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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 33

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: KESLA

“I really wish you’d let me do this as soon as I got to you.” Krakka grumbles now, giving me a frustrated side-eye while he pours his healing magic into my ribs. I can feel it working already, what the sympathetic mending didn’t do when he set my knee right again starting to take hold while each breath I take hurts less than the last. I still tense each time I take in a lungful of air, uncomfortably aware it’s largely in my head now, really. I’m exhausted, just like the rest of us, so while his magic’s working well enough as always I ain’t really feeling it anywhere near so well as I’d like.

“I was not a priority.” I reply through still-gritted teeth, leaning my head back as I will this to work a bit faster so I can just relax for a few minutes. “More’n one of ‘em needed you a fuckload quicker’n I did when you finally made it in here. I couldn’t have you dulling what you had on me ‘fore you got to ‘em.”

He looks down now as I start bending my knee again, working it some to loosen it up a bit more. ‘Spite of him fixing it up it’s still a little stiffer than I’d really like, and I might still need it before the end o’ the night. ‘Specially if I do go with the new plan.

“How is it?”

“It’ll serve.” I growl, although now it’s more just due to my mood, the pain’s already fading fast now as the knitting in my ribs seems to be racing towards completion. “I just wish this bloody thing’d stay fixed. It had the worst bloody timing to go out on me, I swear.”

“Well I imagine you tweaked it doing something spectacularly foolish, just like the last time I had to repair it again.” He meets my sharp glare with an unflinching look of his own. “Am I wrong?”

Rolling my eyes, I let my head drop back again. “No, you ain’t. But I did have more pressing concerns at the time. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“That is how it tends to happen.” He presses one final time, and when I don’t wince this time he lets out a heavy sigh and takes his hand away at last. The warmth lingers for several moments after, the last lingering licks of pain already starting to fade. “What about this?”

“No, this one I got honestly. That sellsword, Mallys … she’s bloody good. She got a lucky shot in. If it hadn’t been for Janna’s tailoring I’d have bought it up there.” I take a deep breath and draw my legs up again, leaning forward now as I lean forward onto my feet so I can plant them under me to start pushing myself up. I pause a moment while I’m crouched now, waiting for my knee to twinge and lock up on me again, but it behaves itself and I let the breath go slow as I shove myself upright. In spite o’ the lingering remnants of his magic there’s still a lot of joints in me complain some before I’m standing again. “Fuck … I dunno, you’d think I’m still too young to feel this old.”

“Please go easier on yourself, Kesla.” he sighs, sounding every bit as tired as I am but also a good deal more regretful as he has to lean into the wall to aid him in following me up. “My Lady can only do so much, you’ve still gone too long without any real rest. Things have been bad enough for the others, I couldn’t bear it if …”

When he falters now I look down at him, seeing the despair welling up in him as he picks up his hammer and swings it up across his shoulder. I step close and lay my hand against his back, giving him a little push which he lets tilt him gently into my side. He lets his head rest against my now mended ribs and press a little more firmly, not really a hug but affectionate enough under the circumstances. “It’s all right, old man. We’re … good enough, for now. ‘Least this part of it’s over.”

For a moment he starts to nod, but then his frown returns and he turns a much more wary look up to me now. “Wait … I don’t understand, this part? What are you saying –”

“We ain’t done yet, Krakka.” I stoop to pluck my swordbelt up from the floor and take a moment to unwind it before starting to strap it back on. “That heinous bitch is still out there, so’s the warlock, an’ worse. We still got a price on our heads, with those sellswords out there. So far Gael’s the only one took one o’ them off the board.”

“But you can’t … no, that’s idiotic. You can’t go out hunting now, it’s folly. Kesla –”

“I ain’t. I’m gonna chase Hontiresk down. Even if I gotta cause a proper stink in the Authority, I’m gonna make that bastard talk to me. I need him to give the rest of ‘em up now.” I buckle up and fiddle with the belt’s lie for a moment before finally sighing as I look down at him again. “I could use you in this, old man. I know you ain’t one for the rough shit, but …”

This just makes his frown deepen, and he looks away as he grips Bloodmoon’s shaft a little tighter. Pondering what I’m asking. He knows well enough what I mean now, when I find Hontiresk I plan on getting real ugly with him to make him spill the beans. “Damn it … you don’t make it very easy for me to be your friend sometimes, Kesla. I can tolerate a lot, but …” He sighs, shifting his feet, then looks up at me again. “But I’ll stand with you, if you need me. For Gael, and for … well, after what we’ve found here, I can’t let that bastard get away with what he had to do with it any more than you can. And for the boy …”

Yeah, that’s got me twisted up in knots as much as he is. When the others finally opened the way so he could make it to us, he did what he could for Gael’s father, stabilizing him enough for Lady Naru to port back to the Temple with him for real treatment at the hands o’ the healers there. He was determined to fix Shay’s wound after, but she insisted he come back to her, Zuldrad needed him way more urgent … but he came back after only a few minutes, looking as crestfallen as I ever seen him before. The hobgoblin had already died before he could get to him …

That news hit me and Shay both like a ton o’ bricks, but it was worse for Darwyn. From what I been able to work out she’d managed to keep herself distracted enough by the effort to get him some help, but once she found out that was all for naught it just broke her. When I found him lying there on my way to help Shay he was still hanging on, he must’ve passed while I was helping Gael … but to be honest I don’t know what I could’ve done. Just one look told me the old cleric was his only hope.

Art managed to hold it together enough to comfort her, but I could tell it was breaking him too, so when Tulen ported back to the Temple with Gael I had her take the pair of ‘em with her, and made her promise not to let him return after. That’s it for him now, I can’t let him work himself any more raw now than he already is. So she came back on her own, while Krakka was dealing with Shay, and I had a quiet word with both her and Naru while he was busy.

The sorcerer’s staying out of this one, same as I had her do last time I went to see the corrupt Administrator. She needs to keep her integrity intact, with Madame Daste gone she’s all we got left besides Thura an’ the Silver Order. Cafi Sirsk is still in position with the Administration, doing their best to cover for us, but I don’t know how much longer they’ll be able to before a successor’s named. It’s a mess, and bound to get a whole lot worse now we just lit a fucking massive beacon in the middle of the city, even if it was largely by accident.

I had Naru contact ‘em to inform the townsguard and whoever else is up there dealing with this mess that there’s people down here needing help, people that were kidnapped from their homes at the behest o’ Hontiresk and his patrons. Whoever they might be. Inviting the Authority to blow the lid right off this mess, however big a stink that raises, as much to blacken Vandryss’ eye as cuz it’s just the right thing to do.

Sighing, I give him another clumsy little half-hug. We stay like this for maybe a minute, then I hear someone clear their throat behind us and step away, turning to meet whoever it is. I find Shay standing by, looking about as grave as we must do now, absent-mindedly fiddling with the knot of the torn swatch of fine black wool tied round her midsection now, over the corset. Covering up the gaping hole from Jammund’s cut, I guess. The remnants of Art’s cloak, apparently, sacrificed to protect her dignity. She winces a little as she smooths the cloth down over where the wound itself used to be, no more hurt than I am now but mindful all the same. She’s been at it long as I have, so she’s feeling it just as bad. We’re all of us strung out.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” she asks me now, looking to Krakka as she realises I’ve already talked him into this daft plan too. “This was bad, but at least it was something that had to be done. What you’re thinking about is … it could blow up in our faces if we get it wrong.”

“This needs to be done too, but you can still pull out if you don’t reckon you can be a party to what I gotta do. I won’t judge you for it. To be honest I’d kinda prefer it if you didn’t.”

Krakka gives me a sharp look now, as if offended by the suggestion after I already essentially emotionally strongarmed him into coming. But he holds his tongue, instead just rolling his eyes and stepping past her into the corridor beyond.

Shay just gives me a similarly cold look as she steps the rest of the way into the room. “After all we’ve been though, how can you –”

“Yeah, all right. Cool.” I wave her off. “I’m glad to have you, really.” I lean back against the wall now, taking a deep breath as I rub at my newly-mended side now, unable to break that psychological habit. “Everybody else been let out now?”

Nodding, Shay steps up beside me and turns to flop back into the wall beside me now, looking a good deal more fresh and assured when she does it. “They have. We’ve opened all the doors, and the healers Shul sent from the Temple have been doing their best to tend to those who need it. She promised to have food and water brought down too within the hour. Otherwise they seem satisfied enough to stay where they are until the Authority makes their way down here to … assess the situation, I suppose. That idea does have its merits, I suppose. Make them pony up now that we’ve done all the actual work. It has a nice ring to it, actually.”

Shrugging, I let my head drop back again, looking up at the bare stone-and-mortar ceiling with its thick, worn, badly polished rafters. “That one’s for Daste. She would’ve done the same, I’m sure. I just wish …”

“Yeah.” Shay sighs, and she falls silent much as I have. We stay as we are for a few moments, and I ponder what we already been through tonight.

Lady Naru led the charge in the end, racing through the corridors with the others to get to that doorway ahead of the mercenaries, and Thel, Brung and Darwyn fought to cover her as she set about the business of opening the way for the ones still stuck in the tunnels. In the end she didn’t bother with anything fancy, no need to try and counter whatever spells Tavarrat laid on the door. Instead she just blew out the wall it was mounted in, after communicating to whoever was stood on the other side to clear the hell outta there before she did it. So the still-sealed door and its frame wound up blown right across the antechamber outside while the way was clear for our reinforcements to come in.

Mallys’ remaining people didn’t wait round long after that, I’m told the hedge wizard took one look at what was coming and just grabbed hold of the halfling before porting away, then came back for the imori. Naru said that one seemed particularly reluctant to leave, which made my skin crawl to consider. Honestly, I’m glad I ain’t run into him yet, he sounds like way more trouble than I’d be ready to handle.

Looking down now, I ponder the body that Gael left behind. The half-orc Shay fought, back on the Heath. Once I ponder his remains I remember the connection that Mallys let slip she had with him when it was clear he was way out of his depth in that fight, and the recollection gives me an uneasy feeling now. From what I can tell, the dynamic within their group’s very much like ours, they’re less a collection of like-minded professionals, bound together for profit, than a makeshift family. She’d do anything she could to protect every one of ‘em, I’m sure of it. But this one … yeah, he was special to her, may be there was genuine love there. And now he’s dead. That spells major trouble for us …

When I turn to her now, I find Shay’s pondering the body too, and almost certainly thinking the same. When our eyes meet for a moment she winces again, sucking a heavy breath in through her teeth, and I growl in sympathy. Yeah, this is definitely gonna come back to bite us in.

Then Lady Naru steps into the room, stopping just inside the doorway as she leans into her staff. She looks tired now, but there’s more to it than that. She seems fraught, I can see it clear as day, and I know well enough what the root o’ that is. She’s worried about Gael. It’s become clear enough how much the half-elf means to her, and their father, which is another reason I didn’t want her coming with us any more’n I wanted Art along. Far as I’m concerned once we’re done here she should head straight back to the Temple to look after them, and herself too, preferable.

“All right then, I’ve done what you asked me to do. Tulen will take you to it once I’m gone.” She sighs. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come? You can’t be sure that Vandryss won’t be there. Tulen’s certainly capable, but if she is there, especially if Tavarrat’s with her –”

“No. I’m sure. Sit this one out. Please.” I try not to wince when I see her flinch, clearly wounded by my tone as much as my insistence, and push away from the wall now to step up to her, reaching out to touch her arm. “Look, I’m doing you a favour. You don’t want to be part o’ this. Just go back an’ give Gael a hug, or … I dunno. Just tell ‘em we’ll be back soon. And thank you. You been a proper godsend, I swear. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

Blinking, she looks up at me, and while she still looks so down she nods, managing a weak smile now. “Yes, that’s very true.” she breathes, then before I realise it she’s stepped forward quick and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. I’m so surprised it takes me a moment to respond, but then I hug her back, crushing her as much as I dare.

“Thank you.” she mutters into my shoulder “For everything you’ve done. For Gael, and Darion. That means the world to me.”

Giving her a little extra squeeze for that, I just nod back, trusting she can feel it on her shoulder. She pulls away soon after, letting another heavy sigh go, then turns to Shay, who’s more ahead o’ the situation than I was so she’s already opening her arms. As the sorcerer folds her into another embrace, I step away and, after a moment’s consideration, carry on into the corridor.

There’s people already out here, many of ‘em shabby and worn and at the end o’ their rope, looking like they been through hell and starved within an inch o’ their lives. Some seem proper broken, just sat slumped against the wall or laid out on the floor, but others are making the most o’ being out of their makeshift cells, breathing air that’s at least fresher than what they been stuck in since the Hardway. As I look round more’n one looks my way, and while there’s a troubling mixture of emotions on many o’ their faces I see gratitude in more’n one. I gotta take a deep breath and fight back the thickening in my throat as I feel my eyes start to burn as tears start to threaten me.

‘Least they seem to be in good hands now. Soon as we had the place secure an’ Darion had been shipped back to the Temple, Shul had her own people wing their way down to us, resident wizards porting clerics in to tend to those who needed appropriate care on the spot. Those healers are passing among the freed prisoners now, working their god magic, offering medical aid, or just a kind word and a shoulder to cry on. It’s heartening enough to watch, but seeing the kindness of Minerva’s Faithful still makes it hard for me to keep my own emotions in check.

Then I spot Thel ducking through the jumble, with Tulen in tow, Krakka tracking along a little behind ‘em both now. I’m a little surprised to see the dwarf back, I expected she’d prob’ly stay at the Temple with her friends now they’d been found and ported out to safety, much as they’d hoped. Part o’ me’s glad to see her, figuring she’ll be help enough if we do run into trouble where we’re going, but I still kinda wish she’d stayed after all.

“Hey.” She gives me a surprisingly broad grin as she draws close, looking me over now. “Nice to see you up. How’s the knee?”

“It’ll serve.” I step up to meet her now, trying to smile back but not feeling much success in the endeavour. “Surprised to see you back, I would’ve thought –”

“Du an’ Brung are back at the Temple with ‘em. Yulla was tired as hell, she wore herself real thin trying to keep Drin alive, almost all the pittance o’ food an’ water they gave ‘em to survive she gave to her little girl. Shul gave her something to drink, sent her right off to sleep, she said she’ll be out for ‘least a day from it but when she wakes up she’ll be feeling a whole lot better. Du’s keeping an eye on her, I insisted. Brung would’ve come back with me but Drin just would not let go of ‘im. He’s always been her favourite, an’ she needs to feel safe after all this, so …” She shrugs, growing more wistful now.

“But you could’ve –”

“No, I really couldn’t.” Her smile’s gone in an instant as she gives me a very pointed look. “I owe you, we all do. Never mind that you saved us all in the Gods Round, an’ then again at the Heath, after I got real stupid. We never could’ve found ‘em without your help. Any help you need now we’re here for you. So here I am.”

This makes my throat feel a little thicker, but I still manage to push the tears back down again. I manage what feels like a more sincere smile, too. “Thanks. I really appreciate the help.”

Looking up past her now, I see Tulen’s clearly a bit more strung out, and the more pragmatic part o’ me starts to wonder if maybe Lady Naru would be a better choice right now. The young wizard’s doing her best pretending she’s up to the task, but I can see the worry an’ wear in her now, knowing she’s gotta be fretting about Gael and Darion. But we need her right now, so I have to bite back the concern and just go along with the plan as it is. “You good?”

She blinks when I ask, but while she gives her borrowed staff a tighter squeeze than I’d like she still nods, and don’t stammer any when she speaks like I half expected her to. “You don’t have to worry about me. I can do this.”

“Course you can.” I lie, trying not to wince. “So, we ready?”

Nodding, she starts to turn back now, pointing down the way they just come. “This way.”

Turning back, I find I don’t have to hold us up after all as I see Shay’s already waiting behind me, so I just give her a nod and cock my head for her to follow. When I turn back Tulen’s starting to make her way back down the corridor, weaving carefully through the assorted crowd, so I just follow while Thel forges ahead after her.

