Gods, I hate this place, it’s got me all kinds of worked up. I’ve felt increasingly uptight the whole time we’ve been down here, making our intolerably slow way to the bridge and now starting to make our progress across it. Sure ain’t done nothing for my mood. I’ve got pretty sharp with my orders, definitely can’t call ‘em requests any more way I been feeling.

The bridge certainly is another wonder of dwarven engineering, ramshackle as it might appear to a less experienced eye. The only thing that really matters to me right now, though, is that it looks sturdy enough to take us across, and definitely wide enough, in fact it’s so broad across once you’re on top of it that three carts significantly bigger than ours could cross side-by-side with ease. That strange crisscrossed structure of metal beams enveloping it is a little intimidating once you have it rising around you, but at least it’s built high enough that there’d be no worries about clearance if we were piled six times as tall as we are.

After I send Art and Gael into the guardhouse or whatever it is, I tell Krakka to stay behind beyond the end of the bridge, to keep an eye on things while Driver 8 and I spread out to allow Wenrich time to guide the cart onto the bridge. He doesn’t rein the team in until they’re well onto it, then all but collapses on the bench, breathing heavy, and it’s instantly clear how tense he’s become during that decidedly precarious passage. I let him be, wanting to give Art and Gael time to check things out.

Driver 8’s being his usual silent, stoic self, but the way he keeps looking round sets me back on edge. Eventually I can’t take the tension anymore and just round Ulrich on him to stare him down without having to crane my neck. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer me for a long time, still scanning, and after a while I begin to suspect he won’t answer me. Then he turns to face me just as I’m about to repeat the question, a little more forceful this time, and something about the way he does it, despite the lack of expression, somehow stops me cold. “I cannot sense anything.”

“Well that’s … ain’t that a good thing?”

“No. I cannot sense anything. My sensors cannot pick up anything within our vicinity, including that which I should be able to sense. I cannot sense you, nor can I sense the cart and its horses, nor Master Clearwood, nor Krakka. Being out of my sight, Art and Gael are gone entirely from my awareness now.”

Is it just my imagination, or is there the tiniest, most perfectly subtle edge of concern in Big Man’s voice? Maybe I’m projecting too much into it, but I suspect not. He’s far more capable of emotion than he seems, I’ve seen the proof for myself. The fact that it’s there at all genuinely breaks me out in goosebumps, a proper chill passing through me. My right hand leaves the reins and goes to Hefdred, I can’t help it. Maybe Ulrich senses my discomfort, starting to paw the bridge’s slightly damp, hard-packed dirt as he starts to wheel, and I let him, taking the opportunity to scan our surroundings again with a more critical eye.

Ain’t many places to hide, mind. The walls of the mountainous cliffs tower above us on both sides, and they’re pretty sheer, no ledges or cracks or whatever a person might use to look down from. The slick stone looks so weathered smooth it’d be tough enough just finding solid handholds to climb either of these bastards. I turn Ulrich again, a little forceful now, and return my attention to the bridge, or rather the road beyond. It rolls off into the shadowy gloom of a deep, tight crack in the wall beyond, eventually turning a sharp right into the narrow passage what looks like a hundred metres further down. With the day drawing on it’s hard to really see what’s going on in there, but I can see enough to tell there’s no-one in there. Or at least it doesn’t look like there’s anyone in there. Now I think about it, there’d be no way to really be sure, would there?

Driver 8’s concerned statement is what gnaws at me. His senses are so uncanny they’re beyond simply supernatural, and while I couldn’t begin to understand how golems work I know it must have something to do with the process used to build him in the first place. He’s dampened against magic, but there are certain aspects … shit.

Ulrich almost rears, I pull him round so hard, loudly grunting with displeasure. Driver 8 just stands there, cool and immovable and inscrutable, but I know now he’s concerned as I am, and now I know why. He’s cut off. His senses ain’t exactly magical, but they react in a very similar way to certain effects. Ain’t the first time we been caught in a null field, I should’ve picked up on it sooner. Maybe I was just too tense already, but there’s something a little more focused now about the way the hairs on my arms are prickling.

“Krakka! Can you feel that?”

Our cleric frowns as he turns my way, stood by his mount now and idly holding the reins with the hammer resting across his other shoulder. He opens his beak to reply, then stops, eyes widening. “I don’t feel anything.” The way he says it means everything. He gets it.

Damn it … we walked into a trap. I turn to Wenrich to find him stood on the bench now with a real intense expression on his face. “Master Clearwood?”

