Da’s being murdered in front of my eyes and there’s nothing I can do about it. The Terrors are everywhere, they’ve taken the barracks and they’re killing every last one breathing who stands against them, man and boy both. We’re fighting hard and they’re killing us bad for it, looks like. It’s brutal. I heard stories about Terror shock troops from some of the vets and they always sounded more like beasts than men, or maybe not beasts, normal animals don’t kill for pleasure or even for vengeance, ‘least not often. Men, on the other hand …

I’ve killed so many I’m covered in blood myself, but so far I haven’t been hurt much. Da taught me well, all right. Or maybe I am hurt, hurt real bad, I just don’t know it, wounds can be funny like that, middle of a battle. One of the troopers is pressing me now, he’s coming on savage and he’s a big fucker so I’m having to give ground, but so far I’ve warded off his attacks all the same. My shield’s a scarred mess, my sword notched, but they’re holding up, and so am I. I scrabble back from his latest flurry in an attempt to open up a bit of ground between us, but in this press there’s not much room to manoeuvre, and I think he knows it. Can’t really tell through that faceless visored mask he wears.

Yeah, enough of this shit. I draw down low as I can and let out a savage cry, pushing all my weight to my back foot as I do it and then spring at the last, surging forward hard as I can. He’s ready for me and brings his shield up, but I’m not going to attack with my sword this time, instead I just jam my shield into his with my full momentum and I feel the whole thing buckling and splintering with the force of the impact of our meeting. I just grit my teeth and press on, and it’s enough, he was ready for an attack, not a charge, I catch him by surprise and barge him down hard. As he stumbles I slip free of my now useless shield and shove it aside along with his in the same motion, opening up a gap between us, and I’m already swinging my sword up overhead, bringing my freed left hand up to grip the lower haft of the hilt. He realises his mistake then but he’s not quick enough bringing up his own sword.

They wear tough steel brigandine coats and laminar plates on their shoulders and vambraces at wrists and elbows, but their upper arms are dressed in thick, padded cloth alone, and I’ve still got enough of an edge to my sword. My hack is heavy, and well placed, and his arm cleaves just above the elbow, his own sword clattering to the floor with the now severed half still attached. He howls, I can hear it through the mask even over the riotous clamour in this training hall, and goes down on one knee now as his life’s blood starts to pour out of the stump. I don’t give him time to get his shield up again, dropping into a low crouching lunge and jamming the point of my sword up under the metal chin of the visor, ramming home through the soft flesh under his jaw. I don’t stop until I see the red blade emerge again.

Time seems to jump now, I don’t realise it until it’s happened but suddenly I’m slumped on my knees and cradling da in my arms, and he’s even bloodier than I am, more coming out of his mouth and a dozen wounds besides. It’s pooling under him from a particularly savage wound in his back, while many of the others are much smaller, weird little round holes that seem to punch inwards through the lames of his armour. I heard stories about the Terror’s secret weapons from the north too, what they call rifles, these strange tubes that burn explosive powders and spit metal faster than an arrow from a longbow, but I’d never seen them before today, didn’t know what they can do. Well I’ve learned now and it's horrible. They’ve killed my da with their awful fucking weapons.

His eyes are glazed but they fix on me all the same as he works his mouth and blood keeps coming out of it along with wet, raspy breaths. It’s a horrible sound, but it’s not so bad as how broken and hollow his voice is now. “Adda … Adda … my love … Adda … I’m so sorry … I can’t find her …” He doesn’t even recognise me, I know he’s seeing my mother now, I never got to see her even but he described her so well for me whenever I asked him that I could picture her sure as she must have been in my mind. I know I look like her, a little rougher round the edges maybe, none of her ladylike grace, and his northern blood paled her rich dark southern skin some in me, but he reminded me often enough what a likeness I still bear. So I just smile down at him as best I can because this hurts so fucking bad, I want him to go out remembering her love as much as he knows my own.