She leads us around two corners before we finally turn into one of the newly-liberated rooms. It’s bleak in here, just more o’ that cheap carpet and bare walls with fresh lit lamps mounted high in the walls casting a stark light on the confines some o’ these poor folk were trapped in. Mostly it’s just an unpleasant miasma, the whole place stinking of fear-sweat and piss and shit from the buckets in the corner, but a significant section of the carpet’s been dragged up and rolled away from the bare floor now. In its place, on the cold, flat concrete, is a teleportation circle, fresh drawn in chalk, courtesy of Lady Naru. I don’t need to wonder where it goes, this was entirely my plan.

There’s two more folk waiting for us in here, looking suitably intimidating and more’n a little bloody now from spearheading the battle in the tunnels before they got hung up at the door. Sonagh just gives me a simple nod which I return in kind, but the massive bugbear, Dow, tips me a sly wink and cocked grin which manages to raise my own half-hearted smile. I step up to them while the others make their way straight to the circle.

“You’re okay with this, then?” I ask the orc as he picks his shield up again, Dow following his example. “You done enough for us already. Might be better if you didn’t get involved in what we do next.”

Sonagh just frowns at me. “I owe it to Venne to see this through. An’ Dow’s his own man, which means he’ll follow me whether I want him to or not.”

“Damn straight.” the bugbear rumbles as he stalks right past me, stepping onto the circle as the others start to gather on it too.

“Okay then.” I turn and step up beside Tulen, and Sonagh doesn’t hesitate to follow. I turn to the wizard. “Ready.”

Sighing, Tulen looks down to study the markings under her feet as the stragglers finally take up their place with us, then licks her lips as she starts to weave a sigil. It takes her a few moments to complete it while the chalk lines start to shine brighter with each second, then she speaks the incantation and I take a deep breath, even though I know from past experience this should be much smoother.

Everything seems to shift in a comparatively gentle shunt, then once the flash clears we’re stood in a more open space, with much fresher air. I look up first, seeing a night sky overhead, oil-fed lamplight shining round us, then down, finding we’re now stood just inside a small garden patio just inside the low-walled perimeter of a three storey building. It’s a pretty swanky looking place, ostentatious without being overly gaudy, as much wood as expensive carved stone in the construction, while the landscaped plants have been mercilessly manicured with a cruel precision I remember Gael called topiary. This is definitely somewhere up on the Hill, which means we gotta be in the right place.

I asked Lady Naru to draw us a teleportation circle that would send us direct to wherever Hontiresk is, no matter where he might be hiding out or moving to when we actually used it. Apparently this was a tall order, this kind of teleportation magic is real hard to master and tricky to execute at best, but she was equal to the task. So it’s a safe bet we’ll find that sleazy bastard somewhere in this place.

There’s a sign by the front door, engraved in an almost indecently smooth, highly-reflective polished brass plaque, which reads: UNTERMER GOODFELLOWS. GENTLEMEN’S CLUB AND GAME ROOMS. MEMBERS ONLY. When I look to Tulen she’s reading this too, and when she turns she has a nervous look on her face now, like she really don’t like what this entails.

Taking a breath, I just start up the steps to the substantial, polished redwood door, which could weigh half a ton all on its own. Gods, I hope we won’t have to try an’ break through that, looks like even Dow’d have trouble with it. I’m kinda wishing Big Man was with us now.

Tulen follows with a startled gasp, likely wanting to beg me off but stopping herself at the last. I don’t turn, instead stepping up to the door itself, immediately seeing it’s already open. Jut a crack, but it’s noticeable enough, which gives me wary pause as I turn back to the others. Sonagh’s starting to step up after us, and I give him a look, pointing at him now to signal for him to slow up, get his wits about him when he follows. He frowns, baring his teeth, and his hand immediately goes to his sword.

Pushing the door, I let it swing inwards, holding my ground as I peer through with both my hands gripping Hefdred, one on the hilt while the other grasps the scabbard, ready to draw. Listening as well as looking, paying attention for any sign of … well, just about anything. This already feels all kinds of buggered …

The place is silent, which is a whole lot more worrying than sounds of violence or screaming or anything else we could encounter would be. I take a deep breath and step all the way inside, going slow as I adjust my grip but keeping my sword sheathed, waiting to see what happens first before I commit.

Gods, this place is as ridiculous as the Playhouse was. Everything’s just stupid fancy, the walls and floors and even the ceiling of this entrance hall furnished entirely in the same kind smoothly polished and intimidatingly expensive-looking redwood as the door. There’s another one o’ those chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, although this one’s a good deal more modest, just cast iron but still lit with a fuckload o’ candles. The fact the similarly expensive floor ain’t been completely ruined by dripping wax speaks volumes on the kind o’ dedicated care the staff here must take keeping an eye on it. Or maybe a single drop’s a firing offence so they got no choice. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised in a place like this.

So far nothing actually seems off, aside from the fact it’s so quiet. But there’s something else that’s bugging me now, too. I cast a sidelong glance behind me to find Tulen’s the first in behind me, still gripping her staff tight as she takes the place in with wide eyes. I keep my voice low as I lean closer. “Hey … places like this, they usually have doormen, right?”

For a moment she just looks at me, and I can tell she’s working out what I actually asked in her nervousness. Then she blinks, nodding. “Oh, yes. Of course. I mean I’ve only heard about places like this, they’re very strict with their rules. Usually women aren’t even allowed in them, unless they’ve been specifically invited by one of the members. And even then …” She pauses when she catches my impatient frown, wincing a little as she works on getting herself back on track. “And you’re right, of course. There should be significant security in this place.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I draw my sword immediately and give up any pretence of stealth now, stalking into the centre of the room, underneath the chandelier, to turn a slow circle. I don’t even make it halfway before I spot a pretty major confirmation. “Well shit.”

“What is it?” Tulen scrambles in now, hefting her staff some as she tenses, turning to look into the corner I’m inspecting now, out of sight from the doorway. “Oh! My … well that’s … I see what you mean. That’s not good at all.”

Sonagh follows her right in, and when he sees the body sprawled in a bloody tangle he just grunts, noncommittal, like he’s been expecting it.

This is obviously one of the security guards I was expecting, very much in keeping with what I come to expect, ‘specially seeing what Hontiresk liked to keep around. Big, solid and very well armed. Not that it helped, this poor bastard looks to have been carved up pretty spectacularly. Whoever did it clearly has issues.

Looking at it now, I already know who did this. And it’s a real bad sign indeed.

“Spread out, look everywhere. We need to find Hontiresk. Now.”

“Dow mate, do us a favour an’ stay with Mistress Shoon.” Sonagh growls as he draws his own sword, hefting his shield as he starts stalking across the room, heading through the door at the back o’ this main room. I turn to the bugbear now, finding him watching me with a stern frown.

“Sorry.” I mutter, feeling a little bad about him getting lumbered like that.

He just shrugs, picking his own shield up now as he just hefts his intimidating battleaxe, letting it rest across his shoulder. “It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. Doubt you really need it, you look tough enough to handle yourself, but I’ll do him that favour all the same.”

Nodding, I look down at Krakka as he starts to frown, already catching what I’m thinking. “Go with Tulen.” When he opens his mouth I run right over him. “C’mon, old man. I need you to play this smart. Back her up.”

Sighing, he don’t even grace me with a reply, he just starts tromping up the staircase climbing the right side o’ the room after the young wizard. I turn to Shay now. “D’you mind staying here? Keeping an eye on the street?”

She arches her brows, seeming surprised. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t like this any. I don’t want anything to sneak up on us in here. Things are …” I grimace. “I dunno, but I don’t like it.”

“Okay.” She nods, sheathing her sword again as she steps back towards the still open door. “I’ll come find you if … well, you know.”

That just leaves Thel, who cocks a brow up at me now. “What about me?”

“Go after Sonagh. I doubt there’s actually anybody here now, ‘least still alive. But just in case.”

“Aye, you got a point there.” She shoulders her battleaxe with a nod and heads off in the direction the orc went.

“All right then, luv.” Dow rumbles now, quietly expectant. “Where to?”

“Second floor. Call it a hunch.”

The bugbear nods his agreement and heads straight for the stairs, letting me follow at my own leisure. I pause at the bottom, looking to the door again, and find Shay looking back at me. She frowns when she catches my eye, but gives a rueful little half-smile after a moment, and I return my own best I can before turning away and starting my own climb.

We find more bodies when we reach the first floor, two cleaved and bloody like the first, looking like they been cut down on the run, and neither of ‘em seem to be fighters like the guard clearly was. More like highborn noblemen, soft targets that didn’t stand a chance against whatever it was caught up with ‘em. Makes me queasy just looking at ‘em.

The third body’s a guard, but he wasn’t killed with a sword. He looks burned, something hot and nasty, but while there’s scorch marks on the thick carpet underfoot and streaking the walls they look more like something seared across what it’s blackened with significant speed. This stinks of magic, which makes me think o’ Tavarrat. Which would confirm my suspicion that the blade must’ve been Vandryss’.

I go ahead now as we climb the next flight up to the second floor. We find more bodies as we climb, broken as much by tumbling down the steps as any damage they received while they fled, but there’s room enough on the steps to slip past with ease. The landing above yields a good deal more, we have to step with a lot more care now to make it through the nearest doorway, and I find myself checking each o’ the bodies as we go. Both hoping one of ‘em is Hontiresk, but also dreading finding him dead after all. Which’d make all o’ this worthless.

When I step inside the room, Dow patiently waiting for his turn behind, I find myself stopping just inside the door, a little taken aback by what I find. Another ridiculously spacious room, tall as it is wide, decorated much the same as the rest of the building’s interior save the fact every wall in here is bookshelves, from floor to ceiling, every one of ‘em full. Again I’m a little baffled by the kind of effortless displays of pointless wealth highborns continuously gotta rub in common folk’s faces.

There’s more bodies in here, but one immediately draws my eye at the expense of everyone else who’s been cut or blown down. The moment I see it any fight I might’ve had in me ebbs away, my arms dropping flat at my sides while my shoulders sag. “Shit …”

“What is it?” Dow slips past me in the space available and squares up soon as he’s inside, bringing his shield up while he readies his axe … then falters when he sees there’s no actual point. He sags almost immediately, his shield thumping on the floor as he frowns, turning back to me. “I don’t get it. They’re all –”

“Yeah.” I hiss through my teeth, more regretful than angry now as I sheathe my sword again. I really don’t need it right now. “They are. There ain’t no threat left here, you can stow what you need to.”

His frown darkens and I can sense a question coming, but he holds his tongue as I just start walking across the room. Focused on the same sight that took all the wind outta me in the first place – Gubal, the orc bodyguard, pinned to the wall in the midst of what’s clearly the debris of a desperate fight to the death. When I get close I realise that’s his sword run through both him and the wall. Impaled with a lot of strength, clearly. As if that cut throat weren’t already wound enough to finish him off.

“Oh … fuck, that’s just … damn it Gubal, you didn’t deserve to go out like that.”

“Who is ‘e?” Dow wonders now, close behind me now, looking up at the dead orc. He’s already strapped his shield across his back.

I’m already stepping away, feeling genuinely sick now. “Hired muscle, but a higher class’n most. The kind deserves genuine respect, far as I’m concerned. Definitely deserved better’n that.” I point to the corpse slumped in the chair nearby, its severed head lying on the floor several feet away. “Worked for him.”

Dow’s next words are a long time coming, but when they do it’s in one big, heavy sigh. “Ah hell. That’s him, ain’t it? This fancy fella we’re after.”

“Unfortunately.” I’m eyeing the bar in the corner now, suddenly desperate for a snifter.

The sound of running feet entering the room stops me short, and I’m already turning as Shay skids to a stop a little inside the door. “We’ve got trouble. Outside. Major trouble.”

“What is it?” I find myself growling the words, feeling angry and tired and just sick o’ this shit all at once now. The weight of not only this whole night but the entire week we just had is bearing down on me now, I can feel it crushing me.

“Townsguard. And Terrors, a lot of them.” She’s taking in the room now, the carnage. Finally her eyes focus on the body pinned to the wall like some mad butterfly nut’s gone off in here. Her eyes are wide, like she’s having trouble making sense of it all. “Gods … what happened in here?”

“Vandryss killed Hontiresk.” I snarl as I start making my way back across the room towards her. My skin’s crawling, while a deep, unsettling chill rolls up my spine.

“She did?” She gawks at me now, more shocked than ever, and has trouble finding the words as I reach her. “But … I don’t understand. That makes no fucking sense, Kesla. Why the hell would she do that? I thought they were –”

Taking hold of her upper arms now, I catch her eyes and hold her attention now. “Cuz she had no more use for him, ‘cept one. She murdered him, then she an’ Tavarrat murdered everybody else in the place to make it look like we did it.”

“Fuck!” Dow snaps now, and I hear his heavy footfalls pounding after me now as he hurries to catch up with me as I turn Shay round and start towing her towards the door while I wait for her to catch up to the situation in her astounded state.

“We gotta get outta here right now.”

THE END OF BOOK FOUR

THE STORY WILL BE CONTINUED IN BOOK FIVE

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 33 #final chapter #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 32

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: DRAMRATH

When Vandryss walks into the room it’s all I can do not to stalk right up to her and behead her on the spot. I’ve just gotten so thoroughly sick of all of this shit, I truly don’t care what might happen anymore, I just want this done with, and to never have to look at her hateful smarmy face again. Their plan has gone to hell in spectacular fashion, leaving my friends in a genuinely terrible situation, and she just looks bored. It’s honestly a miracle I don’t kill her right now.

The fact we’re stood at the back of the main upstairs lounge of Hontiresk’s gods-awful gentleman’s club, with more than a few of his fellow idle-rich peers present to witness such an act, is just about the only reason I don’t. As it is I still break away from my position leaning against the impressively tall bookshelf to approach her as she joins us now, my still empty hands itching to commit magnificent violence upon her. Trouble stays where she is for now, still cradling her sword like a mother with her child, trying to ignore the disapproving looks the distinguished highborn gentlemen around us aren’t even trying to hide. She hates this place even more than I do, that much has been clear since the moment we set foot in here, but while the general atmosphere of unnecessary opulence and unrestrained arrogance just makes me ill-tempered, she’s become a good deal more meek.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best place for you to be right now, Mallys.” she sighs as she looks me over, her expression slipping from apathy to irritation now. “You might be better off joining your companions, helping them complete the task you’ve so far spectacularly bungled.”

“Shut up.” I snap at her now, stepping close so I can tower over her as I glare down with all of my enraged intensity. “Your idiotic little enterprise, as you so charmingly call it, has turned into an incredible clusterfuck. You better pray none of my friends end up getting hurt by what you’ve done here, or I really will have to end you on the spot. Regardless of where we are.”

The way she just rolls her eyes as she cranes up at me, like she doesn’t care a single jot about the fact she’s barely more than half my size, is so infuriating that I feel the fire raring up inside me again. “Calm yourself, Mallys, you’re creating a scene. You wouldn’t want your employer’s business being aired in public now, would you?”

“It already is, you stupid cunt. The Playhouse is burning down. As soon as the Authority find out what you idiots have been doing down there in the catacombs, there’s going to be absolute uproar. There won’t be any covering this up any more, it’s already out there for anyone to see. In a few hours you’ll be done in Untermer.”

“Calm yourself, Mistress Mallys.” Hontiresk produces a cigar from somewhere inside his robes and starts rolling it between the fingers of his right hand while his left starts rummaging through the various layers of rich grey silk and linen draped over him. He’s sat there in that ridiculously opulent soft leather armchair like he doesn’t have a care in the world, sniffing the expensively rolled tobacco, looking almost as bored by all of this as Vandryss. “The Oceanic has been insured for centuries, and this … unfortunate incident is clearly no fault of mine. I stand to be recompensed significantly more capital than the entire business is even worth. I can rebuild it finer than it already was and still pocket a substantial profit on top of it.” He finally finds the silver cutter he’s been searching for and snips the tapered end of the cigar with swift efficiency. “Perhaps I should invest it in some form of expansion. What do you think I should try?”

Gubal doesn’t even have to move from where he’s been stood the whole time since we first arrived after we all arrived here together from the Playhouse via swift private carriage, he simply leans over the back left corner of his master’s chair as he strikes a match. Hontiresk doesn’t even glance in his direction, simply turning his head just enough to meet the flame with the cigar he plants between his lips. Their complimentary actions unfold with such startling precision it’s clear they’ve done this a thousand times before.

