Damn it, this woman is good. It started out pleasant enough, almost like a practice match, we took a few moments to feel each other out, a few practice swipes and feints, just testing defences, capabilities, getting an idea of who we were fighting. At least that’s what it seemed like. She seemed almost civil about it, despite the fact that we’re trying to kill each other, that I’m certainly going to kill her at the end of this for what she’s done, for what all her people have done to ours. It still felt so much like a little bit of play, just some friendly sport.

Then she backed up a little, seeming just to want to rest and reconsider perhaps, and I let her, fool that I am. I needed a moment too, not so much to collect myself but simply to get myself into the right frame of mind to kill her. Then her face just seemed to change, went cool, sharp and hard, like the blade of her sword, down to a few little spots and spackles of blood from previous kills. I’d already seen Shag’s body, taken it into account, adding it to the ugly little tally I’m ready to lay at their feet. Didn’t seem like it was her, though, not with those huge black arrows sticking out of his skull, but still.

I’ll admit, I didn’t think much of that change in expression to begin with, but I’ve certainly reconsidered it since. When she came at me this time it was fast, and it was hard, and downright merciless. No more playing now, she fully intends to kill me, and within a few moves it became clear that she’s been holding back a lot.

That bastard sword of hers is a two-handed weapon, it’s not really specifically designed for one-handed wielding, the balance isn’t quite right for it, but clearly nobody told her that in training. She’s as swift of hand and wickedly precise as I suspect she would be with a lighter, smaller blade, which I’d say gives away as much about her own strength as anything else, and her offhand work is just as skilled. That nasty little handaxe of hers doesn’t seem like much to look at, even when it’s splashed with blood like the sword, but she moves it with uncanny speed and grace that makes me wonder if she was simply born ambidextrous rather than having it drilled into her. Gods know that took me some time to learn, even with a great teacher like my father.

As we come together now I try to plunge a low-angled stab up under her defences but she traps it effectively with her sword and turns the blade away, and as I attempt to answer with a sneaky stab through the side with my knife that axe is there to hook the thrust aside. I have to twist quick to keep from losing it as she turns her offhand weapon, and as I dodge back my wrist is angry sore from the turning. I give it a good shake and slip back another step, but she doesn’t press me now, simply waits where she is, infinitely patient still. I’m starting to hate that look on her face now, thoroughly unreadable, that impossible stoic calm. Like she already knows she’s going to win.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slow, adjusting my grips as I continue to watch her. Her stance isn’t even particularly tight, she’s loose and almost casual in the way she stands, but I can tell she’s infinitely ready all the same, she’ll tense and respond the moment I move. But her eyes are just fixed on mine, they never seem to move. Incredibly dark, almost black the brown in the irises is so deep. Eyes that stare right into me. It’s uncomfortable enough just being under that fierce, unflinching gaze.

What the hell was I thinking, sending Roe off like that? Or starting this to begin with? A nice, honourable, fair fight? This is just stupid. It’s dawning on me now she could well be too good for me to beat.

So I rethink my options, taking another step back, which is as far as I can get before I risk falling back over one of the sprawled corpses. One of the dead has a longsword in their slack hand, heavy, sturdy, well-made, similar enough to that beast she’s wielding. I have speed and precision with my own slender longsword, but she’s so skilled with her own it doesn’t make any real difference. Maybe it’s time to take a risk.

She doesn’t show any real surprise or confusion when I sheath my sword and knife, nothing more than a slight quirking of one of her brows. She straightens a little as I stoop to pick up the dead man’s longsword, giving it a few practice swings to test it out. I was right, this is a good sword, sharp and well balanced, a good deal better than some of the piecemeal tools our people have been known to use. Likely a prize from some earlier encounter, no good to him now. I take my first step forward again, wrapping my free hand carefully around the lower haft of the hilt, assuming a low guard. And I wait.

A subtle tick of a smile touches her lips now as she cocks her head slightly, regarding me, my new borrowed weapon. “Interesting.” she muses, and I’m struck by the huskiness of her voice. Then she straightens up the rest of the way, whipping her axe away to tuck behind her back. “All right then, if that’s how you wanna play it. You chose this.”