“It’s a null field.” he replies, even if my experience renders the statement entirely superfluous. “A large one. We’re being blocked. I can’t do anything.” He turns to me now, and despite his frown I see a hint of fear deep in his eyes.

“Shit.” I mutter under my breath, mostly to myself, then start to turn Ulrich again … just as one of the shack windows next overlooking the gorge explodes as something tumbles through it. The throaty bellow that’s unleashed confirms it’s an orc far better than the barest glimpse I’m able to catch of them as they drop, because at the very same time the window right next to the first shatters too, another body falling through it. This one doesn’t take a plunge, lucky enough to land on the platform instead, and I recognise Art as he starts to scramble up, and I’m unbelievably thankful they landed where they did, letting out a relieved gasp as he rushes straight back inside.

The main door’s torn out of place and tossed onto the track beyond the same moment a group of newcomers spill out of it, breaking into a charge as they draw various weapons. A mixed bag, men and orcs together, but led by a hobgoblin, small as his kin but imposing all the same as he’s decked out in a mongrel suit of battered plate armour with a big broadsword in his hands. He’s going straight for Krakka, and I shout a warning to him, pointing, just as he does the same, pointing past me.

Concern for him almost keeps me from turning, a moment’s hesitation enough for me to see him react to my own warning, releasing his horse who immediately bolts while he hefts Bloodmoon in time to deflect the cleaving swing aimed at him. I’m turning now, following his warning in kind, and I see more figures jumping over the raised wall of the bridge ahead of us, emerging from where they’ve clearly been hiding out of sight from us on our approach. They spread out fast as they approach, close to a dozen of them, another motley collection as patchily decked out in armour and gear as the rest, but armed to the teeth all the same.

Drawing Hefdred, I pull Ulrich round to face this new threat as they charge straight for the cart. Wenrich’s somewhat useless as a mage right now, and that’s clearly occurred to him as he’s already jumped down from the bench and is now scrabbling through our packed gear for a weapon. I spur Ulrich on and he leaps forward with a spring in his step, enthusiastic now there’s a fight to be had. I reach the cart as the first bandits arrive and decide to just let my mount go to work.

Ulrich rears dramatically, iron-shod hooves wheeling and scything vicious as he brings them down on the first man, a human brought down with a scream as the destrier pounds him to the ground. A few savage stomps and the screams are quelled, and as the orc behind him pauses, suddenly uncertain of his chances I bring my sword round and hack hard down into his skull, cleaving deep before I whip it free. The now lifeless body doesn’t get a chance to drop as Ulrich barges it aside and I let him use his own initiative as he wheels to trample a burly human woman with a battleaxe who tries to rush in after. As the rest begin to surround us I let Ulrich to react to them, coiling his powerful hindquarters to send a mighty kick backwards and pummel a particularly hefty orc full in the face, putting him straight down with a wet, broken gurgle. The destrier wheels again as more come in behind, a little more reluctant now they’ve seen what happened to their would-be leader, and the first human to try finds his fears to be well-founded as he gets pounded in the chest himself. He brings two more down in the process, and all he can do is gasp, beyond winded and pretty messed up with most of the ribs in his chest shattered by the force of the blow.

Wenrich’s found a weapon now, having dragged a shortsword from one of the packs which he now unsheathes. In his hands it looks like a heavy and unwieldy longsword, but he handles it well enough as another raider clambers onto the cart with handaxe ready and gets stabbed in the chest before he can react to the new threat. As he pulls the blade free Wenrich gives me a quick sidelong look, growling: “I can look after myself, Kesla. Keep your eyes on the fight.” before turning away to deal with the next fool who starts trying to clamber into the cart from the back.

Taking the warning to heart, I pull Ulrich back hard and start to manoeuvre him into open ground as more come. I give up with the reins and trust the destrier to listen to my knees and feet instead as I reach under my coat and pull one of my handaxes free, just in time to smash a male half-orc in the skull before he can thrust his sword up into me. Even so, they’re closing from all round, and there seem to be more of them all the time, a fresh wave seeming to appear out of nowhere from the gloom at the far end of the bridge and starting a long charge towards us. Shit, we’re definitely outnumbered this time.

