’re really something, sure, they impress the hell outta me every time we go into something, and I’m glad they’re going along with Kesla’s plan so happily, it’ll really benefit ‘em in the long run. But I like having them round too, they’re good company. They put up a façade sometimes, hell, a lot of the time really, but they’re happy enough to show their real self when it’s just us, and I appreciate it. They’re friendly, they don’t give a shit about what I am or even how I act most of the time, they seem to have a smile on their face most of the time when we talk. And they’re warm, and honest, and a surprising amount of fun once I can get ‘em to let their defences down. I like ‘em a lot.

Flicking another little curl of spent wood from the forming carving, I pause and chance a look over at Gael as they’re curled up nearby, breathing slow and easy. They make this cute little purring snort at the end of each breath in, it’s not really a snore but you can pick it up easy enough when it’s good and quiet like this. I think it’s adorable. They look so peaceful right now, head propped up on their folded arm, hair tumbling into their face but not so much I can’t still see their features, that slight parting to their full lips. I find my mind wandering again while I’m looking, can’t help it. Somehow watching them just does that to me sometimes …

“You trying to memorize their features or something?”

Kesla’s words snap me back to reality, and I can feel my cheeks flushing, glad I got all this fur so it can’t give me away. Thankfully I don’t cut myself, even in my surprise my knife-sense seems to be in perfect control. Uncanny that. I look over at her, find her smiling subtly, one brow cocking just a little.

“Um … sorry?”

“I seen you doing that before, y’know. You watch ‘em a lot, I noticed. Proper studying, sometimes. You ain’t that curious round the rest of us.”

Looking round at the others now, I find one of Yeslee’s eyes is open just a sliver. Might just be she’s stirring a little at the voices, not really proper awake, just a reaction. I seen her do that before, it’s just the way she’s wired. She can sleep deep as anyone, but she wakes up sharp if she needs to. Good trait to have, ‘specially in a hunter. After a moment the eye closes again, and they don’t react further.

“Really hadn’t noticed, boss.” I put a little more deliberate emphasis on the words than I really intended, and I can tell she noticed it right away. I return to my whittling with equal deliberateness, try to slip back into that thoughtless ease again.

“You fancy ‘em, I reckon.” There’s not a hint of a question in that, it’s pure statement. I look up again, find that frustrating watchfulness still turned on me.

“Me? Them? I don’t … what …” I wince, and she grins wide, a real mischievous crook to it this time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, boss. Swear to … I dunno. Y’know I never really worshipped any god particular like.”

That quirk of her eyebrow again. “Look, I know I ain’t got no super keen nose like you an’ Yes, but I don’t need to smell it on you. I got eyes good enough most o’ the time at least. I know what you’re like when we’re out on the lash well enough. I seen you flirtin’, you ain’t subtle about it. You go in with a clear intention and you work a girl, occasionally a boy ‘til you wear ‘em down.” She chuckles. “Not that you gotta try very hard, I’ll admit. Folk just seem to like you.”

“I got a likeable face, you know that. An’ I know how to talk. You send me in to work folk often enough if you reckon we need a smoother tongue in the deal.” I shrug. “Thieves Guild, y’know? Ain’t all just about quick hands an’ knowing how to hide. You know that well enough.”

She watches me for a few moments, thoughtful now. She’s examining my act now, looking for the truth behind the seeming. Damn sharp she is, I never can quite pull the wool over her eyes, least not for very long. “Yeah, well I don’t work like that. Just cuz I sell my sword now don’t make me a grifter. I play folk straight an’ fair, always, it’s how I am. That’s why I send you in when we gotta bullshit folk.”

Not sure I like the way she said that, but I’m glad I got her off-topic. We keep following this path I might be able to make her forget what we were talking about originally anyways. “Hey, I don’t mind. I like to talk, reckon it’s the way I am. Folk respond to that.”

“Ain’t sure that’s what you’re doing with Gael, Art.”

Damn it.