The guard she chooses is something of a surprise. Instead of taking a low guard to mirror mine she raises the bastard sword high as she takes up her own two-handed grip, planting her feet carefully as she starts to wait herself. I don’t think she plans to instigate now, perhaps giving me a chance to rethink my plan again, maybe even retreat. Like that’s going to happen.

Obliging her, I inch forward, stepping slow and cautious as I shuffle towards her. I flick a cautious eye to that lofty sword, held cocked in the high guard, something I haven’t seen in a long time. It’s a deceptive one, it can look so open and vulnerable but I know full well that if it’s used effectively by a true swordsman it can be devastatingly effective. And I already know this woman is certainly sufficiently talented.

I feint to the right before whipping round to swing a savage fast cut on her left side, but she responds spectacularly, a powerful swift downward stroke expertly deflecting the swing and throwing me off, and she counters just as quickly as I fight to keep myself from stumbling. I barely parry the cut to my own side and as I get my feet planted again under me I push back hard, but she matches me well, locking us up. I grit my teeth and keep pushing, but it’s no use, she really is strong, I’ve got a few inches on her and orc-blood on my side but she’s much more a match for me than I would’ve thought. I break first and scramble back, watching her respond in kind, her eyes still on mine.

Setting my jaw, I go on the offensive this time, coming in low and swinging a viper-strike slash for her midsection, but she batters it aside with alarming ease and, as I’m open, turns her own counter on me. I pull back fast as I see it coming but I’m not quite quick enough, and I feel the hot, sharp bite as the tip of her blade catches my arm just below the plate of my leather pauldron. This time I’m more clumsy stumbling back, tripping a little over one of the bodies, but she doesn’t press the advantage as I swing and wild and with one hand behind me. Once I’ve regained my balance I glare back at her but she’s just waiting, in a low guard now but perfectly ready, and smiling a little bit.

I look at my arm, just a quick glance, and while it doesn’t look deep it’s already bloody. Damn it, this is what I planned to do to her, take her slow, bleed her out with dozens of cuts. Instead it looks like she might do it to me instead.

“Shay!”

That call makes me stiffen a little, but if she’s tempted to take advantage of the momentary distraction she holds off. I can’t afford to take my eyes off her all the same, so I shuffle back a few steps and chance a sidelong glance to find Roe’s back on my right, clearly itching to jump back to my defence but mindful of my previous order. I’m not sure if I’d be so quick to send him packing this time.

“We need you.” Roe beckons for me to follow him. “That’s enough of this shit.”

Looking back, I find her still just watching me intently, sword still at the ready. She cocks her head, still wearing that little half smile. I chance a look past her, and from what I can see what’s left of our charge has been exhausted, as I watch the golem flatten one last man with a backhander and then turn to look our way. Nothing else moves beyond.

“Shit.” I mutter under my breath. “Help me, Roe.”

“For Thorin’s sake, Shay, just drop it.” He steps forward now, reaching out, but stops short of grabbing my arm like he clearly wants to. “What does your mother say?”

Oh for fuck’s … low blow, Roe. Low blow. No time for vendettas on a battlefield. And she’s right, of course. This is a folly, an indulgence, and we have a job to do. I’m letting myself get caught up in a personal distraction while everyone else needs me to do what we came for.

“Fuck!” I snarl as I back up towards him, careful not to turn away from her as I move, and I raise the longsword one-handed to point at the incredible warrior. “I’ll see you again.”

She smiles now, a proper toothy grin, and bows, arms spread wide. “’Course you will, Thorin willing.” She straightens up and it’s like she’s perfectly rested, still so calm and collected, you’d never know she’s been in a fight at all, let alone such a hard one. “Until then.”

I know it should piss me off even more, and it really is infuriating, but I can’t quite help responding in kind, my own smile betraying me. I salute with the borrowed sword, then that massive hulking metal thing ducks through behind her and as it turns that baleful red stare on me the back of my neck starts to prickle as a dull chill rolls through me. That’s clearly it for fair fights, then.