They don’t have time to overwhelm me, though, because Big Man arrives just in time to wade right into the midst of them before they even know he’s there. The first poor bastard doesn’t even realise how screwed he is, that gigantic hand just closes over his skull and squeezes with a sickening crunch before tossing the body aside so he can reach for the next one. The next one’s wary enough to react in time and she tries to run, but even seven feet and a few hundred pounds of orc can’t compete with a golem when his mind’s set. He grabs her arm and it comes away like he wasn’t even trying which, in all honesty, he probably wasn’t. She howls, more in shock than pain I think, as the blood starts pouring out of her, but it’s turned into a surprised squawk as he whips her legs out from under her and turns her into an improvised flail which he uses to start setting about the rest. Suddenly her bulk and weight is only a detriment as he uses her to shatter and mangle her comrades with forceful swings that probably require no more effort from him than a casual stroll.

It’s such a sight to witness that I genuinely stop fighting and just sit there, a little dumbfounded for a few moments, but thankfully I’m not alone, my would-be attackers even more surprised by the development. I even see Wenrich’s broken off to observe, and he looks genuinely stupefied by what he’s witnessing, clearly getting a far more graphic demonstration of what a golem’s really capable of than he would have preferred.

When I’ve finally reined my own shock in enough to find words again I croak to Driver 8: “You … you got this?” and he turns to look at me without even breaking off his attack, now rending foes asunder without even looking.

“I am in full control, thank you.” His voice seems no more emotionally invested now than before, even as he pulps the skull and upper ribcage of a man with his free hand. I feel my gorge fighting to rise a little seeing it, but fight it down.

“Good, good.” I manage to choke out, already looking away as I wheel Ulrich round with my knees, turning back to face the coming second wave as they start to approach. Almost three dozen, it looks like, all coming at once, and while the distance looks to be starting to wind some of them they’re still charging, wicked-looking weapons ready and a collection of war-cries as mismatched as they are. For a moment I toy with the idea of riding hard into the midst of them in a forceful counter-charge, but that doesn’t seem that wise right now. If there were ten of me, all wearing heavy armour and carrying lances and shields, maybe it could turn them back, but just me, on my own, it wouldn’t work. If I was lucky, or at least savage enough, I could maybe take ten down, but the rest would swarm me. Not a particularly impressive way to die right now.

I spot a familiar face as I watch them approach. It’s her, that half-orc swordsman, not yelling like her companions but just focused on me as she clearly recognises her own opposite number on this field. It takes me a moment to recall the name Tarrow gave me – Shayline Swift-Kill. Intimidating, but also stirring to my blood. The more I think about it the more it seems to fit. As they close in I find myself starting to smile, and I raise my axe to give her a little salute, even more surprised to see her smile slyly when she sees it, returning her own little flick of the long-knife in her off-hand. Wow, she really is something.

“Kesla!” I hear Gael shout behind me, and I turn in the saddle to look back towards the shack in time to see them running out into the open, pausing for a moment to skirt the one-on-one fight between Krakka and that hobgoblin. I have a moment of almost overwhelming relief seeing them in one piece, even if their white robes are splashed with gore like the sword in their hand, and a little more seeing Art rush out right behind them. Then Gael points past me, and for some reason it’s not at the incoming horde, but high above, which confuses me some. “Watch out!”

The urgency in their words breaks through and I whip back, looking up to see something in the air above us. Several somethings, in fact. Big somethings. A dozen large logs, hell, they might as well be whole pine trees actually, roughly stripped of their branches and roots but still very much intact beyond that, big and heavy and dangerous. They’re already raining down with speed and ferocity, many aimed right at me and Wenrich and Big Man …

“Shit!” I try to turn Ulrich but he doesn’t react fast enough to the simple instructions from my knees and, as the first one hits he rears in surprise it’s so close, the bottom end splintering with a great crack as it starts to topple towards us. I barely manage to stay mounted and I yell at him unceremoniously to get it together, and somehow it works, as he finally skuttles back from the falling log. It’s doesn’t hit anyway, the topple suddenly arrested as it gets caught in the mesh of girders surrounding us and settles precariously on its ruined tip. But by then the next logs are already hitting.

Some fall short and crash into the bridge further up, while others bounce off the side of the iron cage and tumble into the white spray hundreds of feet below, but two more come close enough to be real threats. I pull Ulrich back in time to avoid the first crushing us dead on and he screams his displeasure as he shies from the blast of splinters from the impact before it tilts and settles at a more diagonal angle than the last. The other one misses us but hits the horse-team dead-on, the surviving pair behind screaming and trying to rear but trapped by their harnesses while the two in front die fast. The one on the left likely doesn’t even know what hits them, they’re crushed in an instant, but the one next to it is rent asunder as the impacted tip of the log shatters into thousands of vicious sharp splinters. Then the log tilts and this one has a lot of space before it settles, clattering before it comes to rest at a shallow slope while the top ends up perilously close to the cliff-face on the near side.