“Like I said, I seen you flirt. You like a little casual fun, just like anyone. Those other kids, a lot of ‘em feel the same way when they’re in their cups, you don’t gotta work too hard with ‘em. An’ you’re cute, you really got that on your side. You don’t gotta try very hard, but you got confidence too, you got it in spades. Reckon you could bluff your way outta prison if you needed to. Not that I’d be rushing to see you try, mind.”

“Thanks.” I still frown though, can’t help it. I got no idea where she’s going with this.

“You’re welcome. Thing is, that ain’t what you’re doin’ here. You’re all hesitant with ‘em, keep trying to catch looks when they ain’t watching, and when they do get you I seen you just pretend it’s all casual like, and it’s a little hilarious sometimes. You’re like some blushing schoolboy sometimes, ain’t got a clue how to really talk to someone you actually fancy.”

“That ain’t what –”

“You’re kind of an idiot sometimes, y’know that?”

I give her a hard look at that. It’s like trying to intimidate a dragon.

“Let you in on a little secret, Art. Ain’t a big one, but most folk don’t actually know this one. Took me a long time to learn myself, but I got it pinned down now, so I know what to look for. Ain’t always what you do. Every once in a while, what you don’t do says a hell of a lot more ‘bout how you really feel. Y’know?”

That one has me frowning. I look over at Gael again, not even trying to pretend now. Might be I been trying to convince myself much as Kesla that I ain’t been thinking stuff about ‘em lately, forming ideas. I dunno, it’s all a bit of a mess in my head. Still ain’t got it straight exactly what I want. Could be Kesla’s hit the nail on the head here.

Might be it was that hug really shook the idea loose, but if I’m honest I been thinking about it for a little while now. Ain’t just that I like ‘em. I like them. Proper like ‘em, not just the passing fancy of a cute tavern lass or lad when we’re out on the lash unwinding after a sweet payday. Like proper like ‘em. Except I realised just what an uphill battle this one’s gonna be. Ain’t like a couple hours’ flirtation with a few flagons of ale to help things along.

“Shit.” I wince again, grip the knife a little tighter than intended. “Gael is way outta my league, ain’t they?”

Kesla grins wide again at that. “I take it back, you ain’t a total idiot.”

“Thanks.” I growl back.

“Someone is approaching.”

It takes a few moments for Driver 8’s voice to penetrate, never mind the meaning in his words. I’ve never known him to speak so quiet, to be honest didn’t reckon he could pull it off. For a moment I just frown over at Kesla, but she’s caught up with his words quicker than me. I’m a little slower on the uptake, but once I am I take another moment to steady myself, so I don’t do anything rash. Working fast but being careful, I replace my whittling knife and the half-finished carving in my pack and get up, following Kesla as she moves up behind our substantial friend, looking out past him as best she can.

“Where?”

Driver 8 hasn’t moved an inch in all this time, but I get the impression he’s calculating now, thinking things over even as he continues to observe what’s going on outside. Finally he shifts aside slightly, slow and deliberate as ever but with surprising subtlety, before pointing out into the night. Downwards. Off to the right. I slip under his arm on his other side, follow the line to where his massive finger is pointing.

The night’s still and cool and very quiet. There’s barely even a whisper of wind out there right now, so if something were to disturb the slightest piece of stone out there right now I could hear it easy. Nothing. If there is somebody out there they got mad stealthing skills.

Kesla appears on Driver 8’s other side, not quite crouching but keeping low, and she’s put something over her face on an elasticated strap that slides down over her eyes. A pair of goggles, something like what I seen before in smith’s forges when there’s loads of sparks. But these are a little different, there’s something funny about the lenses, they’re not opaque black like the ones I’ve seen. These have a strange, subtle glow, a little red, but nowhere near so bright as Big Man’s.

“What the hell are those?” I venture in the quietest whisper I can manage, and for a moment I think she missed it as she just squints out into the night through them.

“Janna made ‘em. They’re wicked clever.” She crouches, low on her haunches, tense now. “Bloody hell, this is better than I ever thought it could be. She really knows ‘er stuff, it’s like bloody magic.”

“Boss, please, I don’t speak weapon-nerd. What are they?”

She looks at me then, and I swear to the gods I can feel her stare through those unsettling lenses. Like she can see me clear as day out here even though there’s no visible moon right now. “They help me see in the dark, genius.”