“I don’t fucking know, your world is burning down around you and you don’t even seem to care.” I completely fail to keep the frustrated sarcasm out of my voice as I step away from her so I can regard him more directly. “I’d suggest you buy yourself a one-way ticket to the Isles of Gedouhan on the fastest clipper you can charter, but I suspect you wouldn’t listen to that advice.”

When he looks up at me with a slightly raised eyebrow, the way his face tightens mid-puff is the first real show of any actual acknowledgement of inconvenience he’s shown all night. Even when we were obliged to flee at Tavarrat’s insistence once he contacted her with our warning via a strangely coloured stone he produced from one of his well-concealed pockets, he remained so unreasonably calm it was all I could do not to shake him. It doesn’t feel very much like the victory I would have preferred. “I really don’t see what you –”

“Gods, this has become exhausting. I’ve always credited you with far more intelligence than you’re currently displaying, it’s like you’re being wilfully dense. She’s fucked you and you don’t even seem to see it. If you had any sense left you would have cut loose of her and her dark, dangerous friends the moment she had that Silver Order wizard kidnapped, and certainly before you called on me and mine to murder a dozen or so people to cover up the mess she’s made.”

His eyes flicker around the room to check his surrounding peers, far enough away they might not have caught my every word even though I’m not making any effort to control my volume, but close enough for my words to carry to them all the same. This admittedly tall, expansive room has been suitably muffled by the well-laden bookshelves lining all the walls and the thick carpets underfoot and richly upholstered furniture, but even so there are more than enough pairs of eyes still trained on our group.

“Have a care, Dramrath. I’d have you remember –”

“Oh stick it, Refick. You may have bought me and mine for a pretty sum for the duration of our transaction but you haven’t bought my silence. You’ve been an incredible fool letting this … woman involve you in one of the most heinous horror-shows I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness, and it’s finally snapped back to bite her in the face, and you with her. For someone I’ve always considered to be significantly more intelligent than your father you really have proven very stupid in your judgement since I’ve been gone.”

Vandryss glides past me now, still moving with unnervingly silent ease across the rich, thick carpet to the substantial wet bar set against the side wall. Tavarrat’s already there, nursing a glass of what I suspect is just water that I don’t think she’s actually touched yet. She has her staff propped casually against her shoulder as she leans against it, still watching the floor very much as she’s been doing since she preceded Vandryss into the room and took up her silent position. Now she looks up for the first time, giving her colleague a wary sidelong glance that the smaller woman largely ignores as she collects a tumbler and immediately fills it from a decanter without even bothering to consider her selection.

Something about it has the shorthairs at the back of my neck bristling, it just feels wrong. Again my hands start to itch, and I shoot Trouble a wary look, finding she’s already watching them both with narrowed eyes and a tight jaw. Hontiresk, meanwhile, is frowning down at his expertly manicured nails as he takes a hefty pull on his cigar, his mood clearly thoroughly ruined now.

“My business with Mistress Vandryss, along with those she represents, remains my business, not yours. I would again prefer to remind you that I hired you for a very specific task, one which has only the most tangential bearing on any other business I may have at this time. I will, however, state that your continued failure to complete said task has created the circumstances which have made this current inconvenience possible, and so –”

“Oh please, this whole shitshow’s been entirely inevitable ever since you first let her move those people out of that warehouse on First Point and stash them underneath your big fancy theatre. Honestly, I’m surprised she hadn’t already worked out that was going to happen ahead of time, it seems painfully obvious with hindsight.” I turn to her now, giving her a suitably sharp glare. “Or perhaps you did. You do seem the type who likely got a sadistic thrill out of setting your own business partner up to take the fall for your shady dealings.”

Knocking back the contents of her glass in one single swallow, Vandryss gives me such a bland look it almost feels like sarcasm. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mallys. I’m as surprised by this unfortunately turn of events as your employer.”

Rolling my eyes as I turn back to Hontiresk, I let out a weary sigh as I take a step away, starting to sidestep towards Trouble now. I’ve a mind to just leave them both to it now, I’ve definitely had enough of her for one night. “You would do well to cut her loose, Refick. All she is now is a threat, there are no more business opportunities to be had in her company. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t murdered you already.”

This makes him frown a little deeper as he gives me a cool sidelong glance. “Whatever are you prattling on about?”

Vandryss is watching me too, putting her glass down behind her on the bar without even looking as she starts to move towards us again, her face becoming a good deal more neutral now. “Careful now.” she purrs, and while she says it in a particularly matter-of-fact way, I can sense a cold threat in her words all the same.

Through the corner of my eye I see Gubal stiffen, his eyes narrowing as he looks from me to her, and back again. I see his hand shift to the hilt of his sword now as he senses the same threat I do.

“You’re no longer a viable business partner to her. Her precious enterprise has entirely collapsed here in Untermer now. I told you, before the end of the night the Authority will know exactly what’s been going on at the Playhouse, behind closed doors, and they’ll be looking at your other concerns too. Everything you’ve been trying to keep off the books, intentionally buried from their prying eyes, either through bribes or obfuscation, it’ll be dug up and used to hang you. But I suspect she’ll have had you butchered in your sleep long before that, likely having made it look like it was just some business rival or perhaps even some cleverly constructed accident or a particularly embarrassing botched suicide. Whatever this may be, she’ll make sure none of it can be traced back to her.”

Cocking her head, Vandryss regards me for a long beat, unmoving now. Hontiresk’s watching her with a very wary look on his face now, growing increasingly uncomfortable as he seems to finally consider my words. Far too late now, I can’t help thinking. I really don’t know what he could actually do now to change any of this in his favour. At this point his only hope would be that swift shipboard escape I just suggested.

Finally she sighs, shifting her feet a little as she just shrugs. “Well, aren’t you the observant one? I’ll have to come up with a better use for you after this.”

That makes me frown as a genuinely icy chill rides up my spine, I don’t like the implication in what she just said at all. Meanwhile Hontiresk turns to look up at me, his eyes slowly widening as something seems to dawn on him, and he opens his mouth to speak.

In the same instant she moves, very nearly faster than I can actually catch, certainly quicker than I could realistically react to. Her sword’s left its sheath before I’ve quite registered it, and she’s completed her savage, sweeping stroke long before he actually realises what’s just happened. It certainly happens so fast that there’s almost no blood, just the finest cut slowly seeming to open up across his throat.

He manages to blink twice in genuine surprise, a small trickle of blood starting to run down from the corner of his mouth, before his head rolls off his neck with a surprising lack of ceremony. Now the blood comes, a surprisingly lively jet of it spurting up in a tall jet from the stump, painting half of his surroundings with the first scattering of fine red droplets, then the second. Gubal’s so startled that he’s caught twice in the pump of that severed pulse before he finally reacts, stumbling back against the bookshelves behind him in wide-eyed shock as his grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. Still conspicuously sheathed at his side …

My eyes shoot to Vandryss as she gives her sword an almost casual swipe off to the side in order to shake loose the very few drops of blood that actually stain the blade, but her eyes are scanning the rest of the room instead. Taking in the reactions of the uniformly startled bystanders around us. “Mistress Mallys, if you want your people to survive another night beyond this one, I would suggest you follow my lead and kill that impressive orc bodyguard before he’s regained his senses. Am I understood?”

Just as I’m about to ask what she even means by that she jumps up onto the couch directly behind her, using it as a springboard to launch into the centre of the room, where she cuts down two of the nobles while they’re still rising. This is enough to break the trance of those who are still just stood by watching or not yet risen from their seats, each of them going from stunned surprise to abject terror in a blink. Then Tavaratt suddenly materialises at the far end of the room, just inside the entrance, swinging her staff to strike the first one to make it that far. He folds instantly, but the strike itself knocks him aside with significantly more force than it has any right to, a bright, flashing crack resounding across the room as he’s blasted a good ten feet into the wall. The bookshelf he’s hurled into explodes in a great avalanche of displaced books, but even this can’t hide the splash of freshly shed blood as he’s broken on impact.

I turn back to face Gubal then, and he hasn’t moved, still looking down at the headless corpse of his master as the severed stump gives one last, far more half-hearted little spurt to indicate that that’s definitely it for one of the most powerful men in the city. It takes me another moment to muster enough focus just to squeeze out the word: “Fuck …”

Slowly Gubal’s amber eyes rise to meet mine … and as they narrow their irises immediately start to grow darker. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword as his other hand goes to the scabbard, taking a firm grip of its own, and that cold weight that’s settled in my stomach feels like it’s just dropping right out of me as I feel the rush of adrenaline hit my system and I react.

We both move at the same time, Gubal drawing his sword and starting to shift around the chair still inhabited by his boss’ dead body. I don’t give him a chance to work his way into clear space to attack me, rushing forward to kick the chair hard with full force, launching it with surprising ease across the carpet so it takes the orc’s legs out from under him. He stumbles and starts to drop, but manages to catch himself enough at least that he halfway sprawls over the corpse, and I have to jump back to avoid his bastard sword’s sweeping blade as he swings it outwards to warn me off.

Shoving himself off the body, he stumbles away from the chair and gives his sword another wild swipe to keep me from trying to take advantage of his further distraction, but I’m just keeping a wide berth as I draw my own, backing up as I start to circle him. I catch sight of Trouble, who’s now finally shaken off her own shock, drawing her sword and dumping the sheath as she works her way around behind him, clearly looking for a chance to attack with that oversized blade. I catch her eye and wave her down, hoping she can read well enough that I want her to just back off, I can’t risk her complicating this further right now. It’s bad enough I have to do this right now, knowing full well that Vandryss would follow through on her threat in a heartbeat if she felt sufficiently obliged.

Gubal’s eyes meet mine again as he finally settles himself enough to take up a ready guard. The rational part of my mind is trying to come up with some way to word an apology, a plea, something to make it clear that I really don’t want to do this, that it’d be easier if he just ran away and tried his best to just get past Vandryss and her pet wizard. Perhaps find a fast way out of the city, like the fast ship I suggested to Hontiresk. But I know that’s not going to work, there’s no chance he’d listen to me anyway. His blood’s all the way up, his eyes are indicator enough, and even if I could make him listen I’m not sure Vandryss would really go along with it. I’m as stuck with this as I’ve been with everything else we’ve had to do so far, she’s put me in another impossible position and this time I even saw it coming …

For a long beat nothing happens, he just watches me while I watch him right back, trying hard to ignore the chaos unfolding behind him as Vandryss and Tavarrat wipe out the remainder of the room’s occupants. That being said, right now they’re already starting to make their way outside to start mopping up the rest of the building. Given that we’re on the second floor I can only imagine there’s going to be a lot more murder laid at their feet before we’re done with this. It’s enough to make my skin crawl as I edge a little to the left, looking to open a little more space between us while I adjust my grip on my sword.

His lunge comes fast, his footwork impressively accomplished, jabbing at me with surprising agility and clear educated skill I’ve rarely seen in a full-blooded orc. If I hadn’t been taught so relentlessly by my own tutors when I was young he might have killed me on the spot with his opening move, but I simply turn it aside while sidestepping and dancing to his right. While he’s adjusting I respond with a swift and merciless flurry of deft cuts on his open side, and he jumps back again, eyes widening, startled now by the speed of my own blows.

Making a feint to the left that I’m not even remotely surprised that he spots, I spring to his right and slash down from on high, aiming to cut him down but simply pressing him back again, and there’s a moment I think I might catch him out. Instead he sidesteps the couch behind him I’d been hoping to trip him up over, once again warding me back with a wild swipe before he lashes out with his foot and kicks this piece of furniture aside too. Opening up a little more space for us to manoeuvre in, although the way he does it still smells like well-hidden desperation. I’ve got him worried now, I can tell, he’s worked out that I’m the better fighter and he’s not sure he can survive this.

Sidestepping again, I circle again the best I can, hoping to turn him around again so I can perhaps work him back into the wall instead, or maybe get some more of the disturbed seating behind him. But he catches me too soon, skipping the other way before pressing me instead, and I have to lean onto my backfoot to keep from getting forced back myself as I parry his still skilful attack. Turning the latest cut aside I respond in kind, pushing forward on light feet while I swipe back with speedy strokes that he starts to struggle to turn away as well as he works to just keep his own footing. This time when I feint he doesn’t catch it so quickly, almost responding to the trick so that when I turn and thrust at his exposed belly he stumbles aside more clumsily.

This time when he tries to keep me beyond arm’s length with another wild slash I instead step into it and counter with my own parrying strike, and as I batter his sword aside with a great ringing buzz it opens him up just right. While he desperately plants his feet, trying not to trip himself up while his arm goes halfway numb from the rattled shock, I simply step into the sudden gap in his defences and turn my sword round and down in mid swing. I time the slash to perfection, opening his throat right across in a swift diagonal cut.

There’s a moment when Gubal staggers back, fighting to keep his feet under him, that I think he might just go down right here, as he tries to pull in a breath and instead simply produces a hollow, uncomfortably wet sucking sound from his severed trachea. He shuffles back on unsteady legs, still battling to keep upright, and when he raises his sword between us to keep me at a distance his hand shakes … but he manages to stays up as he presses his empty hand to his gushing throat and squeezes, glaring at me with hot, still clear eyes. He tries to speak now, but only produces an ugly rasp.

For a single beat, I almost attack him after all, ready to bash his sword aside and just rush him, hoping to cut him down with a last, forceful two-handed slash up through his torso. But it just seems too brutal, an ugly, graceless way to end a fight I’d rather not be having in the first place … which I realise too late is a mistake as he rushes me instead.

He charges on still clumsy legs, but he’s got desperate speed in his feet now as he comes like a furious bull, winding up an underhand swipe that I barely manage to parry in time, and as I turn it aside he keeps on coming. I’m wide open when he ploughs into me, turning just enough to hit me shoulder first, and I barely manage to plant my feet in time to try and bear the brunt of the hit and maybe keep my feet. The impact is hard, he nearly takes me down as I instead throw him aside, and as I stumble aside I fumble my sword, which clatters to the floor and spins away across the carpet. Leaving me momentarily unarmed, which should be all he needs.

Gubal’s a dead man, he knows it as much as I do, but he’s not about to just lie down and let it happen. He’s an orc through and through, I’ve not known many purebloods in my time but enough to understand they probably really are Thorin’s favoured race, and he smiles on them brightest when they’re facing death. He wants to go out like a true warrior, with his sword in his hand and blood on its blade, preferably taking someone with him. Right now his only opponent is me.

Only wavering for a moment before he rights himself, he’s already coming when I settle my feet again, now unarmed with a substantial length of strong, sharp steel rushing to meet me. My hand itches to draw one of my knives, but I hold back, knowing it won’t be enough to fight back in this moment … so I do the only thing I can think of in the slim time I have available, shifting my feet as he comes in and twisting aside at the same time I bring my hands up. Gubal doesn’t recover in time to stop me when I grapple his wrists, but there’s still enough strength in him as I give his arms a good twist that he fights me on it, even as his life’s blood keeps gushing from the ruin of his neck.

There’s a genuinely worrying moment, when our eyes meet and I see the fire still hot in his blood-red eyes and he holds fast against my own sorely pressed muscles, that I think there might still be too much strength in him for me to beat. He bares his teeth and growls in my face, but nothing like the powerful, rumbling thunder I would have expected comes out, it’s barely a rattle. And now the steel in his limbs is jut starting to ebb, slowly I feel it slipping inside of him, and I twist a little harder, putting the very last ounce of my own power into it now … and he finally gives.

As I wrench his sword from his fingers, his grip barely slipping but still enough for me to drag the sword away and pull back into a low, primed crouch with my thighs coiled tight, he staggers back a few steps, knees starting to wobble now. I can see his legs beginning to give out under him as the blood that’s been steadily soaking through his clothes finally reaches his knees, but even now there’s still a little fight left in him now. I’ve disarmed him but he’s just as determined to go down fighting, slipping a knife free from behind his back that he brandishes with a shaky hand.

Oh Thorin … at least he goes out with a blade in his hand. I draw back low and tight as I can and spring at him now, charging forward with full force with the sword thrust in a firm two-handed grip, and power it in a hard upward angle through the centre of his torso. As the blade runs him through with little real resistance I keep moving forward, letting a harsh, gritted snarl go as I force him back across the carpet and keep on going until I finally meet something genuinely solid.