As his eyes seem grow dim arms start grabbing me and for a moment I think I’m being attacked again, I start fighting immediately, grabbing the first weapon that comes to hand. I won’t know until we’re far away that it’s Hefdred, da’s bastard sword, the weapon his own father carried into battle before him, and his father before him too. I damn near kill the first one as they whip back from me, only realising in the last that it’s Redhorr, his own grieving tears cutting clean lines through the blood splashed across his own deeply lined cheeks. It’s enough to check me, so I don’t kill one of my da’s oldest surviving friends. “Kesla, we have to go now.”

“No, da, I won’t leave him. I won’t –” They don’t give me a choice, they grab me and overpower me and drag me away and all the time I’m screaming and howling and fighting and biting and kicking and threatening brutal vengeful murder on all of ‘em. I won’t leave my da, I can’t leave him, I don’t even realise he’s already gone, it ain’t hit me yet, I’m just furious with my grief. It’s a fury that keeps burning in me for the next eight years of my life, fuelling my hate every day we continue to fight against the Terrors who’ve already conquered our land in one bloody day.

I wake with a start now, and there are arms around me again, but they’re not holding me anywhere near so tight now. They still press me down, though, keep me from jolting right up, and for a few blind moments I struggle all the same, still lost in that horrible memory, turning into another as I suddenly remember the hard-packed earth on top of the bridge giving way under me. The way the empty air just swallows me, that horrible feeling of weightlessness while at the same time knowing I’m plummeting to my death, finally being engulfed by freezing cold water, stabbing at me like thousands of needles.

Finally I recognise the arms, and it’s enough all on its own to comfort me. They’re long but not particularly muscular, but so powerful all the same. Yeslee. I’m stretched out on my back and swaddled in thick blankets and furs, but she’s cradling me in her lap all the same, much the same as I once did for my father on his last day, I realise now. I shudder at that thought, then finally realise there’s something long and hard in here with me, I’m gripping it tight in my right hand. “Yes, what –”

“Hefdred.” she whispers “You had it in a death-grip, we couldn’t take it from you. It’s a miracle you didn’t cut yourself to pieces with it while you were getting tossed about through the river waters.”

“What … what about Big Man? He fell with me –”

“I am here.” I don’t see him yet, but I hear the deep crinkling and rustling of dry leaves close by and then finally I see the red glow of his eyes in the darkness above me. Finally it comes clear to me that it’s night now, and while I can see Yeslee at least she’s fitfully lit with the warm, living glow of a crackling campfire.

“How the hell did we –”

“It was difficult to reach you through the river waters, but I was able to get to you before you were drowned. Then I carried you out with me as I climbed. We were alone for some time before I was able to locate the rest of our party, but once I had their trace I was quickly able to rejoin them.”

“You’re bloody lucky he found us when he did, boss.” Krakka moves crouches down on my other side, leaning close to me now, smiling a little as he looks me over. “You were almost dead. That river was cold enough to kill you all on its own, never mind drowning. You got banged up some by the rocks but nowhere near as bad as you might have been. I think your being unconscious by then might actually have saved you from getting broken to pieces before he reached you.”

Taking a few moments to assess my situation, it quickly becomes clear that I am completely and thoroughly naked inside these blankets. I feel the heat flushing my cheeks immediately, and it spreads. “Oh for the love of …”

“Just rest, boss.” Yeslee pushes me down again, still cradling me, rocking me gently now, and there might be the slightest hint of a smile to her lips now. Not condescension or amusement, mind, just relief that I’m all right. “Krakka helped you through the worst of it, but you ain’t all the way yet. You were much worse off than the others.”

“The others? Who?” I start to sit up, and while she still maintains her grip Yeslee at least lets me rise enough that I can look round the makeshift camp. The fire’s a big one, a ring of dark bare earth cleared around it to keep from setting the whole forest floor ablaze, and for several moments it kind of kills what nightvision I might be able to rely on. But then I finally spot the only other bodies in our current group, bundled together in a similarly tightly wrapped package of fur and blankets nearby.

Gael’s pale face just peeks out of it all, their unruly black hair obscuring half their peaceful face as they sleep. But Art’s awake, propping himself up on an elbow behind them, watching me with a mixture of relief and sheepish embarrassment. From what little I can see of him from the chin down he’s as naked as I am, and it’ll be the same with Gael.

“Hey, boss. Glad you’re okay.”

“After a fashion. Enjoying yourself?”