“Really?” I resist the urge to whistle. “Nice.”

“That’s a proper understatement.” She leans forward a little more, looking back out into the night. Down the way Driver 8 was pointing. I turn back myself, following her gaze and Big Man’s too.

At first, there’s nothing to see. It’s the same bleak, cluttered, barren rocky landscape as before, there’s a thousand places someone could hide in it and not get spotted, truth is they could get pretty close before they’d be in any danger of being spotted, even if they didn’t know how to move careful. Which I reckon is these folk’s forte all the way. Bandits, man. I know the type. I should, I was raised among plenty like ‘em. Kinda one myself, really.

Then I spot something moving just in the range of where we’re looking. It’s less than a blink, the subtlest little flitter of movement, well-hidden and cautious, but the intent gives it away much as anything else. There’s someone making their way up through the broken passage of boulders to the left of where we picketed the horses for the night, going about it good and slow but, now I’m looking for ‘em, not all that successful in their stealth. Oh, they know what they’re doing all right, most folk wouldn’t be able to pick up on them out there, even if they could see in the dark, but I know what to look for, you get trained well as I been and you learn how to spot it just as well.

Two of ‘em. No, more. Least three, maybe four. Can’t quite tell that much. Their formation’s very loose, but they’re making a clear, concerted effort not to give each other away any more than themselves. “Got ‘em.”

“Where?” Kesla’s still staring down through her fancy goggles, frown deepening.

“Right there.” I point myself, crouching low too now as I move round in front of Driver 8 so I can get close to her. “Down past the horses. Three of ‘em. No, four. Definitely four.”

She moves her head a little, stops, tensing some. Reckon she sees ‘em now. “Just them?”

“There are no other individuals within our vicinity.” Driver 8’s low rumble is surprisingly soothing, taking a little edge off the tension of the situation. It’s interesting.

“Hmmm …” Kesla looks over at me, and once again I’m somewhat disconcerted by that subtle glowing radiance. “What you thinking?”

I look back down at the interlopers. None of them are human, which ain’t much of a surprise, given humans don’t have good nightvision, as Kesla’s clearly demonstrated. Two orcs, big but nimble on their feet, stealthy and subtle for such large individuals, and a half-orc, smaller and younger but still intimidating enough. Their lead is smaller, relatively short but stout of figure, the kind of burly sinew that comes from impressive natural strength and a very active life, and is a good deal hairier. The face is a bit more feral-looking too, not so full-on animalistic as a yokai but with a distinct snout and sharp, alert features with a lot of thick, bristly hair surrounding his face. It’s the horns that gives him away most directly, though, a bony pair jutting back from the sides of his head before curling off to the side in wild spirals. Hobgoblin. Definitely be in charge, then.

“Complicated. They clearly know we’re round here somewhere, and they’re being real careful about being stealthy. They don’t know that they got spotted way before they even came close, though, So far, at least.”

Kesla thinks for a few more moments, scratches the side of her jaw idly. “You don’t reckon they’ll just pass on by, do you?”

“I’d be real surprised if they did.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinkin’ too. Lovely.” She pulls back past Driver 8, already slipping the goggles up above her brows, and as I head back in to join her she’s blinking quickly, clearly fighting for focus a tad. “Wah … that is a weird feeling. How the hell d’you deal with it?”

“We don’t tend to notice, boss. It’s just how our eyes work.” I look down at the others, finding that, while most are still asleep, Yeslee’s now propped up under her blanket, watching us closely. Not at all surprised, really.

“Trouble?” she asks, matter-of-fact just like always.

“Maybe.” Kesla moves to her gear, snatching up her sword-belt and strapping it on under her coat. After a moment she retrieves one of her axes too, hefts it in her right hand for a moment, testing the weight as though she hasn’t already wielded it hundreds of times. “A few uninvited guests. They’re a hell of a lot closer’n I’m comfortable with.”

“Right.” Yeslee throws the blanket off and scrambles up into a crouch in one swift, fluid movement, snatching up her big bow and stringing it with practiced speed. As she slots the bone horns onto the tips she asks: “Cover?”