“Blood hell.” I mutter under my breath. I look to the cart then, finding Wenrich’s been knocked down in the back when the log hit but he seems alright, a little rattled but otherwise uninjured as he picks himself up, gripping his sword tight.

Shaking off the surprise, I look up again, and now I’m really searching I spot movement high up on the wall on the far side, maybe fifty feet up. There’s a ledge up there, now I’m looking I can make it out mainly because there’s maybe half a dozen figures on it, and while most of them aren’t clear I can see two figures leaning out over the edge. One of them looks like it might be that dragonhalf wizard again, but the other’s one I don’t recognise. Pale skin, I think, a wisp of light golden hair, but it’s their dress that stand out. Armour, I think, brightly coloured. Purple. Ah shit …

The newcomer waves their hands then, and I see more movement high overhead. Not logs this time, instead it looks like dozens of broken chunks of stone. Possibly torn out of the mountainside right where they’re stood now, actually that makes sense once I think about it. Not that it really matters right now …

“GET DOWN!!!” I howl it at the top of my lungs while I sheathe Hefdred, not even bothering to put my axe away but just letting it hang loose from the thong round my wrist as I grab the reins again. I need full control right now.

The rocks come down with considerably more force than the logs did, and these seem to have been aimed a little more accurately too. Ulrich reacts fast enough himself as I spur him forward into the newly-made maze of logs trapped in the iron framework of the bridge, hoping for some cover but even so feeling it might not be enough. Then the boulders start to hit and everything goes a little crazy.

One of them smashes directly behind us and I feel shattered rock pelting my back and raising a pained whinny from Ulrich as he gallops, but at least he doesn’t buck in response, having enough sense to just keep running away from it. Another boulder strikes one of the trapped logs from overhead and the whole thing snaps in half, the top bursting into splinters that rain down around us, then we’re in the newly-made thicket and I think we’re good. Until one barely makes it through and smashes into the road surface mere inches to our side.

Ulrich’s knocked down by the force of the impact and I’m thrown clear off his back as he tumbles, and when I land I ragdoll hard. Hefdred leaves my grasp while the dangling axe attached to my other wrist whips round and catches me full in the face, and I taste blood as hot pain flares through my jaw. For a moment I think my face has been laid open but the pain’s not so bad as I would’ve expected, and once I’ve settled in the shadow between the wall on the side of the bridge and the burst end of one of the logs I fight to shake some sense back into my head. My jaw’s throbbing angrily but nothing seems to be broken, not even any loose teeth, and it’s clear enough I just got clocked with the blunt of the axe. Shit, that hurt. Suddenly I can commiserate with our prisoner a lot more …

Looking round, I see more boulders smashing into the bridge all round, but more seem to be hitting further back, and as I watch one of the larger ones crash into the shack built into the cliff half of it just implodes. Gael and Art are cringing low in the shadow of what still remains of the structure, while the hobgoblin’s nowhere to be seen, and as I watch Krakka’s not moving according to any sense I can think of. Mad bastard, he’s not even trying to hide – sure, he’s hunched up some as he runs, likely anticipating getting crushed any moment, but even so he’s racing right towards me, doggedly clutching his hammer close as he comes.

I almost start waving him off and shouting at him to hide and stop being an idiot, but I know that look on his face all too well, he’s set on this crazy plan. Then as I watch another figure race toward me from the side, smaller but also moving even faster, and there’s enough of a streak of white and silver in there for me to realise it’s Wenrich. He’s abandoned his sword now and instead just holding both his arms over his head in the vain hope it might deflect a blow, and he’s focused on me too as he comes. I mutter under my breath at their collective idiocy and roll over so I can get up into a crouch where I am. Then I see Hefdred’s landed less than two feet away and stoop to drag it towards me through the dirt.

As Wenrich and Krakka join me I look over the pair of them, wide-eyed and shaken but with a certain determination in their faces all the same, and cut back the admonishment that I was preparing regarding their foolishness.

“You okay, boss?” Krakka asks after a moment, looking at my jaw now. I reach up and it hurts to touch, and as I pull my hand back there’s a little blood on my fingers. Battered myself up a little more than intended then, I guess.

