This is taking a long time to get used to. Barely hours ago, these people were trying their best to kill us all on that bridge, now they’re plotting their own company’s betrayal and the defeat and almost guaranteed death of their current employer along with the rest of us. I’m being as watchful as I can be, keeping a sharp eye on Shayline Swift-Kill and her three companions, but I can’t help looking at Kesla every once in a while too, as much trying to work out what she’s really thinking as anything else. I trust her with my life, but for the life of me I can’t quite get behind this crazy thing she’s just done.

They’re sat with us now, eating stew and hunks of bread like the rest of us, there’s even a jug of ale which is being periodically passed around, although few of us are really drinking much of it yet. It could almost be called companionable, except that they’re all very much in our cumulative line of sight, and Driver 8 looms close behind them, silent and implacable and a perfect warning not to try anything. As if they could, we’ve got our own weapons close to hand while theirs have all been unceremoniously dumped thirty metres away next to a random tree. Granted, they all turned out to be impressively honest when they were searched after I insisted they all be checked after that initial surrender, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Even so, the fact they’re here in the first place, sat with us like it’s a companionable meal with another party we just happened to cross paths with, still doesn’t sit well with me.

Every once in a while I start tracing idle nonsense lines with my fingers, I can’t help it, it’s turning into a nervous thing with me now, just checking I can still cast if I have to. I’ve got the dragonhalf’s components satchel in front of me now, I’ve looked through it, and while it’s not quite as well-ordered as my own it’s exceedingly well-stocked for a hedge wizard. There’s something about them, too sharp and professional, the way I’ve seen them work, the way they act even, that suggests they may have come from the same kind of place I did. That’s very interesting under the circumstances.

Despite the situation, my appetite, at least, has remained strong. Perhaps nearly dying in the river has something to do with it, but I certainly am hungry. I’m on my second bowl of stew already, Wenrich having rustled up something really tasty from the supplies their wizard brought back with the remainder of our gear, and it’s already having an effect. Not for the first time since I woke up again, I cast a very careful look Art’s way, a whole load of complicated feelings boiling up under it, but once again he’s concentrating on his meal and the conversation. Every time I catch him looking I try to put as much reproachful ire into my expression as I can to cover my embarrassment over the situation I found myself in, but it never really feels true to me.

He was a perfect gentleman about it, if I’m honest. I was naked, but he treated me with the utmost respect the whole time we were bundled up together, according to Krakka and Yeslee both. Not that I didn’t see far more of him than I ever intended when he started scrambling about to get me some fresh clothes from my pack, although I might have been looking a little closer than I should have been. He’s in very good shape indeed.

By and large the conversation, such as it’s been, has steered clear of business while the meal was prepared, and then when we’ve been eating. Mainly it’s been focused on introductions, getting to know each other, exchanging names, a few details but those very guarded, and more than one assurance of trust. In truth they seem to be as wary of us as we are of them, and I don’t think they like us either. There’s been too much death for friendship, I think. I can’t say I really blame them for that, to be honest. But they are trying, at least, so we must as well.

They’re all strange ones, but Shayline is definitely the prize here. There’s an almost regal bearing to her, a far greater nobility than I’ve ever seen in a half-orc before, despite the strict honour-bound culture she’s sprung from. The more I look, the more convinced I am there’s elf blood in her, she’s definitely too graceful, willowy and svelte to be anything else, while her dark eyes are also unusual, orc eyes usually presenting with gold or amber irises. There’s a strong beauty to her, tempered and sharp like steel, but polished to a high sheen by her heritage all the same. Every once in a while I catch Kesla looking her over, and while it’s surely still a warrior’s evaluation of a potential opponent, there seems to be a little bit of something else in her gaze too. Something hungry, I think. Less of a fighter studying an opponent, more a predator observing her prey.

Eventually the pleasantries start to peter out as the food is finished and we start to ruminate, and I can tell Kesla’s getting restless now, as is Shayline. I turn to look east now, and I can see the sky is starting to lighten there now, the night spent by all these turbulent new events. I feel strangely rested now, despite my full belly and all that I went through yesterday, but I suspect Krakka has something to do with that. Comparatively, he seems somewhat drawn and haggard, but he’s still hanging on well enough despite his growing exhaustion. Looking to Yeslee, I’d never be able to guess she’s been up even longer than any of us, her own attention still tightly focused on these four newcomers.