“Just watch for now. Don’t shoot unless we clearly need the help.” Kesla looks over at me, cocking a brow. “Ready?”

I look down over my gear for a moment, then nod. Best not use the sword and long-knife right now, this ain’t that kinda encounter. We’re gonna wanna do this fast and quiet. Best I just stick to my knives for this one. “Just us three?”

Kesla nods. “Let ‘em sleep. It’s just four. Even with the hob, doubt we’ll have much trouble handling ‘em.”

“We’ll see.” I mutter, mostly to myself. We’ve fought hobgoblins plenty of times before. Orcs are big and strong and they can be wicked fast despite their bulk, but while they’re usually a lot smarter than they look they tend to be predictable in a fight, preferring to attack head-on and overwhelm you with muscle and savagery. Hobgoblins are different. They’re fiendish smart, almost scary with it, and they’re a hell of a lot faster and more agile than their bigger cousins. Fighting one is no joke at all.

It's clear Kesla’s probably following my train of thought here as she fixes me with that no-nonsense stare, all business now we’re about to enter the fray. “I wanna see if we can grab one alive. Just leave the hob to me. You deal with the others, and do it fast. Shouldn’t be any problem for you.”

That one sparks a somewhat rueful grin, I can’t help it. “Sure thing, boss. Just point the way.”

As we crouch low on the outcrop outside the cave, Kesla slips her fancy headgear back into place and examines the situation. They’ve reached the horses now, and they’re being very cautious with how they’re proceeding now that they know for a fact that we’re close. They ain’t advancing either, which is interesting. I turn to Kesla. “They’re just recon. Snoopin’ round. Reckon they got orders not to try anything yet, nor spook us.”

Nodding, Kesla turns to Yeslee. “Like I said, just watch. Doubt we’ll need you, but cover us just in case. And if you have to shoot, put ‘em straight down. Least noise possible.”

“Of course.” Yeslee’s already nocked, not drawn yet but ready all the same, her face a stone.

“Art, you circle round left. Go fast. I’ll head right. Moment you see me come in you hook in behind, they probably won’t even know you’re there ‘til it’s too late. And remember, if you can take one without killing ‘em, do it.” Again with that weird, impersonal, low-glow stare. I know where I seen it before now, it’s like staring an owl in the face.

“Go.”

I’m moving the moment the word leaves her mouth, skipping across the rocks to the left and dropping down to the ridge below with a practiced ease that speaks as much for years of training and drilling back in Untermer’s Thieves Guild basements as my own racial advantages. A falling feather would make more noise as I scramble over a rock wall and duck into a tight natural alley below, keeping low as I make the tightest wide berth I can around this sneaky group. They’re making every effort they can to stay silent but I’m picking them up all the same, as much just through smell as anything else. I know when I’ve passed them on the far side of this line of jagged boulders, and I cut right as soon as I find a break in the makeshift wall, slowing right down now as they come into sight.

The orcs are hanging back, but they’re not watching the rear like they should be, likely too distracted by what’s going on ahead. The half-orc’s bobbing on the balls of his feet, I can see how impatient he is now, too full of energy, proper wired, instantly betraying his youth. The hobgoblin’s the only one moving forward, holding one hand out to check the others, most likely the boy specifically, as he starts to creep towards our horses. None of them have any weapons drawn yet, although both the half-orc and the hob have their hands on the hilts of the swords at their sides. Ready just in case.

Okay … speed is the key, but these are big targets, tough as hell. Best try not to just tickle ‘em. I ignore my darts or any of my smaller, more finessed blades, going straight to the pair of long, curved bone-hilted daggers I keep strapped up between my shoulder-blades. I draw them both out from my back with deft ease, thankful that the well-oiled steel blades and supple leather sheaths render them perfectly silent coming out, and hold them low as I start to creep, ever so slowly, around behind the two orcs.

For several moments nothing happens, and all the time I’m fretting inside that one of them is gonna turn round and spot me, or that maybe Kesla’s gonna misstep on her approach and give herself away. It works my nerves something fierce, but there’s nothing I can do about any of these things, we’re committed now, and that’s enough of a check that I can keep a tight rein on myself. I don’t waver, I stay in place, I stay quiet and hidden. And nobody turns round, which I reckon is a major cock-up on their end.