When we meet the back wall I thrust harder with my last reserve of strength, driving the blade as deep as I can into the wood panelling while a battering cascade of disturbed books rains down over and around us. It’s enough of a pummelling I’m forced to stumble back, but Gubal stays where he is, stuck fast by his own sword.

For several long moments I stand there, rubbing at a sore spot on my wrist where a strike from a particularly hefty volume’s raising what I don’t doubt will be a mighty bruise, watching the last books thump down while he hangs where I’ve left him. His feet are almost flat on the floor, he’s tall enough to reach at least, but even so the sword’s the only thing keeping him up now, what’s left of his blood gushing around the blade driven clean through him just below his heart. His chest’s still heaving, even with his throat cut his lungs are still dragging some air down through his ruined windpipe, but there’s less point to the process by the second as his blood pools underneath him, turning all that paper red. There’s a woeful, savage beauty in a death like this, I realise, but it doesn’t hurt any less being the cause of it.

He still has the knife in his hand trapped in what’s fast becoming a death grip, but there’s no strength left in him now to raise the arm now, so it just dangles at his side. But he’s still in there, his eyes blinking but still just about managing to focus enough to meet mine, and they’re that striking yellowed amber colour again, as much because of his calm returning as the loss of so much blood. He opens his mouth now, but as before nothing comes out, his voice comprehensively lost now thanks to my handiwork. But I understand the sentiment he wants to convey clear enough.

“Trouble?” I barely manage to get her name out now, my own voice cracking badly as I speak, my throat very thick while my eyes are hot with the threat of tears. “Are you … can you do something for him?”

“But … I don’t understand …” She steps closer, gripping her sword two-handed as she had before, but held low now, no real intention left in her. Her eyes are wide as they shift from taking in the dying orc stuck to the wall like a pinned moth to searching my face, and she looks as desperately sad as I feel. “I thought … you’ve killed him. I thought … was that not the plan?”

“No … damn it, Trouble, he’s going to die. Can you help him? Please?”

She’s another moment finally understanding, then she raises her offhand to her mouth as she gasps. “Oh … oh gods, yes. Of course, you’re right … I’m sorry …” She springs forward and rushes to him now, turning her sword around as she goes to hold it underhand now. She stops in front of Gubal and pauses for a moment, unsure again, before taking a breath and seeming to steel herself before offering up her free hand to him. “Forgive me.”

He watches her for a beat, eyes starting to turn glassy but seeing enough to catch her meaning, and when she reaches forward and starts to take his free hand he lets her interlace her fingers with his. She raises her sword now and presses the hilt to her chest as she bows her head, taking another breath to start praying.

“My blessed Lady, I know you are not the god this man would pray to in his final moments, but I ask you to look kindly upon him all the same. Help him to the place he wishes to go, send him off with your blessing and your mercy, let him go fast and with all the righteous glory he deserves for such a brave and heroic death. Should the Stormlord’s Valkyries arrive in time to collect him please guide them sure and true to his side, and tell them how proud Thorin should be of the latest recruit in His Immortal Army. Please hear Your Servant, Your wondrous dark Majesty, and know my words are true. Amen.”

The sound that Gubal produces here is more of a weak, wet wheeze than a true last breath, but as his chest deflates one last time and remains still after his head sags down on the ruin of his neck, his fingers finally go slack and the knife falls. It bounces a few times over the sodden books surrounding him before finally clattering away across the carpet, and after that the room grows silent again.

While Trouble lets out a slow, weary sigh and extricates her fingers from the orc’s now limp hand, I turn around and plod away, starting to feel every moment of the fight I’ve just had and the rest of the night besides. The unfulfilled duel with Kesla Shoon and my subsequent desperate escape from falling to several broken bones on the burning stage, and of course narrowly avoiding a very lethal trampling from that monstrous golem … gods, I’ve definitely been right through it tonight. Finally locating my sword again, I take a moment to step close to one of the nobles Vandryss cut down and drop into a crouch beside them, taking a deep breath so I can hold it when I lean in to grab a handful of their robes in order to wipe my blade clean enough to sheathe. Desperate not to breathe in the stink of all the blood that’s been spilled around me while I’ve been trapped in another fight I would much rather not have had to start at all, let alone win.

Even so, once I’ve got my sword safe in its scabbard again I stay where I am, just putting my hand to my face instead as I start breathing again, looking up slowly to take in the wreckage. My gorge start to rise, slowly but with growing enthusiasm, and it takes all I have to tamp it back down, desperate not to vomit right now. It’s hard enough, what I see now makes me sick to my stomach.

Then I feel Trouble’s gentle hand rest on my shoulder and I lower my hands, taking a deep breath in through my mouth and lowering my head, finally swiping my hand across my eyes while I inhale deep anyway just to clear out my nostrils, smell be damned. She squeezes, working to reassure me now, but it really doesn’t help as I sigh heavier than I’ve done all night, finally looking up again as I start to push myself upright again. “Fuck … I really didn’t want to do that.”

“I know.” She steps back now to give me some room. “She didn’t give you a choice. It was kill him, or … well, it sounded like something awful, really.”

“No. I won’t let her do anything to harm you, Trouble. Not any of you. I’ll kill her first.”

“What … what they hell have they done?” When I turn to her now she’s looking around with wide, haunted eyes, cradling her now sheathed sword very much as she did when we first arrived.

“Something monstrous. Again.” I step close and rest my hand against her cheek, trying to sound soothing as I pull her into a hug. Looking back at Gubal now, still stuck fast at the back of the room, and hate myself for letting any of this happen.

Gods, I hope the others are all right. I need one thing to go right tonight after all this unpleasantness. Right now I’d be happy enough just seeing Kuth smile at me again, make a joke, make me feel better about things. I need to get out of here, I need to sleep. Maybe even to get well fucked again in the morning, but in truth after this night I’d settle just for him to hold me …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 32 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 1 month

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 31

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: VIFRI

“You really think that’s a smart move?” Udre exclaims now, I hear the dismay in her voice but still pick up on just how tired she is underneath it. The same as the rest of ‘em, I know. I been feeling the fatigue as much as the rest o’ my squad for a while now. “I mean that’s your … Thorin, is that five now? Really?”

I pause just short of stepping into sight of the group at large sat in the booth, not wanting to give my presence away just yet as I listen in on my friends and those they’re sharing their evening with. Even so, most of the others are sat at the table close by, and I’m in clear view of them now, catching Gril’s eye quick enough as he gives his a roll. Like he’s heard this a thousand times before.

Tuthi just raises the tankard in her hand the rest of the way and takes a big pull from it before treating the cleric across from her a particularly sharp look that so far don’t seem too dulled by drink. “For your information, I plan on getting good and shitfaced before we go back to … wherever it is we’re going. I’m gonna get up sometime tomorrow afternoon with a big bastard hangover so I don’t have to think about what we had to deal with today. You can’t stop me.”

As I step up now, her eyes shoot up to watch me pass, widening a little as she wipes her sleeve across her mouth, and while there’s a little alarm in her feeling like she’s been caught out now, I think there might be a little bit of challenge too. I pause in front of her now, cocking a brow, and she looks away fast, visibly blanching as she sits back, putting the cup down on the table. “Shit … um … sorry, boss. I’m … um –”

“Carry on, Private.” I sigh, starting to walk again but giving her a little sidelong glance as I go. “You’re off duty now, for better or worse. Just remember what it is we’re doing right now.”

As Tuthi growls low, her cheeks visibly darkening even more than they’ve already started to, Udre shoots her a reproachful look. “See? You’re being an idiot. What if we get called back into it? You won’t like me having to sober you up again.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” the half-orc snarls back, but there’s no real threat in her words. Udre’s her closest friend in the squad, Tuthi’d die before she even tried to hurt her.

Keeping on to the back of the room, I hook my foot round the leg of my chair at the smaller table in the corner, drawing it out so I can settle into it easier once I’ve put the two tankards of ale I’ve brought from the bar down. Tormed gives me time to get comfortable again before picking his up and casting a watchful eye towards our two mingled squads across the way, seeming strangely wistful as he ponders for a long moment. Meanwhile I pick my mug up and take a small swallow before putting it down again, planning to continue taking it as easy as I’ve been doing since we came in here while I wait for him to make the point he’s clearly working his way to.

Finally turning back, the half-elf takes a similarly light sip of his beer and puts it down too, licking his lips before finally speaking. “They’re tense. Even now.”

“You can’t blame ‘em. That was a rough fucking scene they left to meet us. ‘Side from Gril an’ Vid, the rest o’ mine didn’t serve on Barricade. That was their first taste o’ that kinda mess. I doubt yours are much different.”

Leaning back as much as the crappy chair he’s folded his tall, long-legged form into can really allow, he folds his arms again and looks across the room, not at our folk now but just off into no particular distance. Thoughtful again, but with an edge, as before.

“They ain’t alone, either.” I add after another beat, leaning forward to cross my own arms across the table as I just keep my eyes on him. “Are they?”

He looks my way at last, blinking a little, but if he’s really surprised he hides it well. Mostly he just seems a little annoyed. “I’ll admit, it was a first for me too. I’ve worked on some … difficult cases in my time, some of them with Mil, but … no, nothing like this.”

“You’re lucky, then. Today was bad, but … we seen worse, up North. Some of it’d turn your hair white. You might never sleep a full night again, not without a nightmare or two.”

Turning away, Tormed returns his gaze to that empty spot he marked before, frowning a little now as he ponders. I don’t press him anymore, instead reaching out to start turning my tankard around on the spot, shifting it in a slow, tight circle the way I often do when I’m trying to draw out my drinking, instead of just cutting loose. I’d rather not take the chance in case Udre’s right, we might still have to go back out again. So I’ll nurse this second pint for as long as I can, and I’m not sure if I really will have another after.

When I look out across the room again at the others, I quickly catch sight of Starkheart, sat across from Gril, looking past him at our table. I’ve caught her doing that a few times now since we first settled in, her face never changing much even when she’s spotted me watching her too. Not suspicious, nor even particularly wary, she’s just … restless, it looks like. Reckon I’m started to get a sense of what she’s actually thinking now.

Mostly she’s watching him, looks like. Not so much watching out for him, there’s something more subtly possessive about this particular regard, I think. It helps me make more sense of before, in the Hellcat’s house, how reluctant she was to separate from him in those unfamiliar surrounds. At a guess, reckon she’s in love with Tormed.

Far as I can tell he’s largely oblivious to it, but then she’s guarding it well. Or maybe he just got good at ignoring it. Either way, she seems reluctant to act on this impulse.

Well she don’t have to worry about me, anyway. He is definitely not my type.

Eventually I give up twiddling and pick my tankard up again, letting my fingers slide through the handle to get a good grip on it as I raise it towards my mouth, but don’t take a drink. Not yet. I just hold it in front of me, letting my other hand curl around it now as I lean forward on my elbows a little more, starting to scan the room again like I been doing, on and off, since we came in.

Tormed brought us here after we finished up at Redarra House, albeit leaving with more questions than answers, which rankled me some. In the end he sent Erahadur on ahead to fetch the others, prompt ‘em to finish up their own work at the house and meet us here. Meanwhile we mounted up and began a more direct ride back down the Hill towards the riverfront dockyards at the bottom of the Hind. Ultimately leading us to a nondescript terracotta-hued cul-de-sac signposted as Tarahou Yard.

Half of its stetch is lined with close packed, uncomfortably narrow apartment buildings, but at the bottom there’s a livery stable and what looked like a converted slaughterhouse, with a sign over the gate marking it as the Yard Station House. Turns out this is what their squad calls home, along with three more squads o’ regular townsguard they share the barracks with, although most of the rest of the buildings are given over to their own investigative needs. We stalled our horses, stowed our saddles and put our gear away in the antechamber we were directed to, directed by the Yard’s conspicuously stoic quartermaster Ghagol, before heading back out at Tormed’s behest to duck into the tavern next door.

The Vague Pike is every inch a watchman’s pub, seeming to cater almost exclusively to those barracked at the Yard Station or other townsguard who might’ve been brought in by regulars for a drink, or just wandered in on their own. It’s definitely cleaner than most o’ the taverns in the area I been in in my time, mostly on the clock, and a lot less rowdy, the peace likely enforced as much by the inherent nature of the clientele as the watchful ire of the landlord. He's got the look of a battered old veteran of the force himself, although something about him suggests he took most of his scars in the Wars. To be honest, it’s a wonder he’s even willing to serve us, even if we are in such particular company.

The others arrived a half hour after, quickly settling down into their groups as we ordered food and drink and kicked back to unwind after … well, we really didn’t want to think about that shit any more. So we ate the food, then the others bought more beer while Tormed and I slunk off into the corner to ponder what we’d learned, letting them distract themselves without us shading their atmosphere so much. Meanwhile Trick wandered off to the other corner to start playing pool with some o’ the other regulars, and soon enough she was laughing and having the best time of the whole group. The rest … they’ve done the best they can, but the mood’s been changeable at best, and I’m worried none of ‘em are gonna sleep too well tonight after what we saw today.

I took it easier on Cafi Sirsk than I would’ve liked, in the end. Even after I braced ‘em, they remained stubborn, not willing to give away more’n they absolutely had to, not even when Tormed pressed ‘em a little too. In truth there was only so much I could do to press the issue, they’re an Authority official of modest but still great import, so there was risk in letting things get out of hand.

They gave us a few names, here and there, but nothing that really meant anything in the moment. The group they were meeting at the Transit House were indeed a mercenary crew out of Hocknar, apparently, known as the Creeping Bam. It didn’t ring a bell with me, but it seemed to jog Trick’s memory. She withheld on that particular nugget, though. And Sirsk remained stubbornly tight-lipped on the business they had with ‘em, beyond admitting they were there to meet the late Madame Daste. On behalf of the Silver Order, of all things.

That gave us all pause for a few moments. Evoking the goddess Minerva’s vaunted sect of high-powered mages added a whole extra layer o’ complication to this already tangled mess. All eyes in the room turned right to Erahadur, but this just seemed to shock him into apoplectic stammers that made him useless to anyone until we moved on. Honestly, he seemed just as surprised as the rest of us.

So I moved onto the subject of the Hellcat of Kumehn Valley, the Lady Thura Vezrim, and why these particular sellswords were in her house last night right when all this unpleasantness was happening. Sirsk denied any direct knowledge of that, asking how we could really be so sure it was them and not some other mercenary crew in the city. Even when I made it clear how little I thought of that idea, given the sheer unlikelihood of more than one such specific group of specialised individuals being here at the same time, they didn’t waver. That might’ve gotten me the most frustrated during the whole interrogation.

Finally they recommended we just ask the Lady Vezrim herself what happened, since she could be found at the Temple of Minerva in the Gods Round. But they requested that we perhaps wait a little while, and when we do brace her to take care an’ show her proper respect. After all, her eldest son was among the dead.

Tormed met my eyes when they said this. It’s a real important detail on its own, going a long way to explain that blood-soaked imprint we found in that girl’s bedroom in the house. And the bloody trail we followed from the broken window. There’s no way the Hellcat would’ve let her own son’s body get left behind, even if the house hadn’t been on fire at the time.

It’s yet another complication, though. I was all for heading over there soon as we left Redarra House, propriety be damned, but Tormed really put his foot down at that. “Leave her to her grief a little longer, at least.” he said. Something in his tone spoke of genuine sympathetic understanding, like he knows exactly what she’s going through.

Turning back now, I find myself pondering that telling little detail again. Finally I take another little pull from the mug and set it down with particular deliberation, turning it round a few times before finally letting go and clearing my throat. “Who was it, then? If you don’t mind?”

“Hmmm?” He don’t quite jump at the question, but he still straightens up a touch as he turns back to me, frowning a little. “I don’t follow.”

Working my mouth for a beat, I consider the opportunity he’s unwittingly given me to drop it after all, not sure if this is really the right question to ask. Not when we’ve managed to hit it off so well until now. But I’m too curious, after the way he reacted back in Redarra House, so I set my jaw and ask after all. “When we heard about Vezrim’s son, you had a look. Like you understood. You lost somebody. I was wondering …” Faltering, I look down at my beer for a long beat, trying not to frown even deeper now.