“Managed to smack myself in the face like some damn fool.” I growl back, working my jaw now. I look out past them now and I can see Driver 8’s stalking towards us now, seeming almost casual in spite of what’s going on. As I watch a particularly large boulder strikes him almost directly from above and he rocks a little under the impact but otherwise doesn’t even seem to notice while the whole thing just shatters over him. Gods …

Frowning a little himself, Krakka reaches out and touches my face right where I struck myself. I shy a little from the fresh stab his touch elicits but he presses on all the same, and as he mutters under his breath I feel the subtle bloom of warmth under his touch. Slowly but surely, the pain starts to ease off, until finally it simply slips away and he withdraws his hand. I work my jaw again as he leans back and can’t help smiling in sheer relief. “Thanks. Wasn’t really necessary, but thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I would’ve anyway …” He stops now, looking down at his hand for a moment, frowning again. Then back to me as realisation dawns on his face. I’m only a moment behind him, I think. “Kesla …”

“That shouldn’t have worked.” I reply, looking to Wenrich now. He’s frowning too.

“Magic … the null field’s down, it would seem.”

“What can you do?” I ask him now “Right this second, what you got?”

Wenrich thinks for a moment, then reaches under his travel coat into a snug leather holster strapped around his torso into which is tucked a thin length of wood. He slips it free and fiddles with it for a moment, gives it a quick little flick which traces a blue line in the air from its tip. A wand like Gael’s, albeit smaller and far more slender. “An opportunity.”

“Okay.” I look to the cart, surveying the wreckage. It’s gotten worse now, the two remaining horses now trapped in place while one of them’s clearly pretty unsteady in their feet, bloody from fresh wounds in their side and flanks and a nasty gash in their head. Likely this came from a fresh impact that’s shattered one of the wheels in back, the whole thing tilting some on the busted axle, and I see Tarrow’s sat up in back, glaring at us. Somehow he’s survived it all, and he looks pissed.

Turning back to look down the bridge again, I see the charging reinforcements must have halted their attack once all that shit started raining down, but they’re advancing again at a more cautious pace. Even so, they’re almost upon us. “Yeah, we gotta deal with this.” I turn to look the way we’ve already come.

Damn it … there’s more making their way along the track on this side of the Gap now, taking their time about it which is understandable but coming all the same, weapons drawn and ready for us, clearly looking to cut us off from doubling back on ourselves. This is getting worse by the second. I turn to Krakka. “Okay, you scoop up Art an’ Gael and keep an eye on our backs, while Wenrich guards the cargo.”

Krakka looks where I was looking moments ago, sees the new encroaching threat, and nods as he turns back. “Will do. What about you?”

“Me an’ Big Man are gonna make this lot wish they never picked this fight. Ain’t that right?”

Driver 8 stops just short of us and looks at me for a moment, then past me to observe the renewed advance coming across the bridge. “Correct.”

“Right.” I stand up now, and thankfully I’m steady enough despite the hit I took. Krakka really does have a knack for that. “We gotta work out how we’re gonna get that crate outta here, but first let’s make sure they don’t get to it.” I pick up sword and axe once more. “Make ‘em work for it, yeah?”

Wenrich and Krakka give each other a look, a moment’s evaluation seeming to pass between them, and they seem to be of a mind now as they both nod before turning back to me. “Gotcha, boss.” Krakka says “Just watch yourself too, yeah?”

“I’ll try.” Although I don’t add that it’s not likely to turn out how we’d like, not the way it’s looking right now. They got us on the backfoot. I don’t say anything further, instead starting to move onto the bridge again, trusting them to do what they need to.

Moving low, I scramble round the busted log, taking care not to touch it cuz I got no idea how stable all this is right now. In truth I’m amazed enough the bridge is still holding up so well given the pummelling it’s taken, but that’s dwarf engineering for you. It’ll take a lot more’n a bunch of rocks and sheared trees to bring this thing down.

A deeper shadow falls over me as I go but I don’t react, knowing it’s simply Driver 8 stooping through the gaps at my back. I feel somewhat better about my chances with him behind me, hopefully there’s enough wiggle room right now we can still turn this round. Then I come out through the gap and find Ulrich, and my heart stops for a moment.