Then, as the hobgoblin takes another slow, careful step closer to the horses, Ulrich suddenly skirts back, grunting a little as he rears slightly, and it seems as if he’s finally reacting to the presence of these interlopers … only for a flash of movement to streak out from behind him in the same moment, the subtlest glint of starlight on steel as Kesla rushes in and swings for the hob with her axe, one of her knives clutched low in her left. It’s a testimony to the hobgoblin’s typical speed that he isn’t just laid low in an instant, instead sidestepping at the last moment and ducking the swing so that the blade whistles harmlessly over his head. He drops into a roll as he goes down, and as he reaches his feet he’s already turning, drawing the longsword at his side in the same motion before he’s even up.

Right on cue, the two orcs drop into defensive stances, the male on the left drawing a jagged longsword from a wolfskin sheath that’s definitely seen better days, while the female on the right unslings a long-shafted battleaxe from her back. Ahead of them the young half-orc is circling around the hob as he draws the broadsword at his side, and while I might have read him as bold and rash in his youthfulness there’s no doubting the training indicated in his stance and motions. Looks like he could be a genuine threat. First things first, though …

This is all going on as I’m moving, of course – I act the moment it all goes down, following Kesla’s lead as requested and so while the orcs are still readying their gear I’m on top of the male, jabbing my right-hand dagger deep into his armpit while he’s still drawing the sword. One-two-three just like I was taught. He fumbles the sword as I pull the knife free on the third stroke, and even before the weapon clatters down I’m turning hard to face his partner.

I didn’t make any more sound than expected but she’s sharp enough, she must just sense the threat, already turning as I lunge, so she takes a step back as I come up on her. I’m priming my leap as she starts to bring the axe round, so when the swing comes I’m already sailing clean over and letting my feet ride up so I can turn the jump into a flip while I bring the daggers round. She’s still swinging so she’s unbalanced as I rake both blades across her face, and she lets a wounded snarl go as I manage to at least half-blind her. I fly right over her head and now I’m twisting in the air, and the ridge wall beyond is racing up far quicker than expected. So I just prime my feet instead.

As my feet meet the wall, I let my knees bend and bunch my legs up fast, coiling like a spring so I can launch myself back. The female orc is snarling and grunting as she holds her left hand to her face, blood black as tar in this light pouring through her fingers, and her right is swinging the axe wildly about without any regard for her surroundings now. She’s gone pure feral, looks like. I spring back and I’m hurled back off the wall, fast and hard, already cocking both daggers as I fly at her again.

Both blades catch her high in the chest and the leather armour of her breastplate might as well be made of cloth with the force I’ve built up. I bring my feet up as I impact, and altogether it’s enough to slam her down, her feet slipping out from under her on the unstable gully floor, and I ride her down as she hits hard. What air might’ve been left in her is forced out as she crashes down, and the force of the spray of blood she spits out is strong enough to hit me in the face, only now reminding me that I forgot to put my scarf and hood up. I ignore it best as I can as I check her over while she wheezes, other hand thrown wide now so I can finally see exactly what kind of damage I’ve done to her face. The left eye’s gone entirely, the gash carved deep and raw, but I missed the right, cutting across the bridge of her broad, flat nose instead. Her one remaining pale gold eye glares up at me, still very clear. And proper pissed.

Pulling back into a crouch I yank hard on the bone-hilts in my hands, but nothing happens. It’s like pulling on a locked solid oak door. I don’t even lift her body – she’s heavy, and I’m a hell of a lot smaller. She grunts as she brings her hands up, and I pull back before she can grab my wrists, so she just bats at thin air. I scramble away fast, leaving my daggers where they are, and that’s when I notice that the male orc’s still got some life in him.

Going in the way I did, I’ve definitely severed the artery feeding through his shoulder into his arm, but he’s a big one and he’s got a lot of blood in him. He’s unsteady on his feet, weaving severely like a three-sheets drunkard, but he’s had enough presence of mind to draw the shortsword he had on his other hip and one of his knives in his left hand as he stumbles towards me, squinting for focus. And now I’m unarmed.