In the end he saves me from having to press after all, but he sounds grave enough I guess he’d still rather not. “It was my sister. When we first came to the city, we were both very young, she was little more than a child, barely fifteen, and I still couldn’t really call myself a man yet. We didn’t have a copper mark between us, it was a rough month before we even had a proper roof over our heads. And then one night …” He sighs, and it’s very heavy, filled with regret and a lot o’ sorrow. “I came home after a particularly tough shift on the docks, and she wasn’t there. She didn’t come back that night, either. Or the next. Or ever again.”

Sucking in a tight breath, I ponder my tankard for another long beat, wary of looking up at him now in case I really don’t like what I see. “No chance she just ran off then, I take it?”

“All we had was each other, there’s no way she would have abandoned me like that. And when I began to ask around, I heard enough to worry me. Girls had been disappearing from that neighbourhood for almost six months, on and off. No bodies were ever found, no-one ever brought to heel for any deaths, but …” He sighs again, finally picking his mug up and, when I look up, taking a much bigger swallow from it this time. Even so, when he puts it down again, brushing his lips with thumb and forefinger, he mostly just looks tired. “I joined the ‘guard at the end of that week. I suppose my working my way up to this was always driven, at least in some unconscious way, by the hope I might be able to find some resolution someday. Realistically I doubt I’ll ever actually find whoever it was responsible for that, but … I can still hope.”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, picking up my tankard and taking a hefty pull of my own. I really mean it when I say it, feeling proper shitty for having brought it up in the first place.

“Of course you are.” There’s no reproach in his words, it simply sounds like an acknowledgement. “You know that pain as well as I do. After your father. Although the Captain was … less than forthcoming with the details there.”

Gods … fucking Ceinog. Even when he’s trying to do me a favour … I put the mug down a little more forcefully than necessary, and it almost sloshes a little onto the table. That puts a little dent in my indignation, but not enough to strip the edge from my words. “He was murdered, on the job. Coming out the training barracks in Neveht, somebody put a blade in his back, seven or eight times, one o’ the perimeter patrols found him practically bled out on the pavement right round the corner from the gate. He was already gone by the time one o’ the duty clerics arrived, so that was it. Middle of an investigation, so his squad figured it was a sign they were getting too close for somebody’s comfort.”

Tormed clears his throat with a polite little cough into his fist I suspect is as much to cover a wince, since he studiously avoids my eyes. “I see … did they find the culprit in the end?”

Sitting back, I stretch my legs out under the table, having to really spread ‘em to keep from getting tangled up in his, and fold my arms good and tight. “They did not. Caused a bit of a stink in local command, actually, how it just wound up grinding to a halt, the way it did. Since it was right there in the middle o’ the Capital, more’n a few higher-ups smelled corruption, but nothing ever came of it. Couple o’ da’s colleagues quit the squad cuz of it, they weren’t happy with how it just … fizzled out.”

He watches me for a long beat, and I get the feeling he’s weighing up how to ask me the next question. “I take it you felt similarly sore about that too.”

“Made me a bit of a handful for a few years, yeah. He was all I had left then, ma died when I was four so he raised me on his own. Well as he could, anyway. He was a career officer in the military police, so he didn’t spend a whole lot o’ time at home, and even then he wasn’t exactly … parent material. But he tried his best. So it hurt.” I look out across the room again now, my eyes wandering over the rest o’ me squad that I can see. “I was fifteen when he died, so one of his friends in command pulled a few strings and I got folded into youth training instead o’ getting sent to the state home. Which might’ve been a bit of a mixed blessing, way I was at the time.”

“Angry.” He seems more thoughtful than anything else, I notice when I look back.

“That’d be selling it short. Might’ve pushed myself a little too hard, in the end. The army were happy enough when I turned eighteen, though. They got more of a weapon than a recruit.” Loosening my arms now, I pick my mug up again. “Barricade did cure some o’ that fervour. But I do still hate leaving a job half-finished, reckon it’s something of a hang-up. So it’s … difficult for me, being back in an investigation now. Vessof thinks he did me a favour putting me up for this duty, and it is that, in a way, but …”

Watching me take another big pull from the mug now, Tormed continues to just ponder, and he remains silent for a few minutes after I’ve put it down again, folding my arms again and hunching my shoulders. Waiting for the question I can feel coming. The one I been waiting for him to ask since Sirsk brought up the subject back in Redarra House.

“What did happen with Beneva’s son, Sergeant? I know the official party line about what happened there, but now I’ve met you … I know there’s more to the story than that. An officer like Vessof Ceinog wouldn’t go to bat for a disgraced non-com with that kind of reputation, even if he did know them from serving in the worst kind of hell imaginable. Unless it was a smokescreen.”

Gritting my teeth, I blow a long, slow breath out through ‘em and fix him with a particularly cool look. “Ask me some other time, please, when we got to know each other a little better. Now ain’t the time. And I really ain’t got the stomach for it after the day I just had.”

Tormed meets my glare well enough now, holding my eye for a long beat before finally clearing his throat as he sits up again. “Neither have I, in truth. But I’d appreciate a little more restraint moving forward. Especially tomorrow, if you do insist on going to the Temple. Cafi’s right, that poor woman’s in the very worst kind of hell, we’ve no right adding to it.”

I watch him stand up, rising with an uncanny grace that only comes from elven blood, and pick his tankard up, knocking the remainder back in one long pull before swiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, which is enough to surprise me on its own. Up until now he’s been the very air of propriety, even here. He lets a little sigh go as he sets the now empty mug down next to my still reasonably full one. “And on that note …”

“You’re calling it a night? Even for an officer, this is proper early. What is it, ten?”

Taking a beat to check his fancy watch, he offers me a cocked little smile. “You said it yourself, it’s been quite the day. And I suspect tomorrow will be the same. I’d suggest you consider following my example, I know how human constitutions tend to be more fragile than elven ones, even for someone as large as yourself.”

Cocking my brow, I’m ready to give him a real smart answer back, but I stop myself. Mostly cuz it’s occurred to me that the whole place just got a whole lot quieter, somewhat akin to when we first came in, and then again when the rest of our combined squads arrived after. Tormed picks up on it too, frowning as he turns to look out across the room now, and I do the same.

Four more troopers have come in, and unlike us they’re still fully armoured, complete with shields and halberds with visors down. I’d almost think it was a patrol except there’s an officer with ‘em, already breaking away to come straight towards us now. I know who it is even before he’s plucked his helmet off.

“Fuck’s sake … Vess! What the hell?” Folding up my legs under me now, I push myself upright with a little more effort than the half-elf needed, but stay where I am as he draws close. I see my own troopers have all stood up now, as much in deference at having an officer in their midst as the pervading shift in mood through the whole group.

Ceinog tucks his helmet under his arm as he stops a few feet short, frowning a little as he looks me over, then inspects the table, particularly my mug o’ beer. I just give him a sharp glare in return, daring him to give me shit about it. “You weren’t in the Yard, so I followed my nose. I can’t say I’m that surprised, not after today, but still …”

“I’m off duty, so’s my squad. Under the circumstances, I’d say regular shifts don’t apply right now. We been up almost two days now, anyway. Let ‘em cut loose. They earned it.”

Raising his free hand in supplication, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I am not judging, Vifri, I swear. I’ve simply come to …” His frown returns as he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck, looking a little flustered now. “I’m sorry. It’s just you might have been somewhat premature calling it a night.”

“Thorin …” I growl, taking a step closer now. “Vess, out with it. What’s so –”

“The Oceanic Playhouse is on fire. It’s a shitshow.”

Tormed and I share a wary glance before I turn back, clenching my jaw again as I feel a chill roll up my spine. “Oh hell … not more o’ that shit, is it? Like the Hellcat’s place?”

“What? Oh … no, it doesn’t seem like it. Nothing fell about it, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Then what the fuck has it got to do with us? Vess, please, I thought the point o’ me bein’ on this is that I’m focusing on this case, not dropping everything to take care of –”

“There’s a golem in there.” He shuts me up with one word, and Tormed’s brows rise appreciably too. That chill grows instantly. “Just went crazy, apparently. And there are people running around in there killing the security staff, and probably more besides. They damn near caused a stampede of highborns and other rich folk trying to get out, more than a few of them were hurt in the chaos too. The fire brigade’s there but … well, given what’s in there right now they’re wary of entering.”

“Shit.” I hiss, immediately turning to step back into the corner and pluck my swordbelt up from where I left my weapon propped against the wall. Tormed’s already plucked his own from the table, starting to strap it on with quick, deft hands. As I turn back I look over at my people, seeing Gril’s already retrieved his from under their table, while Udre’s clutching her spear as she watches me with particularly large eyes. “Gril! Get ‘em all mustered! On the double! Looks like R-an’-R’ll have to wait!”

Tormed simply gives Starkheart a subtle nod, and she immediately pushes herself up a good deal quicker than I expected her too, instantly barking orders at own people while Gril’s already beaten her to the punch with ours. As I step out, Ceinog falling into step beside me with a rueful look on his face, I hear some of ‘em muttering with frustration as they start gathering their gear together.

“I told you.” Udre hisses at Tuthi now as she steps close.

The half-orc gives her a very sharp look and points a finger at her. “Don’t you dare. I mean it. I promise, it will not end well for you, I swear to Thorin.”

“Take that up with him, Tuth.” She purrs now as she reaches out with her free hand, starting to smile with a particular mischievous glint in her eye. “You know the rules.”

Tuthi gives me a look which, for her, could almost pass for pleading, and I nearly relent, but the cleric’s right. Unfortunately this has to be done. “She’s right, Private. Stand to.”

Growling under her breath, the half-orc hugs her still loose swordbelt to her chest and gives her friend a thoroughly pathetic look as the young cleric lays that hand on her broad shoulder, clearing her throat in order to start praying. “All right, just … please be gentle.”

When I turn back I find Gril’s already stood close by, strapping his belt up. He’s got his game face back on, but I sense a little wariness in him all the same. “This more o’ the same, boss?”

Shooting a sidelong glance at Tormed, who I find stood by with Ceinog, leaning in to speak quietly now, I have to shrug. “Honestly, much as I’d hope not, sounds like we might be onto something. Just stay sharp. I need you to watch my back like old times.”

Raising his brows, Gril looks at me like I shocked him some. “C’mon, boss. You never even need to ask.”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 31 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 1 month

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 30

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER THIRTY: GAEL

The moment the door opens and Vandryss steps inside I know I’m going to die. I don’t even have to see the particular look on her face to know that this does not bode well at all for either myself or my father, it’s clear enough just from all the noise we’ve been picking up from outside. Even with the door locked tight I’ve still been able to keep vague track of what’s going on out there, first hearing raised voices from barked orders and what I assumed was a distinctly increased level of concern. Then much more muffled sounds of struggle and violence from above, as well as more than one particularly large percussive crash that shook the building hard enough, even from all the way down here, that I almost lost my own footing. And now, finally, shouting from much closer, just outside, including more than one voice I recognised.

At least for a few moments, I was starting to hope, slender as it may have been. Hearing Shay in particular, it was almost a relief. Da was a good deal more worried up until then, finally giving up on trying to think of his plans for our escape, or more likely just my own, and instead simply starting to unburden himself as he saw the end potentially approaching for both of us. He told me that he loved me, that he was so proud of me, that he couldn’t possibly imagine me turning out any more amazing than what he saw before him now. It was almost enough to make me cry, even as I tried hard to keep his spirits up, telling him we could still get out of this, that my friends could well win through out there. Certainly it sounded like a possibility.

Now, as Vandryss immediately focuses on me and her brows just start to knit while her lips draw thinner than I’ve ever seen them before … honestly, even if they are winning out there I’m already doubting I’ll actually live to see our victory. Then I realise that Tavarrat’s stepped in with someone I don’t know in tow, and turns her key in the lock to seal us in before finally stepping into the room proper. Looking a good deal more fretful than her companion, breathing hard in something approaching shock while her eyes are wide. As though her mind’s not really here right now.

I take a big step back and the wall’s right behind me, I can’t go further. Sucking in a deep breath, I raise my hands, trying to come up with something to say that might defuse the mood that’s already pervading the room, but nothing comes. Not that I could think anything up, I’m getting to know this horrible woman well enough to guess that she’ll do whatever she wants no matter what I say.

Vandryss watches me for a long beat, her eyes slowly narrowing as she looks me up and down, then back up again, her jaw clenching and loosening over and over again just as her fingers keep clenching into fists and relaxing again. Finally she takes a step forward, then stops, hissing: “Damn it!” low but very full of venom.

“We can’t … Van, I can’t just leave him!” Tavarrat’s clutching her staff tightly, pacing over the same few feet back and forth while she’s staring at the door. “This isn’t right … I can’t do it. He’s going to … please, I need you to help me –”

“For fuck’s sake, Luthan!” Vandryss snaps, turning to give her a sharp sidelong glare while her fists clench again. “He told you to go! He’s fucking right, we need to go. He’s buying you this chance. Do you want to waste it?”

Gods, this cruel bitch … as much as Tavarrat has burned all her opportunities to make me feel sorry for her, I can’t help feeling some small sympathy all the same hearing that. But I hold my tongue, trying my best not to draw unnecessary attention right now.

“Yes, you should leave.” My father strikes up now as I hear the clink of his chains as he starts to draw himself up into a more upright sitting position, at least as much as he can manage given how exhausted and broken he is. “You should … truly, it sounds like your time’s running out quickly now. You could all just disappear now, and I’m sure that you’ll be able to get away. I’m certainly not going to try chasing you. Not right now. Perhaps not at all, if you left us both unharmed.”

She doesn’t quite bare her teeth as she turns to him, but Vandryss gives him a sour look all the same as she takes a step his way now. Even though I really don’t think he’s even speaking to her, I suspect those words are meant more for Tavarrat right now. Trying to appeal to the more rational of the two of them. I’m sure he’d find it painfully hard to speak so civilly to our constant torturer after all she’s done to both of us in this room.

The third one … I’ve never seen him before, but one glance at him tells me he can’t be one of their regular henchmen. The handful I’ve seen in my time here have a somewhat uniform look, motley as they all seem to dress and style themselves. This one … to be honest, he almost seems more akin to the kind of company I keep these days.

He’s a half-orc, young and quite strapping really, although while he’s broad and solid across his shoulders he still seems somewhat leaner than some I’ve come across in my time, built more for speed than strength. He’s definitely every inch the fighter his kin are, though, this much is obvious at a glance. Dressed in a somewhat slapdash mixture of boiled leather and battered pieces of splint armour, the only truly uniform gear he’s wearing is a strange buckskin kilt, long to his knees, more pieces of splint steel stitched across the loose flaps. I’ve never seen fashion such as this, and I’d be hard pressed to imagine what it’s actually intended for, even if I was more martially minded to begin with. Mostly I’m just concentrating on how he’s armed right now, anyway, judging how much of an inherent threat he is, seeing a battered longsword hung at his hip and a substantial collection of smaller blades strapped about him too. Enough to make me think he graduated from a similar school of thought to Kesla when it comes to his steel.

For the most part he just seems confused by what’s going on in here now, like he doesn’t know why they’ve brought him in here in the first place. Genuinely baffled, in fact, looking Vandryss over with a regard which seems equal parts wary suspicion and badly concealed dislike. This is enough to convince me that he must be one of the Mallys’ people instead, which makes sense given his obvious sellsword garb. Not necessarily an enemy in this then, at least not in this specific moment, but unlikely to be an automatic friend either.

“You might want to hold your tongue, Foxtail.” Vandryss hisses now, stepping closer to my father now. “I have no further reason to keep you alive now. In fact it would be far wiser for me to simply kill you now, before we leave. Sever any ties we might have left here now. Remove a threat before it presents itself, perhaps.” She leans close, bending at her waist while she plants her hands on her hips. “Both of you. You might be better off begging me for some mercy, at least for your child.”

The half-orc blinks at that, turning to look at me now, and as he does so his frown starts to turn into something more complicated … open worry, I realise after a moment. I don’t know what that’s about, but it gives me some hope, just a sliver, but better than nothing.