“So, Master Clearwood …” Kesla ventures after a few minutes of complicated, loaded silence once most of the bowls have been set aside. She licks her lips, probably working out how to start this now we’re getting down to the meat of the matter. “You saw him up close, this elf employer of theirs. Is it Ashsong? The one you remember?”

Wenrich lets go a heavy sigh, deeply weary now. It almost seems like he’s aged ten human years in one night, the last battle and his resulting capture has clearly taken a massive toll on him, but there’s more to it than that now. “In a way. I told you before that something very wrong had happened to him in those last years at the Academy, yes?” He sighs again as Kesla nods, and I do the same. “Clearly whatever it was has been compounded in the years since. He’s been a long time under this … influence, whatever it is. He’s gone far beyond deeply wrong now. Whatever remains of the old Erjeon Ashsong is now very small, if it’s still there at all, and there’s no way to bring it back, that much is clear. He’s lost in this thing now, and it makes him supremely dangerous.”

“It’s that creepy bastard he’s palling round with, ain’t it?” Tarrow interjects, half to Wenrich but also, I think aiming his question very much at Shayline.

For his part, Wenrich just frowns, casting a glance at Kesla, then at our guests. “I don’t really know about –”

“You didn’t meet the Creep in the end, I suppose.” Shayline cuts him off. “Ashsong has … I’d call him a partner, I suppose, but there’s something really wrong with them. With it, really, if I’m honest. It walks like a man and mostly talks like a man, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s something wearing the skin of something it thinks will seem pleasant, but it has no real idea what that might actually be, so it’s just … off. Sets my skin crawling every time I look at it.”

Another silence falls at this revelation, and it’s even less comfortable than the last. Wenrich gives me a pointed look, and I feel a real chill roll down my spine at the possibilities this could describe. There’s an awful lot of them, and none of them are good, not even taking into account the many possibilities we don’t even know about. He licks his lips, seeming genuinely shaken now. “When Ashsong called his … people, did he say who they were?”

Shayline frowns. “No, neither of them gave much away about who they actually are or who they’re working with or for. He just mentioned that they’d be coming from the north.”

“The Terrors, then?” Art wonders, looking up from his kit. Now we’ve finished eating he’s settled down to clean his gear again, determined to be ready for whatever’s coming. This reminds me of my own sword, and I start thinking I might benefit from doing the same. “They’re working for the Empire, you think?”

Wenrich shakes his head. “No, I think this is something else. From further north still.”

“But there ain’t nothing further north than …” Art becomes very still, a lot going on behind his bright green eyes, and finally he looks down as the weight of the conclusion he comes to hits home. “Oh. Shit. That’s … gods help us …”

“You really think Ashsong’s in league with something from the Night Lands?” Kesla seems as troubled by this as the rest of us.

“We really don’t know anything about what lies beyond the Border, not now.” Wenrich shudders a little. “It’s been ten thousand years. The Tektehran Empire might know a little, at least what they’ve managed to learn from what’s been accosting them these past few centuries, but I doubt it’s much more than we know in the Order. Which is almost nothing.”

“They say nobody who goes there ever comes back.” Yeslee mutters, half to herself, matter-of-fact as she maintains her grim vigil.

“That’s true. The Order tried, once or twice, over the centuries, but not for a very long time, it’s become infinitely clear how fruitless the exercise is. But that doesn’t mean that something couldn’t still come from there to here. I don’t doubt that anything hardy enough to survive in those cold, lightless lands would easily be strong enough to survive here with only a few basic … modifications.” He sighs again. “The truth is that we really don’t know anything, which means that absolutely anything could exist over there. So yes, this … Creep, as you call him, being some creature from the Night Lands is at least theoretically possible. And undoubtedly if that is the case then it’s surely in the service of something we would certainly consider deeply alien and unnatural.”

I have to shudder at that idea. Deciding I need to distract myself I move the dragonhalf’s component bag aside and pull my own pack into my lap, hunting for a moment until I find the cleaning kit, then retrieve my sword.

“So what do they want?” Tarrow’s voice breaks a little, he’s clearly also rattled by this conversation.