Okay, not really how I wanted this to go, but you roll with the punches once the fight’s started. I slip free two of my smaller knives and take a few steps back and to the side, putting some distance between me and the female orc too as she starts trying to pull herself up. The male staggers towards me and lunges with a grunt, but his swing’s wild and unfocused, I almost don’t even need to bother trying to dodge it. I dance round him and chance my own lunge in. These smaller knives are less well suited for going up against a big, meaty target like this, especially in leather armour, which is just about tough enough to queer one of these, so I aim for the more vulnerable spots instead. It’s more of a war of attrition now, death by a thousand cuts if you will, but I can do this.

Streaking fast round his side, I draw a swift slash across the inside of his exposed elbow and cut deep as I can, severing the tendons, and his lower arm goes limp as a picked padlock. I follow with a swift double jab at the side of his throat, the first turned a little off by the collar of his breastplate but the second sinking in good before I whip it clear, bringing up a weaker spurt. He snarls but it’s slow, slurred and still unfocused, it takes time for him to react as I dance away from him again, the shortsword dropping from his limp fingers as he starts to turn. Gives me enough time to re-evaluate the situation.

The female orc’s getting up now, dragging herself up the broken rock wall with less effort than I would’ve preferred, and I can see Kesla’s now fully engaged in a one-on-one fight with the hobgoblin. While the half-orc –

I’m barely fast enough to duck the swing as he powers right up on me, dropping and rolling while he charges past. He recovers quick, already wheeling on me as I recover, staying low now with my blades ready, taking a moment to calculate his situation just like I am. His sword’s long and looks well-made, he clearly looks after it, and his stance is very professional. He might not be a fencer like me but he’s clearly been well-trained, and with these little blades all I got to work with right now I’m sorely missing my own. This is turning ugly fast.

Change of tactics then … as he lunges for me, sneering now like he feels he’s got the best of me, I throw the knife in my right at his face and he has to step to the side in surprise, batting the blade aside with his sword before it can hit his eye. But I wasn’t even trying to hit him – I’m already leaping past, dropping into another roll and scooping up the orc’s discarded shortsword as I go. As I come up I’m close enough to the faltering orc that I can draw two swift, savage cuts across the backs of both his knees, and I bite deep as I can. He folds with a wheeze that might’ve been a howl if he had more strength left, crashing down with a last, insulting lack of grace that I hope finally takes him out of the equation.

This doesn’t give me any time to rest, mind. A second after he goes down the half-orc’s right on top of me, swinging hard for my head, and I barely bring the shortsword up in time to deflect the blow. I keep my wrist loose enough it doesn’t ring the weapon right out of my hand, and I’m already dancing to the side, fast enough to parry both his responding swings as he comes back round. I turn the knife in my left hand round as I skip back, closing on the wall now, and strike my fencer’s defence as I watch him reel back, thinking now. It’s like he recognises something in my posture, and it’s rattled him a little, his bright eyes suddenly a whole lot less certain than they were before. I cock my head and give him a little air-kiss, and it does just what I want it to do.

Orcs are hot-blooded people, they can’t help it. They’re a passionate race, it’s one of the things that make them such fierce warriors, but it can get them into trouble in combat sometimes. You get them angry, they tend to lose focus. This one’s only half orc, but there’s enough of that blood in him, coupled with youthful emotional fragility, that it don’t take much to goad him into a rage. He charges me with a low bellow, and his thrust’s good, it’s a precision lunge, but he puts way too much force behind it, doesn’t think about what he’s doing until it’s too late. I’m already gone as his sword meets what should have been the sweet spot, finds nothing but air, and he doesn’t have time or wit enough to bring himself up short before his sword jams into rock wall beyond. It sticks fast, and in his momentum he keeps going, so the blade bends fast and snaps close to the hilt as he stumbles past. He staggers for a few moments as he tries to right himself, spinning round so fast he almost goes down as he realises he’s lost me.