“I don’t see why.” Da growls now, and when I turn back I see he’s regarding her with a particularly desolate look on what’s left of his face that’s not still swollen and bruised. “You’ve offered none to us so far, only torture and threats of much worse. You’ve laid your intentions bare and I know any offers you make are as hollow as your cruel, black heart. I know better than to beg mercy of a monster, Vandryss. I just want you to see some bloody sense.”

Straightening up, she takes a small step back and turns enough I can make out her face again, and when I see she’s actually smiling I go cold. Gods … somehow that feels like the worst sign I could possibly see in this situation. “Sense? Really?” She chuckles for a moment, and it’s a discordant, twisted sound that makes my skin crawl, as unsettling and simply wrong as everything else about her. “That’s fucking rich. All right, I’ll look at the situation with a modicum of sense.” She shifts her weight as she taps her chin for a few beats, gazing up at the ceiling in what feels more like a mockery of consideration as a genuine act. “Hmmm … you know what? I do see sense. The sense in doing the smart thing right now. For us.”

Her sword’s out so fast I don’t have a chance to react as she lunges forward and stabs him. By the time I’ve realised what’s happened she’s already withdrawing, and I start to run forward, only for the half-orc to react first and scramble forward to wrap me up in powerful, thickly muscled arms, holding me as fast in place as if I was caged with iron too. I start struggling immediately, but he just tightens his grip so I can’t even move, never mind reach my father as she steps away from him, whipping her sword off to the side to shake off his blood. Before stepping back to stab him again.

This time I find my voice enough to cry out, no words but just a grating, broken howl that immediately hurts my still tender throat, and even though I already know this is pointless I try to break free regardless. I’m no more successful than the first try, all I can do is sob as I watch my father gape down at the gushing wounds through his chest in pure shock. He tries to speak but nothing comes, just a ragged, winded gasp that sounds horrible.

Giving her sword a few more expansive flourishes to the side, Vandryss turns away from him before sheathing it again and stalking up to Tavarrat, who’s still pacing back and forth as she gawks at the door. She reaches out and grabs the rogue wizard’s shoulder, roughly turning her around as she grabs the other and immediately starts shaking her. “For fuck’s sake … snap out of it, just stupid bitch! We have to go! Get your shit in order and work your fucking magic! Now!”

For a moment Tavarrat just stares at her, her mouth working but nothing coming out, so Vandryss just lets go with her right hand and winds up to slap her very hard indeed across her face with a truly savage backhander. It hits her hard enough I don’t doubt she’d go straight down if the pale woman wasn’t still holding onto her like grim death, and as she reels back, taking another long beat to focus, I see her lip’s split and bleeding badly.

“Oh … ow … Van, I … what are you –”

Vandryss shakes her again for good measure, then finally releases her to stumble for several shaky steps before she finally finds her balance again. As she frowns before starting to cast about, finally finding her staff and bending to collect it again, she spits a little more blood out on the floor and groans before grunting: “Ah … damn you … all right, just give me a moment, for Minerva’s sake.”

Hearing her invoke our beautiful goddess that she’s so gravely sullied with her awful treachery finally loosens my tongue, and I just unleash upon her, feeling my face flush as the heat rises from the anger surging through me, making my head swim with noise. “Oh you bitch … you wicked evil bitch, how dare you use that name in our presence?! Have you no fucking shame? You’ll burn in ten thousand hells for what you’ve done, I promise you! Minerva will never forgive you for this! You’re cursed, I swear it! You’re fucking cursed!”

She rounds on me now, wide-eyed, watching me for a long, drawn out moment as her grip tightens on her staff. Then her face hardens and she turns away quickly, hissing something I can’t make out under her breath before shaking her free hand out. “Damn it … come on then. Let’s just be done with this.”

“All right, then …” Vandryss hisses the words, and as she steps close to me again I look down at her hands to see they’re working again, clenching and loosening like before, suggesting that she’s preparing to draw one of her blades and stab me too. Oh gods … no, I’m not ready, I can’t … no, I have to see him again, I have to tell him –

Clearing her throat, Vandryss steps close enough I can almost smell her horrible breath again, standing up straight enough she almost doesn’t need to crane to look up into my eyes. Suddenly she seems alarmingly calm, but right now that really does feel worse. “We’re going now. You, what’s your name … oh never mind, I really don’t care. When we’re gone, kill this one. I really don’t care how, I just want you to make it slow. I made a promise to her father, after all. Make it hurt, make her suffer. Some humiliation wouldn’t go amiss, either.”

As she backs up, starting to turn to join Tavarrat now, I feel the arms around me start to loosen, not enough for me to break free, but still noticeable. His breath is hot on my ear as he speaks, sounding flustered now, and I detect a subtle accent in his speech, nothing so thick as the half-hob cleric’s but clear enough. Abharet, I should think. “”What are you … no, I don’t reckon I will, there’s no way –”

Turning back, she looks right past me now with hot, blazing eyes, giving him a truly savage look now, and it’s enough to chill my blood all over again. “Yes you fucking will. You owe us, I’ll remind you now, you stupid little boy. Your useless bitch of a leader already agreed to this, she’s obliged and so are all of you. So if I tell you to murder this little bitch here, and do it slow, in the worst way you possibly can, you will do it. Or I promise I will have every single one of your friends die in the worst ways I can possibly imagine.” She steps closer now, craning again, more to get to his height as her eyes seem to bulge now, she’s staring at him so hard. “Do not test me, boy.”

Whipping around without another word, she stalks straight to Tavarrat and takes her hand as it’s offered … then they’re gone in the blink of a half-glimpsed dimensional doorway that seems to close right through them both as the wizard utters her incantation, and we’re left alone in relative quiet now, just the two of us.

For a long beat nothing happens, I just wait here in his still iron hard grasp as he breathes more heavily against my back now, and even though I can’t see his face I can feel the tension in him all the same, the indecision. I’m about to speak, thinking perhaps I could try appealing to his better nature, he certainly doesn’t seem like an evil person, any more than the other two I’ve met from his crew seemed to be. Then he lets go and I almost fall forward onto my face, it’s so sudden that I’m entirely unprepared for it.

Instead I stumble forward for a few steps and then, as soon as I’ve caught myself, turn on the spot and rush straight to my father. I fall to my knees just before I arrive and reach out, my right hand going to his face while my left hovers just shy of his wounds, hesitant to probe these awful gaping breaches in his flesh that already look to have spilled so much of his blood into his lap. I’m sobbing again, my vision blurring as the tears come, and when I speak now my voice is already cracking, my sore throat suddenly thick. “Oh da … oh my gods … what did she … oh no, please don’t … what can I … I can’t … what do I do?”

At first he just sits there, still gasping and heaving as he tries and very much fails to drag in fresh breath, and it’s immediately, painfully clear to me why, she’s run him clean through both of his lungs. Even as he’s bleeding like a stuck pig they’re both filling with blood, and he’s drowning right here where’s he’s sitting. When he finally musters enough strength to try talking all that he can manage is a rasping, choked wheeze and a little splash of particularly bright, bubbly blood that splatters my face. This only makes me cry harder, and now I can’t speak either.

Then I hear the subtlest hissing whisper of steel on leather behind me, and two slow, hesitant footfalls, and when I look up into my father’s eyes I see them grow wider as they look above me. Behind me. At what’s approaching my back. I already know what I’ll see before I turn to look.

“I’m sorry … please, just … I’m sorry. I got no choice.”

The half-orc’s drawn his sword now, and while the blade is made from just the kind of workmanlike steel I expected it still looks strong enough for the job, and the edges and sharp, needle-fine point have been kept wickedly keen too. It’s an implied threat all on its own, despite his reluctant, troubled face and locked-off stance, sword dangling low at his side as though he’s not already committed to what he’s about to do. But he still takes another step towards me, and I hear my father wheeze again, trying to speak with greater urgency now.

Meanwhile I get up, very slowly, and as I turn towards him I raise my hands, just as gradually, wary of making any sudden moves now as I start to take similarly careful steps to my side. “Okay … all right, Master … no, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, can I have your name, at least?”

Frowning a little, he pauses for a beat, licking his lips as he watches me. “I … what? No, I … I can’t just … Kuth. It’s … it’s Kuth …”

“Kuth.” I roll it around my mouth for a moment before repeating it. “Kuth … it’s very … it’s good to meet you … um … sorry, yes … well met, Kuth. I’m Gael. Gael Foxtail. You seem like a smart, careful, kind boy, you really do. I’m sure you are. You don’t want to kill me, you’ve already made that clear. And I definitely don’t want to die, Kuth. I’ve done nothing to harm you, and so far, I’m sure you haven’t done anything to harm me either. So there’s no reason for any of this. You can just put that away and leave, or you could even help me, perhaps … help me save my da, I don’t want him to die either … please …”

“No …” he grunts, taking a more focused step towards me now, his frown deepening as his jaw tightens, and now he raises the sword as he takes another step forward. “No. No, I … no. I can’t do that. She’s right, I got no choice, I gotta kill you. You don’t understand, we’re stuck, Dram said as much, none of us got any choice in this. I have to kill you. I’m sorry …”

“Please …” da manages to choke out, but it makes him cough up significantly more of that awful bubbling blood as he does it. “Don’t … please don’t … not my … not my … please …”

As Kuth looks to him for a moment I take a few quicker, more urgent steps to the side and push myself back towards the wall, waiting until my back’s to it before finally stooping to pick up a big handful of the chains still attached to the bands around my wrists. When he turns back and sees me here now his face darkens considerably, his eyes starting the inexorable roll from yellowed amber to deeper red as he bares his teeth and takes a bigger, more focused step towards me. Then another …

On the third he sets foot on the exact spot I was hoping, absolute praying he would, and in that instant I send up a silent prayer to Minerva that this actually works, otherwise I know I’m going to die.

Ever since I was last left alone in here with da, I’ve been wracking my brains, desperate for any way to get us both out of this horrific situation, the slightest possible tactical advantage I could possibly muster. There’s almost nothing at my disposal, Tavarrat has done a remarkable job of severing both of us from all of our magic with these invocation fetters, even without the chains lashing him to the pipes da would still be as helpless as a kitten, and I am too. Or at least that’s what they all thought.

Perhaps it’s just that she’s so much further removed from her time in the Academy than I am, my own extensive, intensive magical education still so usefully fresh in my memories. Or maybe she just overlooked it in her overconfidence. Whatever the case may be, she missed one extremely subtle flaw in her logic that, if it does work, will allow me to circumvent the fetters’ deadening in one key way.

When Kuth puts his foot down on that third step, he steps on a sigil I drew on the hard stone of the floor, under a piece of carpet I was able to prise up and then tack back down, and completes an otherwise inert magical circuit. When they first came back there were a few moments where I worried they might have rumbled me, that Vandryss at least, with her uncanny, horrible ways, might have caught on, might have smelt it if nothing else. Keyed in on the smell of still relative fresh blood in the air, perhaps …

Partly it was just that I have nothing else to write in, Tavarrat stripped me of my components as well as my robes so I have no chalk or charcoal to draw lines on any surfaces. But in fact the blood is very much the key in this. I’ve explained this to Kesla more than once, I remember, that blood is the most powerful component we have in magic. So I rubbed and tugged and scraped my left wrist as much as I could, chafing and abrading it against the cuff over and over until it bled. I hoped I could pass it off as just desperation, trying to yank my hand out after all, if they did see it hopefully they’d just chastise me for being so foolish as to try something so pointless. Instead they missed it, clearly distracted by far more pressing matters going on outside which they were desperate to run from. Meanwhile I now had the perfect ingredient to make this work.

Because the invocation fetters only deaden my magic, they don’t destroy it, I still have it flowing through my veins, dormant but ready and waiting for me to unleash it, I simply can’t while these bonds are clamped around me. But when my blood is outside my body, I can at least use an otherwise inert cantrip to set up a booby trap that someone could blunder into and activate without even realising it …

Despite the thin, cheap carpet laid over the top of it, I still catch sight of the sudden flare of bright blue light as the sigil keys in under his foot, and I feel the throb of the sudden activation pulse through me as my own otherwise deadened blood responds in sympathy. The first Kuth knows of anything happening, however, is when bright, crackling arcs of dancing static race up his limbs with blinding speed to quickly encompass his entire body, shocking him to his core. For a few moments he stays where he is, shuddering and quaking in place as all of his muscles seize up at once while the immense power of several miniature lightning bolts lance right through him … then the charge shorts out and he just sways for a moment, stiff and still as he smokes heavily, before finally dropping backwards like a felled tree.

I stay where I am for a long beat, watching closely as I slowly drop into a tight crouch. Not quite holding my breath, but I can feel my heart pounding in my chest even so, the potential threat of violence still hanging in the air enough to keep me anxious. Then I finally start to relax by increments, hoping that maybe it’s done enough damage to at least put him out of commission for a while. I doubt he’s actually dead, he’s still pretty big, and a half-orc to boot, they’re notoriously tough. But hopefully that’s still it from him, at least for now.

So I take a deep breath and start to inch forward, approaching with caution as I lean forward into a low, wary creep towards him. I’m easing my way around him, close to his sword arm now, when he suddenly gasps, as if he’s only just started breathing again, and his hands finally uncurl from fists so his sword finally clatters to the floor beside him. It’s enough to make me jump, springing back on my tight flanks, and I clutch the bundled chains close to me as I watch him for another fraught, nerve-wracking moment, waiting to see if he moves again.

He doesn’t but after another moment he starts to groan, very faintly, a long, low note of profound pain. I have to clench my jaw tight and purposely ignore him now to keep from feeling profoundly sorry for what I’ve just done, instead inching towards his sword now, reaching for it with due caution.

The moment I touch the hilt it burns my fingers horribly, the pain is genuinely shocking, like accidentally putting my hand on a stove I had no idea was blazing hot, and I almost fall on my backside pulling back this time. I give my hand a furious shake with a wounded hiss, before sticking all of my fingertips in my mouth and sucking on them hard, feeling fresh tears pricking my eyes again.

Then da coughs again and tries to speak: “Gael …” Once more he descends to coughing, but tries to muddle through. “Oh … go. You need … to go … go now. Don’t worry … about me …”

As he pitches another coughing fit which brings up even more blood, I wince in sympathy while my chest tightens along with my throat and my tears start to run free again. “Oh, but … no. No, what about … I can’t just –”

“GO!!!” He manages to snarl the word, and then just vomits up even more blood. More coughing follows, wetter than before and a good deal more ragged, and with each spasm of his chest more blood spills from his ragged wounds. I almost defy him, wanting to return to him so badly, to try to plug those holes, but I know I have no way to stem that awful flow, the only hope for him now is out there, if my friends really are fighting their way through to us now. Which I know they must be …

So I start to move for the door, carefully picking my way past the sprawled form at my feet, swiping my cleaner sleeve across my face while I take a big, snotty sniff. “All right … but I’ll be right back. I’ll get –”

A very hot hand grasps my ankle before I can get all the way past and I go down long before I have a hope of catching myself. It jogs my shoulder badly when I land, and while it’s long since been healed from when I broke it last week my body seems to remember the pain all the same, and it’s bad enough to make me cry out. I suck in a desperate breath and yank my foot free of those steely fingers, starting to kick away from him now as he rolls over with a wounded groan and blinks bloodshot eyes that take a moment to focus on me. But he’s still got too much of his old strength in him as he reaches for me now, and I shuffle back as fast as I can on my backside, desperate to clear as much distance as I can from him before running for the door.

Except that I forgot about the chains in all this confusion, so when he grabs hold of a handful of trailing links he yanks me over onto my side again and starts to tow me towards him again with alarming speed. Looking supremely angry now as he gnashes his bloody teeth, growling senseless gibberish that nonetheless manages to sound terribly threatening.

Lashing out as soon as I’m close enough, I crack my boot-heel as hard as I can across his face, but this just produces a furious little snarl as he spits a little blood and, from the look of it, a few teeth. He loses his grip, but nowhere near as much as I’d like, barely giving me enough slack to start pulling away before he renews his efforts and works on towing me back again.