“Come on.” Roe decides not to bother with decorum anymore and finally grabs my arm, giving a rough yank as he starts to pull me after him. I don’t resist it, giving the woman one last look and unsure how I’m feeling about it anymore than I am of what she might read into whatever’s written on my face. She simply watches me go, raising one hand that efficiently stops the golem in its tracks before it follows us.

We duck through a gap between more of these absurdly smashed logs and have to skirt the corpse of that beautiful black destrier, and I feel a pang of regret. That was a really spectacular horse, especially once I finally got to see them in action. There are more bodies of our people here, and while some are cleaved and torn, others are perforated with more of those long black arrows, which gives me pause. Not least because a few of these are properly pinned to logs, or, in one case, the arrow seems to have rammed clean through the body and then lodged into the solid stone of the bridge wall.

That damn archer again. I remember seeing her before, but moved on ahead long before, tracking well ahead of the group. She didn’t see us, but then Garnon had us well hidden. I didn’t see her return, and I’m amazed she got back so quickly.

As we emerge through another, tighter gap, I discover the battle’s still heated here, now that we’ve reached the stranded cart. The horses are dead now, but while some of them look to have been pulverised by Ashsong’s insane barrage, the rest must have been cut down during the fighting. Likely it was accidental, I can’t see any of mine killing these horses on purpose, and these people we’re fighting certainly wouldn’t have butchered what was left of their increasingly slim opportunity of escape. However it happened, the cart’s stuck where it is now, at our mercy.

It's not stopping their fight to keep the cargo from our grasp, though. I can see three of them in the midst of our people, likely fresh arrivals from the cliff road coming in, the smallest stood up in the cart, a halfling by the looks of it. I’ve seen Garnon perform enough magic to recognise this one’s a wizard too, holding up some kind of invisible dome to prevent any access to the cart itself, and I watch a few of our less shrewd folk attempting to break through using force of arms. Most are still engaged with other two, who are fighting hard.

I’ve caught glimpses of the smaller one before, but I’m given a moment’s pause getting a proper look at him. My father told me stories about the yokai when I was a child, describing a fascinating wild menagerie of peoples who were half man and half beast, but still very much like us besides their appearance. I know this one’s a tengu, but I still find real fascination in his strikingly strange appearance, like a big raven who moves and fights and dresses like a man, sporting high quality leather armour plates amongst his dark, hooded robes. He’s a cleric, that much is clear, and definitely one of those most accomplished at combat given how savagely effective he's proving with the huge warhammer that’s laying my people low.

It’s the other one that really surprises me. When I glimpsed them in passing, and it was hard enough because they moved with true, uncanny stealth, I couldn’t get a good look. I thought they were simply a very tall, wiry human, or maybe a skinny half-orc, but now I see them clear I realise my mistake. In truth I don’t know what I’m looking at – the archer’s like an elf, but not like any I’ve ever seen before, her pointed ears unusually broad and pronounced, her face a little animalistic to look at, particularly in the heat of battle as she bares far sharper teeth than I would have expected. She doesn’t look to be built particularly strong, either, height or not, but the way she’s wading through my people puts paid to that assumption.

As I watch she swings that massive black bow of hers, almost as tall as I am to look at it, and it ploughs two big, burly men down in a single stroke, then finishes the more sprightly of the two with a wickedly swift stroke from a long, heavy-looking axe that lays him wide open. As I watch she slings her bow on her back and reaches down with her now free left hand, drawing a broad-bladed shortsword that’s already spotted with blood from her hip. Now I’m watching I see the quiver slung low on her back, under her tattered brown cloak, which hangs empty. Well, at least there’s that, but still …

“Bloody hell, what even is that?”

“Gods …” Roe seems similarly lost for words as he contemplates the scene. “That is a Fir Bolg. I never thought I’d ever see one for myself.”

More of my father’s stories are stirred in my memory by that word. “A Tuathan forest guardian? What the hell is she doing with these people?”

“I have no idea, but that certainly explains her deadly bow-work. Fir Bolg are strong, monstrously so, even though they’re usually very gentle. This one is certainly … different.”

With these people, different seems to be their stock-in-trade. At every turn they spring a new surprise on us, and this is simply the latest. It doesn’t make any real difference to what we have to do here.