To his credit, he’s fast enough that my own lunge almost misses him. Instead of impaling him full in the chest it rakes high across his breastplate before catching his shoulder. Then it digs in, and he howls as I skewer him. He’s unbalanced enough and I kick his feet out from under him, yanking the sword fee as he topples, and I draw back as I ready a measured jab, intending to aim right for the heart.

A side of beef slams into my side and I go down hard. I drop the shortsword again as I topple and I’m barely able to catch myself enough to roll over when I hit, finding myself on my back. The female orc’s landed perilously close to me, and as she reaches out for me I react without thinking, doing the only thing I can in the moment – I jab hard with the knife still in my hand, skewering her grasping hand and making her pull back fast enough I’m able to yank it free again without losing it. I follow through fast as I can, still not quite thinking yet and I’m glad of it cuz it makes me faster, aiming for her exposed throat as I stab down hard, once, twice, opening her windpipe before I deliver a more measured cut with the third pass while I turn the knife over in my hand. I hinge my wrist as I do it and this time I open her throat all the way with the underhanded cut, and she gasps, giving a strange, hollow, wet gurgle in response. I pull back fast and flip up onto my feet, already ready for the coming counter.

He's fast, this half-orc, he really is. He almost impales me right there, but I’m quicker than he is, sidestepping the lunge with his newly-drawn shortsword and turning his arm with a push of my paw, and while he’s still unbalanced I spin a swift kick round to drive my heel hard into the small of his back. He staggers, whooping loud as I wind him, and it gives me just enough breathing room. I don’t even bother sheathing the knife I have left, I just drop it, going to the still prone orc woman and trying not to look into her now distinctly glazed eyes as she gasps like a fish, trying to breath with her ruined throat and fading fast now. I feel like shit about it but I got no choice as I plant my foot onto her midsection, taking a firm grip on the hilts of my daggers and pulling hard. They let go with a pop and I stumble back, thankfully this time not stumbling into any waiting attack in the process.

The half-orc’s hanging back now, bent low with his shortsword and a long knife in a stance that reminds me very much of Kesla. I give my daggers a quick flourish that whips away some of the excess blood, and I start to sidestep, slowly circling while he does the same. I match his stance now, idly shifting my grip on the knives, a little more happy now I’ve got my optimum weapons in hand, hoping this might be a more even match now. Judging by the dawning uncertainty in his face it’s clear my opponent’s certainly starting to think so.

In all the chaos I guess I lost track of Kesla and her own opponent, so I’m a little surprised to see her suddenly stepping up right behind the boy, and he’s clearly oblivious as she turns her axe in her hand and smacks him in the side of the head with the blunt of the blade. It snuffs him out like a candle, he just folds right at her feet.

Then I realise the hobgoblin’s nowhere to be seen and the fight is done. I look round at the two orcs, find the male’s finally bled out while his partner’s already down to her last, shallow not-really-breaths. Like I usually do after a scrap like this I feel a dense, cold weight in the core of me settling in, a crappy feeling spreading all through me, and at the core of it the worst feeling of all, in my soul. I feel ashamed. I never think about it in the fight, I kill without hesitation, but it always makes me feel like shit afterwards. In truth, Kesla tells me, that’s a very good thing. I’m still not convinced about it, myself.

For several moments we both just stand there, panting deep, me more than Kesla maybe but she’s still winded too. I look round one more time and I still don’t see another body. “What happened to the hob?”

Kesla takes a deep breath, works her shoulders, gives her neck a little crack. “He just split. Soon as he saw you’d made short work o’ these two an’ you were about to do the same with this guy, reckon he put two and two together. I didn’t feel like chasing him in the dark.”

“Then we’re done?” I relax all at once, finally able to straighten up again myself. I give my back a little stretch, thankful I don’t get a twinge out of it, and give my knives another quick little whip, making sure I got rid of all the blood I can. I slip them back in place, slip the thongs in place to secure them again, look down at the unconscious half-orc. “What about this guy?”

“Reckon he might be able to answer a few questions, yeah?” Kesla bends down, slips her hands under his arms, starts to lift his limp form. “Grab his legs.”