Reckon when that rock hit he saved my life, took the brunt of the hit while I just got knocked for a loop. He’s a mess, broken and bloody and ruined, but there’s enough life in him that he’s still trying to get up, that ugly, wounded screeching scream coming out of him I ain’t heard in a long time, reminds me of a darker time in my youth. As I approach, hesitant now, he senses my presence, tries to get up again, but all he can do is flop about, both his front legs shattered and one of the back ones too, while blood pours from a dozen ragged wounds. He stares at me with wild eyes, beseeching, and it breaks my heart because I know there’s nothing I can do for him. Reckon maybe he knows it too.

Laying Hefdred down as I drop to my knees again, I reach out my hand cautiously, shushing him gently, and it starts to work, least enough for me to settle him. I stroke his neck, his head, and slowly realise I’m weeping now. Gods-damn-it … I hate this. He doesn’t deserve this. He was a fine mount, a glorious warrior in his own right. I was starting to love him.

“I’m so sorry.” I whisper as I stroke him, gently pushing his head down to rest on the ground. He snorts as he struggles for breath, uneven and wet, and I take my own deep one as I turn to look at the axe still clutched tight in my fist. Okay … I let out a slow, heavy sigh, and slip the axe from round my left wrist, transferring the handle to my stronger right hand, then gently press Ulrich’s nose down to hold his head in place. I continue to shush him and he looks at me with that one wide eye, glazing now but still there enough to recognise me. He knows what I’m doing now, and he doesn’t react. I apologise again, and this time when I take a breath it’s more ragged.

The blow’s swift and strong as I can make it, my aim true, and I’ve calmed him enough he doesn’t move at the last to spoil the stroke. I chop down with a wet crunch and his ruined limbs give a brief, reactive twitch, but nothing more as I snuff him out like a light. I sit back, tossing the axe down, and snatch up a few hard breaths as I fight back the tears. It takes me a little while but I finally manage to get it under control again, finally drag my sleeve over my eyes to wipe my eyes dry. Damn it …

“Kesla.” Driver 8 urges me, and I realize now he’s actually been trying to get through to me for a minute or two now. “We have no time for this.”

Sniffing deep, I spit bitterly to one side and drag axe and sword back up out the dirt. “I know. You’re with me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Okay …” I look out through the new thicket of a dozen or so logs jammed in random points through the girders wrapping round the bridge. I can see ‘em now, the first wave moving cautiously now, slipping between the obstacles where they can, unsure of their path now, and it dawns on me there’s an opportunity here. “Yeah, this could work. Big Man?”

“Yes.”

“You go in first, I’ll hang back. Handle as many as you can, I’ll pick off the ones manage to get past you. Got it?”

“I understand. It is a good plan.” He stalks up now, and if he was made of flesh and bone reckon he’d be rolling his shoulders, cocking his fists, limbering up for the coming fight. “Good hunting.”

“You too.” I get up now, stepping back onto my feet and taking a few steps aside as he lumbers past, moving into the first available opening between the logs that gives him enough room to manoeuvre. I give the sword a few practice swings, testing my own reach where I am, and adjust my grip on the handles of both weapons as I plant my feet, ready and waiting.

As the first two scramble through they’re too late realising the threat waiting for them, and Driver 8 flattens the first one before he can even react. Doesn’t even put any effort into it, he just raises one massive hand and pushes down, crushing him into the hard-packed dirt of the road. His partner attempts to dodge but instead gets broken by a backhander that looks almost casual. He barely has the chance to get a yelp out before he’s smashed aside and hurled over the side of the bridge by the matter-of-fact force of the blow.

A third one barely manages to slip through in the interim and she’s certainly smart enough not to try standing her ground against a golem. An orc with a pair of particularly heavy looking axes in either hand, looking shaken by the near miss but not quite scared yet, and as she stumbles through on the other side I step into her path. She reacts fast, but not fast enough, and I’m easily able to turn her somewhat clumsy swing with the axe, thrusting fast and hard with Hefdred while she’s open and plunging the blade clean through her chest. She wheezes, eyes bugging out, and I start to pull back at the same time I plant a kick into her midsection, using the force of knocking her back to help me drag the blade free. Just in time, it seems, because two more make it past Big Man as he starts fighting in earnest, and these are more ready.