So I do the only thing I can think of in the moment, with the only weapon I have to hand. Picking up a long coil of loose chain, I wind it up behind my head and give it a good sharp twist before snapping it into his face. It strikes him across the bridge of his nose with a savage, clinking snap, and he lets go immediately, cradling his now well-broken nose with both hands as blood starts to spurt between his fingers. He utters another hollow moan as he doubles over, while I take full advantage of the distraction to roll over and shove myself to my feet, already starting to bolt for the door.

The chain snags again before I even get close to it, and this time I’m moving fast enough that it jerks me right off my feet. I don’t have a chance to catch myself as I tumble backwards, landing hard enough to batter all the air out of me while my head spins for a long moment as I try to shake some sense back into it. By the time I’ve rolled up into a sitting position I can feel the chains start to tug on me again, and I scramble to scrape up as much of the remaining span as I can, digging my heels hard into the carpet under me now as I take up my end of the slack. Only now feeling the angry, sore line of hot pain across my tongue where I bit it when I crashed down, tasting blood filling my mouth which I spit out without care for where it actually goes as I finally start to get angry.

For the first few moments I manage to hold myself there, but I can’t drag in any more of the length strung out taut between us as it becomes clear that, even after the massive jolt I gave him, he’s still a good deal stronger than I am. I wind as much of what I’ve still got as I can around my forearms as I lean back and tense my legs as much as I can, but within moments my shoulders and back and thighs are screaming at me and the links start cutting into my hands. Then the carpet starts to tear under my heels and I realise this just won’t work.

When the threadbare material under my feet finally gives out entirely and rips loose in one long frayed strip right under me, he starts to drag me back so forcefully I spin right around before I can catch myself. I feel the cheap weave burning my arm right through my sleeve and back as I’m pulled right into his grasp, and as he starts to rear up on shaky knees I kick out to try and fend him off. It doesn’t do anything, it’s like kicking a solid oak log wrapped in boiled leather.

Letting go of what little chain I’ve still got in my grip, I just start pummelling him with my fists as he starts to awkwardly straddle me. I make contact at least half a dozen times, landing two pretty decent punches in his face that nonetheless don’t seem to much of anything, he just batters my hands aside and rears back to swing down and crack me across my face in return.

It's like stars exploding in my skull, a bright flash before everything turns into dancing lights and a kaleidoscope of crazy colours that I’m slow to realise is my vision gone all kinds of blurry as it spins wildly. I try to will my arms to work enough to strike him again, but I can’t feel much of anything beside the dull but bright ache across the whole lower half of my face so I have no idea if I even make contact this time. The next thing I do notice is when he grabs hold of my collar and pulls me up off the floor just enough to shove me back down good and hard, slamming me into the floor with enough force to thump out all of my air again. I’m left lying where I am, wheezing violently, as my senses finally come back to me.

Just as he leans down and, almost leisurely, curls the fingers of both hands around my throat. In the back of my mind I hear some small part of my cry out: Oh for the love of the gods, not this again! … but mostly I just become immediately, desperately aware that I’d barely had any chance to get any air back in my lungs in time before he did this, so within moments I’m starting to suffocate as he proceeds to choke me. Squeezing with even more force than Vandryss used before, I can already feel the tendons in my neck starting to bend and tear under the sheer force of it.

Within moments I’m fighting for my life, my legs kicking violently underneath him while I try to batter his arms away, but it’s like fighting two worryingly thick spans of solid steel, it only hurts me. Meanwhile my lungs are burning and my head is swimming while my vision starts to dim and compact into a narrow tunnel edged with red-rimmed black. I can hear my father trying to cry out from a thousand miles away, but mostly I just hear that awful rushing sound in my ears, just one of the many things I hoped I’d never experience again that are all coming at once expressly to torment me now in my final moments …

Looking up through that narrowing hole of existence at his face now, slipping further away as I watch, I can see he’s not really there anymore, he’s just a mask of furious rage, his green-skinned face flushed dark while his teeth are clenched tight and his eyes bulging. Their irises are even more red than the blood still streaking his teeth and smearing his lower face, there’s no more sense in them now than mercy. Right now he might murder me without even realising he’s doing Vandryss’ bidding after all …

I don’t even realise I’ve reached out with my right hand, not even knowing where I’m grasping, until I find one of the knives at his flanks and drag it free to plunge into his side. There’s a moment of resistance that’s probably the armour under his arm, but this pops after a beat and the blade slides in with a strange hot sizzle that’s my first indication that the knife is just as hot as the sword was before. The pain comes a moment after as I feel the hilt sear my palm and fingers, but I just grit my teeth and push it as deep as it’ll go, right up to the hilt.

This doesn’t seem to have much of an effect, so I just drag it out and drive it right back in again, more forcefully this time so there’s less resistance, and I keep doing it over and over, waiting for him to finally notice. It must take at least a dozen quick, deep punctures in his side, from waist to armpit, before he starts to falter, but the grip at my throat barely slips, and I realise now that I have seconds before I pass out, and then I know I’m truly fucked.

So I don’t bother with the side this time, instead drawing the knife back to jab up into the side of his throat, just under his broad jawline. Again I drive it in right to the hilt, giving it a little twist as the blood starts to jet furtively under my curled thumb. Some of it hits me in the face and I wish I could turn my head under that brutal grip, but he still doesn’t relent. So I grit my teeth tighter and work on forcing it across the front of his throat, following the line of his jaw as I try to open the whole thing up all the way across. If I had any air left in me I would scream with the effort.

This time enough blood splashes my face that I immediately go blind, tasting it too as it pours down my throat while I gasp from the suddenness of the spray and the shock of it filling my eyes. But this seems to be the final straw as he reels back, his hands jerking away from my throat to leave me coughing and spluttering as I almost vomit up the blood I’ve already swallowed. Dragging in massive lungfuls of air that make my aching throat and tortured lungs burn, I swipe my free sleeve across my eyes to clear enough of the blood from their lids to start blinking again, and when I’m finally able to look up again I see him stumble away. The moment my legs are free I scramble back with my heels and elbows, still gripping the knife in my tightly locked fingers, watching him grasp his gaping throat, trying to stem the flow as a truly awful gurling sound issues from his severed windpipe. In truth I’m a little amazed I actually managed to carve right through that …

He starts flailing his way towards the door now, but he must be losing a pint of blood with each pumping spurt of his ruined throat and his limbs are turning to jellied rubber, threatening to spill him onto his face with each failed effort to stand. Watching his withdrawal I feel my anger flare, and I don’t even try to fight it, jumping up to charge forward on admittedly clumsy legs myself, mostly just stumbling onto him now. As I flounder across his back I clumsily mount his hips and rear back with the knife gripped in both hands now, finally unleashing the scream I was previously denied as I bring it down in a forceful stab between his shoulder-blades. I can’t tell if it’s this or just the weight of my landing on him that finally bears him down, but he collapses while I drag the knife out and stab him again, doing the same over and over again long after he’s stopped moving.

I don’t even register the pounding on the other side of the door until something gives and it spills out of its frame, seeming to yield in the very top corner I originally predicted. Seeing this is what finally breaks me out of my catatonic action, slumping onto my elbows as I gawk with a slack jaw at the door crashing to the floor with a particularly large woman on top of it.

Kesla, grunting with visible pain as she grasps her side while flashing her white teeth wide as she thumps down and then bounces before finally settling and rolling over onto her back, whimpering a little as she does so. For a long, drawn out beat I just look at her, not quite able to believe she’s really here, but then the last of my lingering resolve breaks and I slump forward as I start bawling. Finally crashing as the adrenaline that fuelled my desperate battle for survival peters out and the tears come to drown me right here, doubled over on what must surely be a lifeless corpse.

Eventually I feel a strong hand touch my shoulder, soft and hesitant, while I just shiver and sob with my face pressed against the tough leather on the late half-orc’s back. Ragged and wet, I start to realise, as sense starts to return to me, warning me I must have my face laid right where I’ve been stabbing away with the stolen knife. Getting covered with the still warm blood seeping from the wounds. Not that I care much.

The touch at my shoulder grows firmer, and it doesn’t make me start, I know well enough who it is without having to look up. So when those steely fingers start to search for a better grip before finally curling around my upper arm and then start to pull me off the corpse’s back, I don’t fight it, I just let it happen. Finally catching sight of my friend as she pulls me into her lap.

Seeing Kesla looking down at me now, in significant pain even though I can’t see any real damage despite the state of her, but still just relieved to see me, almost kills most of my sorrow right now. I reach up to touch her face, I can’t help it, even now I still need that tactile reassurance she’s really here. She reaches up and grasps my hand with her own and starts to smile, a little tight from her pain but still so warm even so, and I think I might see a little moisture starting to well in her eyes too.

Then I remember what’s happened in here, and in particular beyond my own experiences, and I stiffen as the tears start to come again in earnest. “Oh … oh no, Kesla you have to … you have to help him! Quickly, he’s hurt! It’s so bad, Vandryss, she …” My voice breaks now, every word I say is like prickling needles inside my throat and it all comes out in ragged croaks, it’s a miracle I even manage to say that much before it just turns to sobs again.

Looking up, Kesla must catch sight of him almost immediately as her eyes widen and she stiffens too, only to wince as soon as she does. Even so, she still turns around enough to shout out behind her, betraying so much more pain in her voice now. “Shit! Shay! SHAY!!! GET SOME HELP IN HERE!!! RIGHT NOW!!! Get Krakka, ANYBODY!!! Just DO IT!!! QUICK!!!”

Now she curls up and pulls me further into her grip, wrapping her arms around me as she hugs me tight, and as I sink into the warm familiarity of her embrace I just start to go away. The floodgates open again and I let all the grief and terror and just pure sorrow of all I’ve been through these past few days spill out of me, all at once. She squeezes tighter in response, letting me get it out, and it’s enough to let me know I’m finally safe again …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 30 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 29

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: SHAYLINE

When Thel shoves Darwyn into my arms I almost just fall back on my arse, she takes me so much by surprise, but I rally myself quick enough to grab hold of her and plant her on her feet as I watch the dwarf start her clumsy run around the corner. Honestly, I can’t quite believe what I’m watching, but quickly enough the halfling starting to squirm in my grip brings my attention to bear and I remember what she just said. I give her a squeeze now, hissing in her ear as I try my best not to just crush her. “Darwyn, chill! Just wait!”

I’m almost surprised again when she actually does it, going slack in my arms as I shift my weight back onto my knees so I can be ready to spring forward again soon as it’s safe. Just as I hear the first arrow strike Thel and she stumbles, but doesn’t go down, instead just fighting to right herself as she keeps going, before another one hits her and it’s clear enough she’s taking all the fire now. So I just shove Darwyn behind me now and dive forward, scrabbling almost on hands and knees to reach Zuldrad’s prone form and expecting with every inch to get an arrow between my ribs for my troubles after all.

Nothing hits me before I reach him, so I just grab hold of his nearest arm and start dragging him. He starts to squirm almost immediately, letting out a winded but hearty enough scream that’s surprisingly high-pitched to let me know he’s still with us. I don’t stop, instead doubling my efforts as I grab hold of his shoulder with my other hand, not really registering how warmly wet it is until he cries out again. I just dig my fingers into the leather of his pauldron and start tugging, pulling him out of the line of fire now as I see Darwyn dropping to her knees in front of us. Looking more stricken than ever now as she takes in his wretched state.

He's bleeding like a stuck pig, his armour slick wet with blood that makes the leather even more black, and it’s clear enough that whoever shot him was paying close attention and aiming with an expert eye to be able to get around the scattering of plate steel in his gear. As Darwyn starts to cry harder again I probe at the wounds, seeing his shoulder’s good and torn under the armour much like when Art got hit the other night, while the other three are … oh fuck, these are serious wounds. No wonder what little breath he’s getting in is so ragged and wet sounding, both of these are in his lungs, and the other one, lower down in his back … gods, that is his liver …

Before I can say anything to Darwyn, even though I don’t have the first clue what to say as I realise her friend’s probably going to die from these wounds, something barrels hard round the corner to smash into the wall next to us. Something big, I realise now, impossibly big, as big as Driver 8, in fact. Certainly so massive that the wall, which was already subtly dented with broken, spiderwebbed cracks through the pale plaster from what must have been the termination of Lady Naru’s blast, completely craters under the impact. I grab hold of Darwyn as broken shards of plaster and stone rain down around us, along with a thin haze of billowing dust, and just bear her down against the floor again.

Whatever it is grunts loud as it flounders, and when I chance a look my blood runs cold as I realise I’ve seen this before – I remember the armoured ogre from the other night, but it’s no less terrifying now, and right now it’s the worst thing we could possibly have run into. I almost grab firmer hold of Darwyn and start to drag her away, hoping it’s busy enough with extracting itself from the broken stone of the wall it won’t notice us, but remembering Zuldrad stops me. He’s not dead yet, I still have a responsibility for him …

Then the ogre rolls back and lands on its backside heavily enough to shake the whole place, and when it sits up I swear it’s looking right at me with bright eyes that seem far too intelligent. For a moment it just blinks back at me, seeming more surprised than we are as it just takes us both in … then its eyes narrow and it lowers its helmed head as it bares its oversized teeth and starts to growl. Still a genuine threat then.

Certainly I feel in very real danger, particularly once I realise I don’t currently have a weapon in hand while I’m here on my knees, very much at this beast’s mercy right now. Sure, I could grab Darwyn and just run, but that would mean leaving Zuldrad, and I just can’t do it, even if I have a feeling he would probably prefer If I saved his friend instead of him. Which means staying where I am, and fighting. My eyes flicker to my stolen sword, dumped without ceremony a few feet out of reach without stretching, and right now I know that …

When I look up I see the ogre’s followed my gaze, now very much aware of what I’ve been thinking, and I know now my time’s run out. My heart starts to pound harder in my chest than it has all night, even when we were running through the theatre, and I can feel the cold, charged surge of adrenaline pumping through me now, ready to give me a burst of speed. Should I choose to lunge for the sword to defend us both as I’m seriously considering, even though I know it would be of no use at all against this enemy. If this thing charges we’re both flattened.

Then it starts to shift and I stop really thinking now, instead shoving Darwyn down with one hand while I stretch to scrape the sword up with the other … just as I feel tiny clawed hands and feet scramble up and over my arched back, something small but agile and very quick using my shoulders as a launching platform, only letting a feral little snarl go as they leap. When I look up again I see Brung spring at the ogre, which actually reels back as its eyes widen, mostly just surprise but it’s still sudden enough to take a little of the fight out of it, at least for a moment. Which is all he needs as he plucks the knife from his teeth and lands on its face, grabbing hold of the helmet and starting to slash away at whatever it can that’s exposed. The attack lasts for bare seconds before the beast recovers enough wits to whip its gigantic hand across its face, and he’s brushed away, turning over as he tumbles to barely land on all fours.

The ogre looks really pissed when it raises that hand again and tenses its arm to bring it down on him in a great, crushing smash, but in the same moment I hear something behind me … or perhaps I feel it, or more accurately both, knowing Lady Naru’s close behind me now without needing to look. Speaking an incantation as something bright is hurled at our would-be attacker, a bundle of something wild and chaotic, a fizzing, dancing blur of rainbow light and sparks that seems to burst apart at the ogre’s feet before flaring upwards. Suddenly the air’s filled with a great hissing, humming whistle that seems to fluctuate as the sparks start to dance upwards, while the rainbow light stretches and weaves up and around the startled beast in bright, twisting tendrils. The noise builds into a harsh buzz which starts to hurt my ears, then there’s a final flare while the air seems to pop …

Altogether it’s so bright and loud I reel back, I can’t help it, dropping the sword again as I cover my face with my arms, but when I chance a look again, blinking the after-image out of my eyes, all I see is an absence. The ogre’s nowhere to be seen, all there is left is a few scattered sparks that seem to pop and fizz out of existence low in the air where it was.

Once again, when I turn to look at her Lady Naru’s having to lean against her staff for support, although this time she doesn’t look anywhere near as worn as she did when she blasted the corridor behind us. She’s still left breathing heavily, but the fit seems to pass quickly enough, and she manages a slightly wan smile.

“Bloody hell …” I get myself up onto both knees again as I look her over, knowing I’m probably regarding her with something like awe right now. “Now what did you do?”