“No change, Roe. We still need to secure that cargo.”

He puts his hand to my arm again, holds me fast. “Shay, you can’t go up against that. That woman back there, she was hard, but trying that archer is like trying to face that bloody golem. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Shrugging him off, I give him a good, cold stare. “Well what would you expect me to do, then? We’re in this now. I can’t exactly stand on the side-lines and watch her slaughter our people.”

“Then we go around them. Regroup with the others and then we can work out what we’re doing. They’re trapped here now, they aren’t going anywhere. We can order a pull back, regroup. Talk to you mother, perhaps.”

“Retreat, you mean?” I almost spit on the ground at that idea. “Are you serious?”

“No, I mean we need to do this smart. You don’t have much in the way of options right now.”

Shit … he’s right. We just dodged a major wrinkle with that golem, then I got myself tangled up in a stupid little duel out of pride against a far more skilled opponent than I expected. I’m surprised they haven’t both already come through here, and I’m expecting them to cut off that route again soon enough. I doubt the golem would be slowed so quickly a second time.

“All right, what do you suggest?”

“Follow me, but be on guard.” He hefts his sword, adjusting his grip, and watches the fight for a few seconds, likely picking his moment. I ready the borrowed sword myself, and as he ducks forward into the open I hear a great cracking sound behind us and chance a look over my shoulder. What I see almost floors me.

The golem’s a little too big to duck through one of the gaps between the logs, so it’s just wrenching them out of the way, and as I watch one of them just slips free and takes a sudden, pitching tumble over the side and into the emptiness below. There’s a span of seconds before they’re after us, then.

As much as it galls me I tuck tail and run, following Roe as he cuts hard to the side and dodges wide around the Fir Bolg as she rends two more with terrifying ease, and I realise now there aren’t many of us left on the bridge now. Soon enough they’ll be turning their attention to us anyway. But Roe’s not making to pass them at all … gods, he’s going for the wall.

I almost call after him to stop him before he does something so ridiculously foolhardy, but I check myself just in time. Then I take a deep breath and follow as he scrambles up onto the top of the wall and starts to work his way around the outside of one of the wedged logs, using the metalwork encasing the bridge for handholds. As soon as I’m up I stop breathing entirely, my mind pretty much shutting down as I go into pure survival mode, feeling the great hungry pull of the wind and the soaking spray from the river below. I keep my eyes very much focused on what I’m doing because I couldn’t possibly dream of looking down right now. No sir, you couldn’t pay me to look down right now …

After a moment of contemplation of my predicament I just drop the sword, casting it over the side into the surging deep below, deciding that this is just too perilous to attempt one-handed. Roe seems to have had the same thought, having sheathed his own sword again as he works his way along, but he’s got that uncanny hobgoblin agility working for him right now. I silently thank my mother for having the good sense to bear a child to an elf and blessing me with my own share of sure-feet and graceful dexterity, and as he jumps down onto the bridge on the far side I pick up my pace a little to follow. I only slip on the final step and instead use the momentum to jump down after him, landing more clumsily that I’d like but recovering quickly enough.

“Come on! This way! Break off! Now!” Roe waves his arms as he starts backing up the last few paces off the bridge onto the solid rock of the wide part of the ledge beyond, and I draw my sword and knife again as I follow him, turning as I go so I can check the bridge myself. There are only a few of ours left now, and they break off quickly enough, two of them decidedly battered as they stagger away from the fray. The archer and cleric let them leave without further harassment, while the halfling on the cart finally lowers his arms and staggers somewhat before planting himself backwards on the bench, clearly winded now. I don’t see the shield drop as he does it, but I wouldn’t really expect to. Now that I can get a good look at him he looks old, as if the grey in his shaggy hair has become more prominent in the past few minutes.

“Shay, is that all of you?” I’m given a little start as I hear that voice so close beside me, but I suppose under the circumstances and with all that noise from the river below that Garnon would have found it easy enough to approach me unheeded, even unintentionally.