The male orc swings his battleaxe and I jump back, the savage slash barely missing me, and the human right behind him uses the opportunity to duck round and try to skewer me low with a thrust of his heavy spear. Hefdred knocks the spear aside and I chop the top half of it away with the axe, leaving him to falter as he stumbles aside, surprised to find himself with naught but a stunted shaft of splintered wood in his hands. This gives the orc a shot at me as he recovers, and he makes a fresh swing for my exposed back that again barely misses as I duck under it while I turn, spinning up the most savage slash I can with the bastard sword on the spin round. I catch him high on the arm, and it’s precise enough to cut through just under the overlapping plates armouring his shoulder, so the blade shears through muscle and bone. He stumbles back with a pained roar, and promptly trips over his own severed arm, which sends him to his knees.

Sensing the turning tide, his companion throws down his ruined spear and draws the longsword at his side, but I don’t give him enough time to attack. I knock the sword aside with the axe and swing an upward cut across his front, putting all the strength I can into the stroke that opens him from hip to shoulder. All he can do is gasp, mostly soundless, as he crumples.

By this point the orc’s recovered enough he’s able to jump back into the fight, enough blood and wits left in him to press hard on my left side. I duck under his wild one-handed haymaker and dance away, wary of the fact that while he’s literally disarmed he’s still a very viable threat, and I don’t give him time to react as the miss puts him off-balance again. I charge him hard from behind, ramming my shoulder hard into his side and knocking him into the nearest splintered log, which cracks and shunts but thankfully doesn’t give way when he hits it. I bring the axe down hard as he bounces off and it cuts deep into his remaining wrist, just above the hand, not quite cleaving through but severing enough bones and tendons that his own weapon simply drops. He snarls at the further injury and I respond with a backswing with Hefdred that neatly decapitates him and jams a few inches into the wood behind him.

Shit. I pull while the body falls, and for a moment the blade doesn’t give, seeming stuck fast just long enough I start panicking before it springs free again. I take a few deep breaths as I stumble backwards, fighting hard to regain my composure.

Just as another orc makes it through Driver 8’s assault and goes straight for me, a great hulking brute covered with scars, his battered head close-shorn with greying, receding stubble and further heavy lines marking his face. Yeah, this one looks old, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous – orcs are passionate and savage and throw themselves hard into battle, many don’t live long enough to grow old, so those that do are the true threats. He fixes me with a red glare that tells me he doesn’t care one jot about my own capabilities, and charges hard with his broadsword before I’m quite recovered from my stumble. It’s a miracle I’m able to sidestep his swing in time, and I scramble back as he recovers fast, already pressing with a fresh flurry of attacks that jar my sword in my hands as I parry in response. Finally I duck under a stroke and drop into a roll, looking to put some distance between us so I can recover. Except when I regain my footing I find the wall at my back and he’s coming for me fast.

An arrow catches him high in the back of his head before he can reach me and the force is enough to ram the heavy broadhead clean through the bottom of his chin. He stumbles and nearly goes down, somehow managing to maintain his footing but it’s a close thing, and the hit pretty much stops his charge right there. He staggers forward a clumsy half-step and swerves crazily from side to side, his face starting to go slack as he blinks at me, eyes struggling to maintain focus and fading fast, but he’s still there enough to reach for me, raising the sword in both hands. He gets out a strangled growl and I realise he’s trying to roar but the arrow’s locked his jaw shut, and as he raises the sword he looks like he still has strength and control enough to deliver a last decisive blow before he goes.

I let go of the axe and raise Hefdred two-handed in response, waiting for the downswing and hoping I can deflect it, and two more arrows catch him in the skull at once. One pierces above the first and essentially shatters his lower face on the way out while the other one pierces the base of his skull and comes out through the bottom of his throat. That’s probably the one that does it, killing his reptile brain stone dead on the spot. What face he has left goes slack in the moment his arms drop, the abortive downswing’s curtailed enough I just have to step aside to avoid it before the body tumbles forward.

Two more get through as I’m regaining my composure and the first, a human male, goes for me with sword and axe in hand, only to catch an arrow high between shoulder and throat, the shaft penetrating deep enough that all that’s left poking out is the fletching. He manages to stagger two more steps, mouth working but nothing coming out, before folding onto his knees but otherwise remaining upright, likely held up by the arrow stuck through him. The half-orc who follows falters long enough to realise there’s a threat he can’t see, and looks up just in time to get an arrow right through his right eye. The force is enough to flip him upside down on the spot and snap his neck as he comes crashing down.

For a few moments I stay where I am, sword and axe still cocked, ready for the attacks that were never made, my brain trying to catch up on the latest developments. By this point my saviour’s already dropping from the iron framework overhead.

“Boss,” Yeslee holds out a hand as she moves toward me, slow and carful, like I’m a horse looks about to spook. “You okay?”