“We really have no way of knowing.” Wenrich almost smiles a little this time, but it’s decidedly humourless. “They want our artifact, but beyond that their motives are entirely unfathomable.”

When I draw my sword, several eyes turn to me, and I realise this is probably not the best moment for this particular gesture. I feel my cheeks flushing, but I carry on regardless, taking a particularly measured moment to look down the blade, inspecting the various nicks and scratches the previous battle has inflicted on it, flipping it carefully to examine the other side too.

After a moment, Kesla draws her own sword from the scabbard now set at her side, and does the same. Clearly the river seems to have washed away the blood for her, but she still frowns and fusses all the same in her own inspection. Laying it across her knees, she starts to search her own gear for her cleaning kit. “Well, regardless of intention, no way I’m gonna let them keep that cargo. We got a job to finish, so we’re gonna get that crate back before Ashsong and this Creep of his can regroup with their people. From what you’re saying it sounds like things could get a whole lot worse if that happens, so we can’t afford to wait.”

“We’re really considering this, then?” Art slots one of his knives back into its sheath with a little more force than necessary, but doesn’t seem to notice a few flinches at the resulting snap. He simply draws the next in line and starts his inspection. “Throwing in with this lot and trusting they can get us into that fortress and past all those bandits without getting us killed in the process? If they even are on our side to begin with, that is. Less than a day ago they tried to murder us.”

Kesla spits on her whetstone and starts working it over the blade. “You got a better idea there, Art? If you do you’re smarter’n me right now.”

“No, I don’t.” He picks up his cleaning rag and starts working away at a stubborn spot of blood on his blade. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

“There are far greater factors at play here than our side or theirs right now.” Wenrich sighs, rubbing at a sore spot on his wrist. “I can understand your reticence, but we have no choice. Ashsong must not be allowed to keep that artifact. It’s sure to spell doom for all of us in the long run.”

“It’s still gonna be a bloody fight. We killed a lot this last week but reckon there’s a whole lot more holed up in that fortress now, and even if we can get in there’s no guarantee we can fight our way back out again. And if we did, what then? We’d just have to start running again. We still gotta cross the Viper again, and that just got a whole lot more difficult, from what I heard. I don’t fancy trying it under fire with a whole lot of angry folk on our arses the whole way.”

“Shay, how likely is it that your people would stand down if you’re in the lead?” Kesla keeps working, but she’s watching the half-orc through the corner of her eye even so.

“I really couldn’t say. I left under a bit of a cloud as far as my mother’s concerned, and it’ll only be compounded now that we’ve returned her prisoner and all your gear. But I know everyone in that fortress, and I still have at least a passing loyalty with many of them, so that has to count for something. As far as I see it, the only one I need to convince is my mother.”

“If she still is Min the Reckless.” Wenrich sighs.

“You reckon she might’ve been corrupted by Ashsong or his pet monster, then?” Kesla gives him the side-eye now. “That he’s got his hooks in an’ he’s puppeteering her somehow?”

“A mother’s love is a powerful thing, a very strong bond. I cannot believe that she would turn on you so completely that she would forsake you for something so low as a fortune, no matter how large.”

Shayline shakes her head. “It’s not the money. She couldn’t care less about silver or gold or platinum, not really. It’s honour, that’s what binding her now. She gave her word when she accepted this job, and now Ashsong’s trapped her with it.”

“Perhaps,” Wenrich nods. “But there might be more to it. She may think it’s simply her honour that holds her, but Ashsong, or perhaps this creature itself, may be helping this idea to take root deep enough to cloud her judgement. It would be very subtle, nothing more than a tiny nudge, some soft reinforcement. He wouldn’t want to force anything, not on a personality as strong as Min’s. But it’s definitely a factor.”

“So there’s likely still a fight to be had, whether she’s influenced or not.” Kesla stops what she’s doing and looks right at Shayline. “Loyal as they might be to you, I know your people are gonna be more loyal to her. If it comes to a fight, I doubt you’d really be able to sway things our way.”

“What are you saying?”

“That if we get in there and it turns out they’re ready for us, or even if we get to the cargo without incident, we’ll likely still have to kill some of ‘em. Maybe a lot of ‘em.” Kesla sighs. “If I have to choose between killing one of your friends and saving the life of one of mine, I ain’t gonna hesitate. And if it really comes to it, likely you’re gonna be in the exact same boat. Any way you look at it you’re already a traitor to your people, you might have to just commit to it all the way.”