Considering for a moment, I watch my people despondently limp past, and nod. Garnon frowns at the bridge for a moment, and it creases deeper as we see the golem shove another log free and send it spiralling out into the ravine, then he turns away. For a moment I focus on the dozen or so new arrivals gathering nearby, likely summoned through another of Ashsong’s strange teleportation stones, then I see my mother with them, a few different emotions fighting for dominance beneath her calm seeming. Most wouldn’t notice it, but I know her face too well.

Then I realise Ashsong is here too, and as I watch he strolls out towards the bridge, almost casual, and raises his hands. They’re empty, he doesn’t even have a staff, but even so I see static crackling between his fingers, and as he lifts them higher lightning begins to crack and fizz in the otherwise clear sky above us, a strange sight indeed. He watches it himself for a moment, then whips his hands down and a great arcing bolt streaks down with that uncanny, blazing quick brightness to smash into the centre of the bridge with a great thunderous boom. All at once there’s a great rending, shattering sound, and as we watch half the bridge seems to just drop away all at once, spinning down into the void in pieces. Ending just in front of where the golem and the party’s leader had worked their way through to …

It take me a moment to realise my would-be opponent has taken a tumble into the river along with her massive, uncanny ally, and I truly can’t decide how I feel about that. Maybe there’s a little relief at the idea I won’t have to fight her again after all, but it’s a tiny thing, and after a moment of consideration I realise most of it is simple, heartbroken regret. I really don’t know what to make of that.

The Fir Bolg archer breaks for the gaping hole that was once a bridge and starts screaming, and it’s a harrowing sound. “KESLA!!! NO!!!” The kenku cleric rushes over and reaches up to grab her arm, and while he’s big and solid for his size he’s still diminutive enough that she very much dwarfs him, but he arrests her progress all the same.

“Yeslee! Stop! There’s nothing we can do!”

“They killed her! They killed Kesla and they’ve killed Gael and Art too!” The Fir Bolg spins round and her momentum is enough to almost pull her companion off his feet as he fights to hold onto her. She’s glaring at us now, and there’s genuine murder in her eyes. I remember the stories of her kind now, I remember my father telling me you cannot find anyone more kind or gentle and at peace with all the world than a Fir Bolg, so seeing one truly furious is a terrifying sight. She shrugs him off now and starts stalking towards us, and the kenku has to scrabble up fast to try and catch up with her she’s advancing so quickly, already making ready with axe and shortsword as she closes on Ashsong.

The elf is already charging another lightning bolt, and I wonder if he might simply collapse what’s left of the bridge right under them this time, regardless of whether it dooms the prize to the river or not. I look to my mother and it’s clear that she’s had the same thought, opening her mouth but not quite able to speak her mind yet, then I see the halfling stand up in the cart again and start to draw one of those strange blue symbols in the air between his hands. I tense as he raises his hands, dancing lights already sparkling between them, but he doesn’t throw a spell at us, instead it’s aimed at his two remaining companions.

When he throws it it’s just a strange, semi-transparent globule of dancing light the size of a head of cabbage, but it expands quickly, and as it reaches the Fir Bolg and kenku it envelops them entirely, and they stumble to a halt in surprise. It swirls around them for a few moments, the lights spinning faster as it grows brighter, then it suddenly blinks out with the subtlest puff of smoke in the air, and for a moment there are a few grains of dirt suspended in thin air where they stood, which quickly settle. The occupants are now nowhere to be found.

For several moments nothing happens, then the halfling stumbles a little and drops onto the cart’s bench again, slumping with obvious fatigue. Then someone else sits up in the bed of the cart beside them, and I recognise Tarrow, who looks around, frowning deeply. He’s tightly bound with rope, but otherwise looks unharmed. “Is that it, then? All done? Can somebody get over her and fucking untie me, then?”

Ashsong flicks his fingers and the static charge dissipates, and he lets out a slow, deliberate breath before stepping towards what remains of the bridge. He’s actually swaggering now, there’s a real spring in his step that I find genuinely unpleasant to behold. As he approaches the cart he spreads his arms wide and looks back over his shoulder, smiling subtly now as he beckons for us to follow. I don’t know what I hate more, that smile or the unsufferable superior contempt that he normally wears.