Clawing my way back to myself, I let go of the breath I realise I been holding and relax my arms at last. “Fuck … yeah, I’m good. Thanks for that. That orc went down hard.”

“He did at that.” Yeslee looks down at him, then back up the bridge to the scene unfolding beyond us. “I was a mile down the road when I heard all hell break loose, had to near kill myself getting back and found all this kicking off. What the hell’s going on?”

“They ambushed us. I need you to get back with Art an’ Krakka an’ Gael, they need you more’n we do.”

“What are you –” Yeslee doesn’t get to finish as two more come through behind us, and the orc in the lead goes right for her while the human male behind him pauses to evaluate the scene, which is a mistake. I charge him hard and slam the axe down on his sword before he can ready it, knocking it right out of his hand and chopping down across his chest and laying him open with Hefdred while he’s still surprised and off-balance. I wheel round to face Yeslee, ready to help her if she needs it.

She doesn’t. Just cuz Yeslee usually covers us from afar, sniping enemies from cover with her bow, folk think she’s easy prey up close, which is usually the only mistake they get a chance to make. The orc swings his battleaxe and she’s not even there any more, spinning round him as she draws the shortsword at her hip and cuts his head off on her backswing before he has a chance to turn. Her expression doesn’t change one jot the whole time.

“You’re sure?” she asks me after considering the headless body as it crumples.

“There’s no time, Yes.” I give her the firmest stare I can. “Just go.”

As she looks back at me there’s the slightest narrowing of her eyes, so subtle most would probably miss it, but I catch it cuz I know her so well. It ain’t anger, not even frustration, she just don’t wanna leave me. But I don’t need her right now. We need her back with the others, and she gets that. She lets her breath go with a hiss and mutters: “Don’t die, you stubborn idiot.” before she slips another arrow from her quiver and glides off past me.

“I’ll try.” I mutter, pretty confident she can hear me all the same. Just as another one crashes through, and I recognise this one. It’s the hobgoblin from last night, the one Tarrow called Roe, small and lithe and, while I can now see in the daylight that he’s greying some and a bit lined in the face, he’s still vital as he was last time we met. The only discernible difference is the pair of lenses over his eyes, that fancy smoked glass they all seem to wear to protect their light-sensitive eyes when they gotta come out in daylight. He stops when he sees me, and while I can’t see his eyes there’s a look of recognition that crosses his face all the same. I step back and raise sword and axe, ready for the attack as he starts to ready his own.

Then the one particular half-orc I been waiting for slips through behind him and she stops dead just as surely as he did. Her smile comes up fast, and it’s sly, like she’s been looking forward to this. What was it Tarrow said? She was gonna make it hurt. Yeah, I believe it.

“She’s mine.” Shayline Swift-Kill says to her friend, adjusting her grips as she starts to move towards me. “Go help the others.”

Roe blinks. “Shay, I can’t –”

“This fight is mine, Roe. Get the cargo, finish the job. Kill more of ‘em if you have to, but only if they make you. This one’s the only one I need to kill.”

The hob gives her a long stare, then straightens up as he steps aside, rolling his eyes a little. “Damn it Shay …” He starts to circle me now, making to get past me with the widest berth he can get, but I’m not about to let him by.

Shayline’s longsword whips up towards me as I start to intercept him, not an attack but just a warning, and my attention snaps right back to her. “Ah, ah-ah … no, I don’t think so. This is all about you and me, sweetheart. We have unfinished business.”

I narrow my eyes and set my jaw. I don’t like it, but I got no choice right now. This is clearly happening whether I want it or not. My back itches something awful letting the hob pass me by, knowing he’s at my back and he could just as easily run me through as go after my friends, but I got no choice but let it go. I take a deep breath and let it out slow as I start to circle my new opponent, preparing to take part in a duel that’s been delayed for several days now.

She’s still smiling something wicked, but there’s a sharper edge to it now. Caution, which is healthy right now. I heard what she can do, and by now she’s surely seen what I can do. There’s no clear outcome to this fight, and I sure as hell won’t be pulling any of my strikes. I just hope I can come out on top.

Then she comes at me and I stop thinking about much of anything, I just let myself go into the fight, nothing else matters to me now but the weapons in my hands, the ground under my feet and the threat I need to engage and, if I can, remove. In the back of my mind there’s the certainty that she’s the same, but it don’t matter to me right now. Like Art says sometimes, I’m in the zone …