If I could see under his fur I’d see him blush even deeper than he already must be. “Ain’t like that, boss. They’re in a bad way. I’m keeping ‘em warm.”

I roll my eyes a little, and as I do I catch sight of several items of clothing hanging from low branches around us, as close to the fire as they can get. Several pieces of Art’s gear, both his leather armour and the tougher wool and padded cloth he wears underneath, and Gael’s robes and other garments. And my own, too, including my jack of plates. And my drawers.

Starting a personal inventory, I start to notice a little fresh discomfort, despite the cosy warmth of my wrappings, that wasn’t there before we fell. My left shoulder’s starting to feel stiff, my lower back too, and my legs feel decidedly weak. “How am I, then? Really?”

“Your shoulder was dislocated, either from the landing or later with the rocks, and there was very bad bruising in your lower back that suggested it got wrenched quite badly.” Krakka shrugs. “It could’ve been much worse. The hypothermia was the real problem, but My Lady helped to beat that.”

That means he healed me. Gods, if that’s what I’m feeling now I must have been in a right state when Driver 8 brought me to him. For all I know it could’ve been a lot worse. Maybe some of the rocks went and broke my back … that’s an unpleasantly sobering thought. I look up at Krakka again. “Thank you. And thank Mother Luna too, please. I’m very grateful.” Now I turn to face that red stare that seems to be hovering in the dark above me. “And thank you too. I owe you a great debt.”

“Nonsense.” he rumbles in the night overhead “You are my friend. You would do the same for me, if you could.”

Cocking a quizzical brow, I have to smile at the thought that conjures, the idea of trying to carry, or even just drag a massive golem several miles through a freezing mountain forest. But he’s right, I would. I’d try, at the very least. So I nod my agreement, and the bobbing of his gaze in the dark means he acknowledges my gesture.

Letting my head settle back again, I let my mind wander now, thinking on the battle again, the chaos of it all, and how lucky we are to survive it. Then I realise I’ve counted short. “Shit.” I jolt up again, and this time Yeslee can’t stop me in time as I sit upright entirely and for a few unpleasant moments my head start to swim. I muddle through, shaking it hard, now far too concerned to care about my own discomfort. “Where’s Wenrich?”

“He magicked us away.”

“What?” I turn to Krakka, who’s got a pretty foul look on his face now.

“Master Clearwood performed a strange spell on Yeslee and I, zapped us out of there and into a hollow about half a mile to the west. The fact that he didn’t then jump right through after us means he must’ve stayed behind.”

Yeslee takes up the narrative. “Art and Gael were already gone. Just before he destroyed the bridge and dumped you and Big Man in the river, some creepy bastard elf popped up out of nowhere and tossed Gael into the ravine. Then our damned fool of a prowler decided to jump off the cliff after them.” She gives Art a pretty sharp look then, and he gets all sheepish again.

“An elf? You mean Ashsong?” Suddenly the bridge just collapsing makes a bit more sense, and once I think about it I think I do remember some crazy thing with lightning just before we took our plunge. In truth I’m still a bit hazy about those last few moments. “Oh gods, that means they got it. They got the cargo. No wonder Wenrich didn’t follow you, he wouldn’t leave it. They’ve got him too.”

“Shit.” Art growls, and I think I can see a little fury in his eyes as he looks round now, but it’s just a flicker. Mostly he’s just frustrated. “Does that mean we lost?”

“I don’t know. I mean we don’t even know where they’ve gone, do we?” I turn to Driver 8 again. “You don’t know where they are now, do you?”

“They are far beyond my range. I am afraid I cannot help.”

“Fuck.” I sit forward, brushing my hair back from my face, and it takes me a moment to realise the only thing I’ve got on above the waist are the blankets, which are in danger of dropping away from my modesty, so I scramble to correct it. “Um … can I have a shirt, please? If any of my clothes are dry enough?”

Yeslee reaches to one side and passes me a small bundle, and I take it. One of my other shirts, and thankfully it’s bone-dry. I shake it out and pull it on over my head, then frown down at my legs, as if I could examine them through the blankets. I give my toes an experimental wiggle and they seem to move just fine. My knees protest a little but I’m still able to bend them, and after a little wary shifting it turns out my legs are strong enough to move. “Yeah … some pants too, maybe?”