“Shay, are you all right?” Min keeps her voice very low and intimate as she joins me, speaking only to me without letting any of the others hear, but there’s enough concern in her face now to be clear enough all the same. She starts to reach out for my left arm, holds short while regarding the cut that the warrior landed on me once. In all the chaos I’d quite forgotten it.

“What … oh, this? Just a scratch. I’m fine.” I look out towards the bridge again. “That was a bit … much, don’t you think?”

“The job is done, Shay.” she huffs, clearly trying not to lecture me in her concern but not quite able to stop herself. “That’s all that matters. It’s not like it’s the only bridge, people will make do until the dwarves build another one.”

“No, that’s not …” I pull away from her, sheathing my weapons now as I realise I no longer need them. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” She sighs heavily, suddenly very old to my eyes. “I know, Shay, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. Our people are dead, their people are dead too, but we’re still alive, and we’ve won. That’s all that really matters here.” She steps away too, but holds a hand out to me. “Come.”

There are so many things I want to say in this moment, a great many competing responses and recriminations and lashing, wounding words, but I stop myself. I’m not angry at her, any more than I’m angry at myself. I’m just angry at the world right now. That was an ugly way to end it, and now I have reason to hate Ashsong even more. But even so … she’s right. We’re done. It’s over, and we won. I take a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, and set out after my mother as she goes to join our current employer again.

As we draw near to the cart I cut ahead and brush past Ashsong, maybe shoving a little harder than necessary but not making any outward acknowledgment of the fact that I’ve even done such a rude thing. I’m already focused on Tarrow, anyway, and he watches me intently as I slip one of my smaller knives free and jump up into the back of the cart in one easy step.

“Hey, boss.” he mutters after a moment, eyes downcast now. He looks more than sheepish, he seems genuinely crestfallen now, but there’s dried blood on the side of his head without a corresponding wound, so I have a feeling they didn’t make it easy on him, even if the cleric did heal him after. I’d almost ask why they spared him in the first place, but given how frequently they’ve left us second-guessing this past week I’m no longer surprised.

“Don’t give me that, Tarrow.” I growl as I start sawing at the bonds lashing his tightly bound wrists. “Roe saw you go down, it wasn’t your fault. We underestimated them again and you were put in a difficult situation. I can’t fault you on it. You did your best.”

“I … I talked, though.” He works his mouth, growing angry now, and even as I free his hands he’s balling them into tight firsts. “That woman, she talked about torture and I just rolled over and showed my belly.”

“Yes, well I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself about that, either. There wasn’t any real reason for you not to talk, it’s not like you could have given away anything that would’ve benefited them anyway.” I start cutting the generous arrangement of ropes lashing his legs together as he starts to work out of the ropes binding his upper body. “And that woman was not your average mercenary. I wouldn’t have enjoyed being in your position any more than you did.”

Yes, well … maybe that’s not entirely true, but no reason to let Tarrow know …

“I guess … there’s something not right about all this, though.” He looks up at me at last, and while there’s a war of emotions going on behind his eyes he looks more concerned than upset now. “These people, they weren’t who we thought they were at all. They …”

Ashsong’s reached the cart now, and Tarrow just shuts his mouth, sitting up a little more as he finally works the last of the ropes loose and throws the tangle of coils off over his head. I finally free his feet and he’s able to start working some sensation back into his legs. The elf looks him over for a long moment and that contemptuous sneer is back, then he looks to me and it becomes a more complex, less easy-to-read emotion. He scowls just a little and turns away from me fast, moving around the side to inspect the contents of the cart.

It's quite a jumble in here, but once Tarrow’s able to move again he helps me clear the loose, cluttered gear and bags away and finally a large, secure-looking wooden crate is revealed. When I look up Ashsong’s smiling again, but this time there’s something more feral to it, genuinely predatory now, like a wolf that’s cornered its prey. He reaches out a cautious, halting hand, tentatively lays it on the lid of the crate. The smile only seems to grow.