The look that Shayline gives Kesla now is cold and haunted, deeply troubled by this idea. “I don’t know if I could do that. There has to be a better way.”

“Either that or you pick up your sword and try to kill me again, here and now. Simple as that. This ain’t time for half-measures. Ashsong needs to be stopped, you know that well as I do. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. You might have to kill your mother to make that happen, or at least let one of us do it. If Master Clearwood’s right, there might not be another choice.”

Shayline looks at her for a long time, then turns to each of her companions. Garnon studiously avoids her eyes, looking down at their hands now as they worry at the fraying hem of their robe with twitchy fingers. Tarrow looks fearful and on the verge of breaking, but holds his ground under her gaze, finally swallows hard and gives her a shaky nod. The hobgoblin, Roe, simply returns her look with a stony one of his own, although there seems to be some sadness deep in his eyes, resigned and impossibly tired. His nod is more assured.

She looks down at her hands for several more moments, clenching and unclenching her fists, which are visibly shaking from her tension. I can’t miss the tightening in her jaw, the tendons in her neck flexing, I can almost feel how wound up she is. I wonder if maybe Kesla’s pushed her a little too far.

Then she just gets up and stalks away from the camp. Driver 8 shifts a little as she moves, but I just catch a little raise of Kesla’s fingers that seems to check him in time before he does what he clearly intended to in response to the sudden movement, and he settles. She’s moving in the opposite direction to where we dumped their weapons anyway, and doesn’t make any other potentially threatening moves, stopping within sight, still visibly shaking, and looking at nothing much at all. Kesla watches her, her jaw tightening again.

“All right,” I venture after a moment longer, unable to bear any more of this silence. “So what do we do now?”

“She’ll come around.” Roe mutters, a little bitterly, and I realise it’s only the second thing he’s said since they settled down with the rest of us. Instead he’s just watched us this whole time, simply sat there, deep in his own unfathomable thoughts. Like the few other hobgoblins I’ve properly known in my time, he’s very hard to get a real read on.

“Well I’m with her.” Tarrow growls “On the killing, I mean. I don’t know if I can really do that, not to our friends. But I do get it. I get why we gotta do this anyway, this is fucked and we gotta fix it. But there’s gotta be something else we can do instead of just killing everybody who stands against us.”

“That’s not how life works.” Krakka sighs “Not when it really matters. Sometimes you just don’t have any choice, you have to make the hard call and hope you can live with yourself after. I’m sorry you’re in this position, I really am, but you are, so you have to deal with it, or get out of our way and let us do it ourselves.” He gives the head of his hammer, still cradled in his lap, an absent-minded rub. “It’d be better if you were with us on this, though.”

“If you help us do this, it could make the difference for your people anyway.” Kesla adds “I don’t want to kill any more of you if I can help it, I never wanted to kill any of you to begin with but in the end it was them or us, so I did what I had to. I’ll do it again if they make me, but I hope they won’t. But your help could mean that less of your friends put us in that position to begin with.”

Wenrich clears his throat. “Look, Ashsong is the real threat here. If we can remove him, quick and clean, that could be the end of the fight right there.”

We fall into another thoughtful, complicated silence, and the rest of Shayline’s party exchange the odd look as they ruminate. Mostly Kesla watches their nominal leader, who seems to have loosened up a little, now leaning against one of the bare trees with her arms wrapped tight around her, still looking into the relative darkness. After a few more moments I lean close to Kesla, whispering low so it’s just between us. “Maybe you should go talk to her? Just you and her, maybe you could convince her.”

“I don’t see how. This is hard enough for her, reckon she just needs time to think it over.”

“Perhaps, but that’s precisely what we don’t have. These people that Ashsong has summoned, if they even are people, they won’t take their time on this. We need to hurry, or it might be too late.”

She looks at me for a moment, and a gentle smile crosses her lips. She leans in and gives me a soft nudge with her shoulder. “You’re a good egg, Gael Foxtail. I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t give Art a hard time about earlier. He was just trying to help.”