This time she grins wide, and I think I might start blushing again at that, it’s such an unusually overt show of amusement from her. Still, when she passes me another bundle I accept it all the same, shaking it out too. Another pair of britches, also from my pack, some of my thicker ones, leather and wool together. Good choice for this climate, I think. I shake my legs free of the blankets and slip them quickly into the garment, then pause. Okay, this is the moment of truth, I guess.

My head starts swimming the moment I’m all the way upright, and my legs wobble something awful, feels like my knees are ready to give, but somehow I stay up, and soon enough I’m buttoned up at the waist. I take my belt when Yeslee proffers it and thread it into the loops at my waistband, then buckle up and drop my shirt loose over the top. I look down at myself for a few moments, brushing everything down and smoothing out wrinkles.

After a moment I settle back down on the blankets, becoming keenly aware of the great cold in the air around me, and the fact that my feet and ankles are still very much exposed to the elements starts to gnaw on me. I find Yeslee’s already left a few more items to one side for me, and I pick out a pair of socks, thick woollen ones that I remember picking up in Hocknar a few trips back but I’ve never actually worn. Now it finally clicks. “These clothes ain’t from my pack.”

“You were in that river for a while, boss.” Yeslee‘s moved away from me now, gone to the fire where she’s poking at the embers with a stick. “Your pack got good and soaked as the rest of you. Be at least morning before most of your stuff is dried out. I found these in the bag of holding.”

Looking back down at the clothes I’ve already pulled on, it occurs to me now that all of these are spare items that I put in Yeslee’s special, seemingly bottomless bag just in case something happened to my regular gear. Checking what’s left I find the leather tunic and fresh pair of boots left over came from the same source, and it reminds me of a particularly hard truth that should’ve already occurred to me.

“Okay, so tell me then, what exactly have we got to hand? Right now.”

“Essentially what we had in our packs or Gael’s satchels when the fight started. Most of our spare gear was in the back of the cart, along with the cargo. You’re damn lucky I had the bag with me or we’d be even worse off. We put all this emergency gear in there for exactly this kind of eventuality.”

“We ain’t even got any mounts.” Art sighs “The ones that weren’t killed got left behind. We’re stuck on foot now. Even if we knew where they were I don’t know if we even could catch up to ‘em now.”

Once I’ve pulled the second sock on I pat the blankets until I relocate Hefdred amongst all those layers. ‘Least I still got that, and my axes and four of my knives have been laid out nearby for me too. Unfortunately my shortbow and arrows were still on Ulrich’s saddle along with the rest of my saddlebags. Speaking of which …

“Yes, how many arrows you got left?”

“Two more sheaves in the bag, just in case. We’re not hurting for ammunition, at least.”

That’s good. Then a fresh pang rages through me and I almost curse out loud as I realise those bastards got da’s armour. Damn it, now I’m pissed.

No, I’m beyond pissed, actually. They surprised us, fair and square, that was the game, but even so I’m real unhappy that we didn’t win. The odds were stacked against us, but that’s just the kind of fight Thorin’s always loved, the legends say he always roots for the underdog. Always been a faithful follower, you can’t be a soldier, or at least be raised by a soldier, and not be, and I can’t help thinking that should count for something. We came here for a reason.

“I ain’t willing to give up on this just yet.” I venture after a thoughtful moment. “We took Wenrich’s money, the Order’s money, for a job we ain’t finished. Far as I’m concerned we still got a commitment. Anyone feel different about it?”

Looking at the others, I see them all looking back at me, no-one unable to meet my gaze now. Krakka looks almost angry now, while Art’s just frustrated, but Yeslee’s cool and stoic as always, while Driver 8 couldn’t change his expression if he tried. I feel they’re all with me, though. And while Gael’s presently very much out of the vote, I doubt they’d be willing to give up on one of their closest friends, ‘specially after the shit we just went through.

“All right then, guess that’s settled.” I dig through the blankets now, retrieve Hefdred, give the sword a quick look over. It’s battered, but the river seems to have washed it clean. It’s still in impressive shape all things considered.

“So what do we do first, then?”