“I must admit, I was surprised to see you here, boy.” he finally crows, and for a moment I wonder why he’s even deigning to speak to Tarrow, he’s never shown the slightest interest in any of our common fighters before. Then I realise he means the halfling, and I turn to find him raising his head at last. He regards Ashsong for a long time with two of the sharpest, most piercing pale blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Being over a century old, I wouldn’t apply that particular word to describe myself, Erjeon. I know that, compared to elves, halflings are almost as failingly brief creatures as humans, but I think I’ve lived and learned enough now to be paid a little more respect than that.”

“Wenrich Clearwood … I remember you, of course. You were never a particularly talented mage, I’ll admit, but you always were a sharp one. I never could put anything past you in the classroom, you always had the precise answer when I asked for it, no matter how difficult the problem.” His smile narrows somewhat, but doesn’t fade. “Whatever shall I do with you? I have no real use for a prisoner, especially one from the Order.”

“You could always just let me go. I’d give your regards to Darion next time I saw him, although perhaps not. You did just murder his only child.”

The smile falls away entirely at that, a complex twitch flickering quickly across Ashsong’s face but gone in a flash. “That was young Foxtail’s offspring? Well that is most regrettable. What on earth were they doing out here in the first place?”

“I brought them. They were as capable as her father, they could handle themselves well enough for the likes of you. Those were their friends you murdered.”

“Well if you brought them into this then it’s your fault that they’re dead, not mine. The same with the rest. They were dead the moment they went against me.” He thumps the crate lightly with his fist, jaw set. “As for the two you sent away, I doubt they’ll be any further bother now.”

“At least I saved two lives today, then.” The halfling seems to deflate a touch again, but there’s still enough left in him to fix Ashsong with another cold glare. “And me?”

“Chains, I think.” He turns to my mother, who’s stood a few feet short of the cart, watching everything with her usual stoicism intact once more. “Mistress Min, I imagine you could earn at least a small ransom for one of the Silver Order’s most prized bureaucrats.”

She frowns at that, her eyes flickering to me for a moment. It’s not that we haven’t sued for ransom on occasion, every once in a while when we take a caravan or party passing through in the wild there’s someone of import or renown with them and we’ll exploit that if we can. But we don’t tend to take prisoners much if we can help it. It’s a lot of extra trouble and effort we don’t really need. We’ll kill if we have to, but we prefer to just let them go, at least once we’ve relieved them of anything of value. But there are lines very few people in this world are willing to cross, and Ashsong’s suggestion takes us awfully close to it. God know I wouldn’t make trouble with the Order if I could help it.

Making a very particular effort not to scowl, I’m sure, my mother draws up to her full height and conspicuously look away from him as she replies: “We’ll see. If you don’t want him we’ll have to assume responsibility for him if nothing else. Otherwise I suggest you kill him yourself. We don’t murder unarmed prisoners.”

Ashsong turns to her at last, looks at her for some small amount of time. Not contemptuous this time, I don’t think even he would be that stupid, or perhaps deluded might be closer to the mark, I’m starting to think. No, it’s more calculating. Finally he turns back to the halfling, examines him for a few more moments, then waves his hand dismissively as he takes a half-turn away, looking down at the crate again.

“It’s irrelevant to me now, anyway. We have this. It’s all that matters.” He touches it with both hands now, but doesn’t make any effort to open it. He isn’t willing to mess with it any more than the rest of us, then. Once again I wonder what exactly is in there.

“And the rest of it?” I ask after a moment, speaking to my mother now. “There looks to be a fair amount of quality gear in here besides that … whatever it is.”

“That’s for you.” Min replies, a hint of a smile to her lips again. “You earned it today, most assuredly. You’re burying a lot of friends after this, Shay. You and yours deserve strong restitution.”

I look to Roe, who’s stood a few paces back from us, respectful as he always is in my mother’s presence. He’s watching me though, I can tell even with those lenses, and the tiniest nod passes between us. “Of course. Thank you. It’s most generous.”

Min gives a curt nod, but the smile still hasn’t faded. “And the halfling, too. He’s your responsibility. See he behaves himself, but don’t let any harm come to him, either.”

“Of course.” I repeat, managing not to scowl at the condition. I look up at the wizard, who’s been watching this whole exchange with a certain haunted curiosity. He’s definitely unhappy with this turn of events, but surprisingly calm and collected considering everything. Those blue eyes flicker to me now, and his gaze makes me feel strangely exposed. He’s clearly a sharp one, and he’ll bear watching.