I start blushing immediately as I realise what she means, and that just makes her smile widen. “No, no I’m not … no, I get it. He was … I’m fine, really. It’s not a big deal.”

“Y’know he likes you, right?”

“What?” I say it a good deal louder than I would have liked, and as I look to him he’s looking right back, halfway through oiling the blade of his longsword now that it’s clean and sharp again. He blinks, surprised to find me looking, but I don’t think he catches onto what we’ve actually been discussing. “Well … I mean … of course he does. That’s how friendship works, isn’t it?”

Cocking her brow, Kesla gives me a long, deep, penetrating look before simply shrugging as she turns away. “Sure. Whatever you say, kid.” Tilting her sword again, she picks up the rag and upends the oil bottle into it with one easy, one-handed motion, then starts polishing the blade with that infuriating little half-smile of hers on her face again.

Determined not to let her get to me, I focus on my own blade again. It really got beaten up when I was trying to stay alive in that guardhouse, the memory of all those barely-deflected cuts and thrusts and that constant, painful jarring from all those impacts sobering enough now I look back on it. I was lucky to survive that, if Art hadn’t come to my aid in those last moments I think my luck would’ve run out. Kesla’s lessons may have saved my life too there, but it’s clear I still have a long way to go. I’m still not really ready for this yet.

When I raise the sword to look down the edge that still needs sharpening, I catch the wizard, Garnon, watching me, the slightest frown on their face. I don’t rise to it, instead raising the whetstone and spitting onto it, the fact that I’m being regarded doing so enough to make me blush again, but I work around it. I set my jaw and get to sharpening again, and for a little while I’m able to lose myself in the work, but eventually the weight of that bright gaze starts to press on me again. Gritting my teeth, I carry on until I’m happy enough with the results, giving the edge a careful test with the tip of my thumb, and it passes muster. Then I set the stone down on the cloth with the rest of my kit and lay the sword gently across my lap before finally looking up at them again. “You have a question, I take it?”

Garnon blinks, a little surprised. They look around for a moment, frowning again, then clear their throat. “Ah … yes. Sorry. My apologies, I was just … before, when we were finally introduced, your name rang a bell with me, but I couldn’t quite place it. But now …” He sighs. “You’re Silver Order, so I suppose it makes sense. But even so … your name, Foxtail. You wouldn’t be related to Darion Foxtail, would you?”

I almost drop the flask as I fumble it, but not through surprise. I sigh through my nose and set my jaw again, this time able to tip a little oil into the rag without incident and set it down with the rest before I pick up the sword again. “He’s my father. I was raised in the Order.”

“Yes, I thought that might be it. I never met him, but I heard stories when I was in the Academy. He has quite the reputation, a man of great power and talent.”

“Thank you.” I’m a little stiff and reproachful accepting that praise, but I can’t help it. “I wondered about you, too. Your magic’s too precise for a simple hedge wizard, I know formal training when I see it. I’ll admit I never saw you there myself, you must have been ahead of me. When did you graduate?”

They grimace a little at that. “I didn’t. I was asked to leave.”

Blinking, I can’t help my frown as I look them over. I see how uncomfortable they are now with this line of questioning, but I don’t think I can let it go. It’s no small thing for the Academy to expel a student. They give a lot of leeway when you’re still learning, even those who are close to graduating, when they should already have great control of their talents and abilities. I certainly don’t remember any of my fellow students being ejected, even those who were stumbling, although more than a few left of their own volition when the pressure became too great. In the end I have to ask. “What happened?”

For a long time they don’t look at me, while I’m barely looking at what I’m doing, polishing the blade mostly by feel and hoping I don’t cut myself. Finally they sigh, looking up at last, and there’s real bitterness in their eyes now. “A student was killed.”

I feel another chill at that. I don’t say anything, but I stop what I’m doing all the same, unable to concentrate at all now. I set the sword down as careful as I can across one knee, holding onto the hilt to balance it, and wait.

Garnon looks to his remaining companions. Roe’s staring into the fire now, stoic as ever, but I don’t doubt he’s listening, while Tarrow is openly watching them now, looking a little uncomfortable to be caught out, but still managing a friendly enough smile to give them the encouragement they need. The dragonhalf reaches up, halting slow, unsure of what they’re doing now, and rubs at the back of their neck, finally looking up at me again.