“Roe?” I call without taking my eyes from his.

“Sure thing, boss.” He jumps up into the cart, clean and easy, and as he moves to take the halfling’s right arm, just under the shoulder, Tarrow’s finally jumping to attention himself, taking hold of the other arm, and they both hoist him to his feet again. He’s still got that thoughtful, quiet, slightly troubled look to him, but I think he’s bouncing back quickly enough. At least I hope so. He gives me a moment’s glance but looks away before I can respond.

“And this … thing?” I ask after they’ve hauled him down from the cart and of to rejoin what’s left of my party. “What’s the plan? The bridge is fucked, and this cart is clearly not going anywhere. And you said no teleporting.”

Ashsong gives me a look that suggests he’s barely tolerant of my presence in this conversation, but I just stare right back, refusing to let him faze me. “I doubt we’ll have any further trouble now. There are only two of them left, and I doubt they’re in any condition to try anything further.” He turns to my mother. “I simply need somewhere secure to wait for a day or two until my people can arrive to collect this. I trust you have some ideas.”

“Well, if you simply need somewhere to wait, then I would suggest Heldereth. It’s still in good repair, and it’s defensible, it doesn’t take too many to hold it should anything happen.” Min looks to me again. “I doubt it will, of course. As you say, the few who are left shouldn’t be any threat at this point.”

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, I won’t be convinced any of the others are truly dead until I see the bodies. It’s all but guaranteed that the golem survived the fall, although it would be interesting to see how it fared in the river itself. The Viper is a truly vicious stretch of water, particularly here. The others are probably dead. But it’s not certain. I don’t give voice to these thoughts, though, preferring to continue deferring to my mother for now.

“And how do we get the cargo there?” I ask after a moment “If teleportation is out, given that now both roads in here have been comprehensively destroyed?”

Min frowns, stepping back so she can turn and look around, first at the largely demolished bridge and then the ruined track. “Hmmm …”

Ashsong is a little slower catching up, but soon enough he scowls. “Damn.”

“I’ll just leave you to work it out, shall I?” I break away before either of them can say anything further, heading back to more solid ground to rejoin my people again. Roe and Tarrow are with Garnon now, who’s using their magic now to weave a set of magical shackles that settle into convincingly solid reality as I arrive, a thick neck-ring attached by chain to a pair of substantial wrist manacles. The metal has a subtle, pulsing sheen of iridescence to it that seems to catch the light more brilliantly than I would have expected, enough of a giveaway to its enchanted strength all on its own. After a moment the halfling opens his mouth and starts to speak, but nothing comes out. He flounders for another moment without getting a word out, then gives up.

Garnon looks to me after taking a moment to check their handiwork, and now I’m looking I can see they’re a little more beaten up than before this all began, but still spry. They cock a brow. “So what’s the plan now, then?”

“Our spectacular employer is attempting to come up with a plan to get our prize out of here now that conventional routes have been thoroughly obliterated.” I inject my words with casual pleasantry, but I don’t particularly care that it winds up sounding mostly mocking.

Roe starts to chuckle, while Garnon simply flashes a sardonic grin, but Tarrow just frowns. “Come again? I don’t …” He looks down the track to the ugly, torn gap in the ledge. “Oh, wow. That’s … huh. Okay, so what do we do, then?”

I just shrug. “Frankly, right now I don’t give a shit. I’ve got people dead and more who need seeing to so they don’t join them. We’ve got prizes of our own, but they’re not going anywhere until we can move that bloody crate, so no teleporting. So we’re stuck here for a little while yet.”

“And then what?” Roe asks.

“Heldereth. It means backtracking, but the consensus is there’s no real threat now. They’re either dead or no longer a factor. Either way, we shouldn’t have to wonder about them.”

The halfling chuckles ruefully, and Roe gently cuffs him across the back of the head, but he frowns all the same, looking to me again. Turning to the others, I find that Garnon’s watching me too, while Tarrow’s scanning our surroundings again. He seems almost rattled.

In truth, I don’t blame him. I’m not sure I really believe my own words either.