Giving a nod for reassurance, I pick up the sword again, turning it over and starting to work on the other side of the blade with the cloth, but still keeping my ears open as I wait for them to continue. They start tracing in the air like I do, letting the lines form, and in the background I see Driver 8’s attention fix on it, but he doesn’t move. He’s seen me do this enough times, he knows it’s not a threat.

“There was … an incident a week before finals. You’ve been there, you know what a tense time it is. A lot of pressure going round, and tempers fray, old enmities get stirred up.” He flicks his fingers and the nonsense lines break apart in a little cloud of sparks. “There were six of us that didn’t graduate because of it. Things got out of hand and … well, it was leave as requested, or face far harsher penalties. I couldn’t put my family through an official enquiry, or the sanctions due, so I simply left.”

“Professor Torven and Master Stormshield spoke up on your behalf, I heard.” Wenrich’s watching Garnon with a much more complicated look on his face now. “I knew I’d heard you name somewhere before. From what I understand you weren’t truly at fault, you attempted to stop it. Why not fight the decision? You had grounds.”

Garnon looks at him for a long moment, his own frown deepening, jaw tight. “No, I shouldn’t have been there, and I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. In the end I think I got off lightly, all things considered. I may not get to wear the white and silver, but they let me keep my books, and they can’t exactly ban me from performing magic when it’s called for. I’m still a wizard, Order or not.”

“They didn’t leave for their own good. “ Roe mutters bitterly, just looking into the fire. “They were protecting someone else.”

“Roe, please –”

“You’re too hard on yourself, you shouldn’t have to wear that. You’re right, Master Clearwood, it wasn’t their fault. They could have contested the Board’s decision, but then someone else would’ve had to come forward on their behalf. And if they had it would have destroyed their future.” The hob gives his friend a sidelong glance as they grimace. “So they took the blame along with the others, for better or worse.”

Another loaded silence follows, but despite the revelations it’s nowhere near as uncomfortable as those that have come before. Even Garnon finally starts to mellow, even if he does still cast the occasional reproachful look the hob’s way. By the time I’ve finished with my sword and slid it back into its sheath, the atmosphere feels almost companionable.

Then Shayline stalks back into the circle, taking her seat again with a harsh look on her face. She finally looks up at Kesla, opens her mouth, then closes it again, clearly unsure where to start. Her eyes don’t seem so hard now. “Look, I understand where you’re coming from, and I agree up to a point. But I have my own conditions, and you’re going to agree to them before I tell you anything. Is that fair?”

Kesla sets her own sheathed sword down at her side, looks her over for a long moment. Finally she nods with a subtle smile. “I kind of expected it, so yeah. I’m listening.”

Shayline fixes her with a glare so sharp and hard it’s like a blade. “I don’t want any of my people to die if it can be avoided. I’m not telling you to hold your blows, if it gets to the point where we have to fight and deaths are inevitable, then yes, you’ll do what you must. But I need you to do all you can not to kill anyone if you can help it. That’s a deal breaker, Kesla Shoon.”

Art looks to Kesla, wide eyed, and I can’t help the same. Even Krakka’s particularly watchful in this moment, but Wenrich remains thoughtful, while I’m not even sure if Yeslee’s even still paying attention, instead looking off into the night now. Kesla, to her credit, seems remarkably calm, and when she nods that smile still seems to be there. “All right, we’ll do what we can. It’s gonna mean a lot of planning, though. I hope you’re up for it.”

Thoughtful for a few moments, Shayline finally nods too, then gets up with ease, moving around the fire to approach Kesla. Driver 8 doesn’t move, but I’m sure if he was flesh I would have seen him tense at this. She stops a few feet short and extends her hand, and after a moment Kesla gets up herself, looking at the hand for another moment before taking it. “I guess we have an accord, then.”

“Great.” Kesla gives her hand a few good, firm pumps before letting go and sitting back down while Shayline returns to her own seat. Looking around the camp now I can see pretty much every face is showing at least subtle signs of relief, like a huge weight’s finally been lifted, and for the first time since the bridge it feels like there might actually be a happy ending to this mess. I start to breathe a little easier myself.

“All right,” Shayline sighs after a minute or so “What do you want to know?”