Frowning a little, the sorcerer considers for a moment. “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. I just … well, I shunted them somewhere else. I didn’t really have enough time to focus on a specific destination, so I really can’t bank on where they’ll land. Somewhere high, that was about all I could really manage. It’s possible they might hit the ground with a significant amount of force.”

My eyes go a little wider at that, and I’m a beat finding words to reply, but when I do I know I’m smiling a little, although I don’t really know how it’ll actually read. “That was … you know you can be bloody scary sometimes.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, she pushes herself more upright again, looking past me to Zuldrad as the last of her good humour leaks away. There’s worry, but a regret too, and perhaps something a little darker. “Oh … damn it … Shay, I can’t mend that. He needs a proper healer. We have to do something now.”

“We do, yeah.” I turn to look him over myself, as Darwyn just doubles over him, laying her head against his shoulder now while he seems to be breathing shallower still. I can see so much of his blood soaking into the carpet right now … “We have to get to that fucking door. If we get it open Krakka’s right on the other side. He can fix this. And we’ll have all the reinforcements we’d need.” I turn back to Lady Naru. “Can you get it open? I mean we don’t actually know what’s wrong with it –”

“It depends what Tavarrat’s actually done. It could be as simple as removing an enchantment, or it could be horribly complex, I might need to work at it for a while. There’s just no way to know until I arrive.”

“Well if we are gonna do something, we better do it now.” Hearing Thel’s voice now, after seeing her charge around the corner, makes me look up, wondering what she’s doing back, and I find her stood just inside the cover of the wall now, Brung stood beside her. Inspecting the knife in his clawed hand, the blade of which is, I notice, conspicuously clean of blood. Not that I would have expected him to have actually been able to cut the ogre’s stone-hard skin.

She’s in one piece, at least, and I don’t see any arrows stuck in her, although I see a few more conspicuously bright nicks and scratches marking the plates of her armour. Bearing the brunt of the archer’s shots, I suspect. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was that halfling I remember from the Heath, one of Mallys’ mercenaries. Certainly given the presence of that fucking ogre …

Getting to my feet now, I step up to the corner myself, looking her over for a moment before taking a deep breath and glancing out into the open beyond. Wondering what could possibly convince her to turn back right now, even after that great hulking beast was removed from the mix.

There are several more figures stood at the far end of the passage than I would have expected, especially after Lady Naru took so many out in one fell swoop with that crazy spell of hers. But this group … they’re a more eclectic mix, and I recognise many of them, too.

That diminutive archer’s there, just as I expected, but I see the imori too, stood out in the open like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Waiting with his lethal sabre and dagger already drawn in anticipation of an attack. I catch sight of that hedge wizard too, the one from the Heath, stood near the front with his staff tilted towards us, and while he still looks like a stiff breeze could knock him down I’ve learned not to judge with mages by their appearance.

Vandryss is there too, Tavarrat at her side, both skulking at the back with that young half-orc I fought the other night while Kesla crossed swords with Mallys for the first time. I don’t know if he recognises me from there, but I lean out long enough for them to at least register me before I pull back.

It’s the one in front that makes me pause for longer than I intended, just long enough for the halfling to draw her bow again as she crouches off to the side, preparing to take aim on me and finally making me slip out of sight again. I don’t recognise that one, but it doesn’t take much imagination for me to work out who he is. Part of it’s just going off what I learned from Kesla in description after she met him, but to be honest it couldn’t really be anyone else.

Orric Jammund is, to be honest, exactly as I expected him to be. He’s as world-worn as all the other former pirates I’ve run into, both tonight and this afternoon at the Late Bone, but he still wears it so much better. There’s something larger-than-life about the way he just stands there, hand casually laid on the hilt of his still-sheathed sabre, almost slouching as he cocks his head to the side, that suggests he doesn’t have any more care in the world than the imori shadowing him. Like what’s happening right now is just inconveniencing him. To my eye … honestly, there’s nothing about him that looks like an overt threat, and yet somehow, every inch of him still feels like one.

Before I pull back I mark one more thing, too. Remembering the layout of this lowest of the underground floors here in the cellar, I know that to get where I need to go, I have to get through them. The passage turning off at the end of this one branches off at its end in two opposite directions, one of which leads to the tunnels entrance. But directly behind them now, there’s the room we should find Gael in, and likely her father too, at least according to that woman, Sal. They’re so close now … just realising this now almost makes me charge out into the open without further thought. Except it’s clear enough that would be very bad …

“Shit …” I hiss under my breath and I lean back against the wall, letting my head drop back.

Lady Naru’s watching me, concerned now. “What is it –”

“Hello there?” The voice is gruffer than I would’ve imagined, but then I suppose a lifetime of salt-air and shouting orders on a rolling deck would probably do some damage. More than that, there’s something about it … I don’t know why, but just hearing it makes the fine hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. Like the air just before a particularly powerful storm, out in the high places in the Reaches. “Can I have a word?”

My eyes meet the sorcerer’s now, and she just frowns deeper, looking past me to the corner. Wary now, which can’t be a good sign. I take a deep breath through my nose and shift as close as I can to the edge without exposing myself, then clear my throat. “Not unless the little one puts down that bow, I’m afraid. And the hedge can fuck off, too.”

“No, I don’t reckon that’ll do, luv. Well, s’pose we can hear each other well enough from here. Where’s the big one? I would’ve expected her to be leading the charge.”

Gritting my teeth, I bite back my retort and just press on. “What do you want, Jammund? If you knew what was good for you you’d just surrender now, it’ll save you a lot of grief.”

“Really? You sure ‘bout that, luv? Far as we can tell you’re more’n a few short for that. The rest o’ you are still conspicuously stuck out in the tunnels. I’d be real interested to see what you got planned makes you so confident all of a sudden.”

Hissing a curse under my breath, I turn back to Lady Naru and beckon her over. She comes quickly, leaning in close so I can whisper low. “Can you do that thing you did before again? The way you cleared this corridor, I mean.”

Looking into space for a moment, her eyes seem to go glassy before she blinks again and then shakes her head. “No, not with those mages there. If it was just the hedge wizard I might have caught them unaware like the others, but I hazard a guess that’s Tavarrat in the back. She would make that … too difficult, I should think.”

Fighting the growl that wants to come now, I still grit my teeth as I instead wonder: “What about Big Man? Any chance you could summon him in here? You know, like a reversal of what you did with the ogre?”

“I’m sorry, Shay, but it doesn’t work like that. I just banished them, it’s not really a spell built for a great amount of nuance. And even if I could there’s nowhere near enough room in here for that to –"

“Tell you what, luv.” Jammund runs right over her now. “I’ll give you … let’s see, how ‘bout we say another … minute to pull back, send word to yours out there that they’re to do the same so you can all just fuck off right now, an’ maybe your pointy-eared friend’ll live to see another sunrise after all. Way things’re going right now their time’s getting real short.”

I barely manage to keep from snapping a hasty insult back, and my fingers still audibly tighten all on their own around the hilt of the sword as it is. I shoot a look at Lady Naru’s staff, then to Brung and Thel each, trusting her to work out what I mean, then turn back before bothering to watch her reaction. “Yeah, you know what, Jammund? That won’t do either. Right now you not doing that’s the only thing keeping me from cutting you to pieces the moment I reach you. If you were to tempt fate any more I’d have to get nasty. How long did you say? A minute? That’ll be less than that now for you to make a decision on the matter, I should think.”

Lady Naru hisses low, no real word, just showing her regard to this, but she still leans in close to start whispering to Thel. Meanwhile I start to pull back from the corner, taking a breath as I move towards Darwyn, still slumped beside the stricken hobgoblin. Setting my stolen weapon aside, I drop to my knee beside her.

“Listen here, I don’t reckon you’re hearin’ me, girl. You can’t win this, you ain’t got the numbers, an’ you definitely ain’t got enough magic, not with just one mage, we got you outclassed there. All you’re doing is wasting your time, and your friend’s time too. You’re getting ‘em killed. Just go. Now. While you still can.”

Trying not to let him fray my nerves, I just grit my teeth and reach out, laying my hand against Darwyn’s back, high up, slowly moving my fingers to start massaging the nape of her neck, gentle as I can be. Keeping my voice soft, whispering low to her alone. “Darwyn? Please, I need you to buck up and get your shit together. We need you. Right now.”

For a long moment she doesn’t respond, quiet and still enough I start to worry that she might have been fundamentally broken by this, her friend’s time is ticking away so quickly now, his chances so slim they’re almost non-existent. I feel so cold and cruel and fucking heartless just having to ask this right now, but I have no choice, we need her. Just like Jammund said, we don’t have the numbers, and if she is broken then we have one less.

Then she finally stirs, stiffening a little under my hand while she slowly raises her head. She doesn’t turn to face me, in the end she just gives me a bare glance through the corner of her eyes, the slimmest of eye contact. Her hair hangs around her face, I can barely see the state of it now, but it’s clear enough to me how fraught she is now, barely a shell of herself. “Leave me alone.” She breathes the words so low I almost miss them.

“Gods damn it … Darwyn, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I mean it, we need you now –”

Turning fast, she smacks my hand away as she rounds on me, and suddenly her grief is changing into anger, she’s almost fiery with rage now as she confronts me. “Fuck you!” She still only hisses the words, somehow managing to exert enough control on herself to keep from raising her voice, but there’s so much force in her speech even so. “Fuck you for this, I can’t do this now, I gotta help him. I can’t leave my friend, look at this, look what they done to him, I gotta stay with him –”

My hand moves without me really thinking about it first, it flies almost on its own as I slap her with a restrained back-hander that nonetheless still makes her stumble as she reels back and almost falls. Not stunned, she’s just shocked by what I’ve done, as much as I am and I’m sure it’s writ large across my face. But I don’t go back on it now, clenching my teeth as I suck a fresh breath in and trying to close my face off. “Stop it. I mean it, we don’t have time for this. Gael hasn’t got time, if we don’t move now they’re going to kill them.” I reach out again, grabbing her shoulder and dragging her close, and she doesn’t resist me, likely still too startled to fight back. So I press my advantage. “Fucking listen to me, if you want Zul to survive this you’re going to help us. His only hope is on the other side of that door, at the end of this bloody maze, Krakka’s out there and he needs us to open the way for him. Do you understand me?”

Slowly, as her eyes start to fill with tears again, she reaches up to her face, pressing her fingers to her jaw and cheek which are already red from my strike. Part of me is desperate to apologise to her for it, but I bite it off, just hoping I’ve gotten through to her. Finally she blinks, and while the gathered tears run she doesn’t break down this time, instead standing up straight while her face starts to harden. Even so, her voice still wobbles, a little cracked. “I’m … I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m with you. I just …”

My eyes flicker to Zuldrad for a moment, still crumpled on the floor close by, his breath slow and faint and rasping, his face so pale. There’s very little time left to him, now. I really hope I’m right, that there still is some tiny hope for him, as much for her sake now as for him. “I promise … I promise you, this is his best chance. Are you ready?”

Sniffing hard, she wipes her face as clean as she can with the heel of her glove, which is still bloody enough it smears fresh gore onto her cheeks while blotting the tears. But her expression is a lot harder now, more determined, the anger returning to her now. She slips both of her longest knives free from their scabbards and takes a deep breath, which only hitches a little. “Yeah. I am fucking ready. I wanna kill something.”

Letting a more relieved sigh go, I reach over to drag the sword back up from the floor, then as I’m looking at it I consider for a moment before starting to scan our immediate surroundings, hoping maybe I can find something a little more suitable for me here. Maybe one of the unfortunate bastards here had a blade I can put to better use than this heavy, unwieldy thing. But even as I start looking I realise it’s a long shot, there are smaller swords here but nothing that looks remotely worth my time. Most of the steel here’s workmanlike at best, and I just don’t trust it. Looks like I’m stuck with this thing for now.

As I get to my feet again I give Lady Naru a look, and find she’s already starting to weave a sigil, which looks like another complicated one. She doesn’t look too happy about it, but she still holds her tongue as she meets my gaze, instead tightening her grip on her staff with her other hand and turning to look where we have to go. Steeling herself now.

Thel’s just breathing heavy, her heavily armoured shoulders rising and falling in a particularly intimidating fashion with each pull and push, while her brow is tightly knitted and her face dark as she watches the sorcerer. Gripping her axe tight in her hands, held low and ready for violence. Ready to charge.

Brung looks up at me now, cocking his head somewhat like a small dog would, and while I still can’t read his expression at all, the gesture feels like a query. Breathing out slow, I just give him a little nod, and I think he reads it right as he turns to step up beside the dwarf, drawing his shortsword again in anticipation.

Jammund’s voice comes again from out of sight: “You still there? I mean I know you are. You really ain’t thinking it through, are you? You ain’t got a dog’s chance in this fight, luv. This ain’t gonna go right for you at all.” He sighs loud enough for me to catch, but I doubt there’s any more sincerity in it than any of the feigned regret he’s putting on. “Last chance, girl. Count o’ ten. Nine. Eight. Seven –”

“Now …” I barely breathe it to Lady Naru, but she responds instantly, muttering an incantation which makes the sigil flare warm yellow, then split in two, seeming to float in front of her as she now immediately pushes out into the open. Already raising her staff, which seems to gleam for just a blink, like there’s a sparking light that rides up its length from the butt to its very tip in the space of a blink, and when the top starts to glow I know it wasn’t any kind of trick of the light. She raises it in both hands, already aiming it as she steps out, and I just follow right behind as I break into a tight, crouching charge at her side.

The first thing I hear as we emerge is the shunting twang of the loosening bowstring, but I’m already starting to wind up my first swing, so as the halfling’s arrow streaks towards me I’m sharp enough to cut it in two in mid-air before it can do any harm. Then Sulin unleashes whatever the spell is she’s built up in her staff and for a moment I’m blinded, the ensuing flash is so bright it’s a miracle I don’t stumble on the spot in sheer disorientation. Instead I just soldier on, continuing to charge in the same direction I’ve been heading, hoping I don’t blunder into her or the nearest wall as I work on blinking my eyes clear again.

My eyesight clears within bare moments, the bright blur shifting enough I can at least make out a vague picture of what’s going on, and I can see more than a few of the people ahead of us are stumbling back, seemingly even more blinded and disoriented than I was. As if she somehow managed to shield me at the last as she cast the spell, although I don’t have the first clue how. The imori seems the most stricken, all but doubled over while he grips his head with his offhand, hissing and snarling in clear pain, but I see Jammund’s taken a strong hit too. And he was always where I planned on aiming anyway …

Then Thel slips around me and sprints forward, already starting to roar a fierce battle-cry which I’m not sure is really wise if she plans on taking advantage of them being momentarily blinded. On the other side, just through the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Brung bounding up on the other side, managing to keep pace with her as he uses his free hand too to propel him along faster … then the sorcerer stops for a single beat, dropping out of sight now as I keep going, but the two hovering sigils both suddenly streak out ahead of her. Heading straight for both of them.

Yeah … granted, this was technically my plan, but now I’m very much realising that not actually discussing it means I have no idea what she’s actually doing here. So when the floating bundles of strange glowing yellow lines, squiggles and dots inexplicably drop down to whip under their feet, I’m a little startled when their next steps see them both suddenly fall into them. Almost as if the split spell just opened gaping holes in the floor, and they both just vanish from sight.

This time I really do falter on the spot, seeing that is just too much for me in the moment, and as I stumble to a halt I blink again as I start to cast about for where they’ve gone. Just as two more of these strange glowing “holes” appear in the air on the far side of the group ahead, and they both immediately drop through. Ah, yeah … okay, I understand it now. That‘s actually bloody brilliant. For a moment I almost expect them to start cutting into the momentarily disoriented figures around them, but instead they just keep on running, quickly turning the corner at the bottom of the passage and vanishing from sight. Already heading for the tunnel entrance.

Then Jammund blinks a few more times, wiping his eyes with thumb and forefinger, and finally squints a little as he starts to focus again … and his eyes find me much quicker than I would have expected. His already well-furrowed brows crease further as they look me up and down, then he cocks one of them as one corner of his mouth starts to tick upwards. He takes a step forward now, reaching across and drawing his sword in an almost languid motion, like he wants to take his time with this, and his smile starts to grow.

You’d be that half-orc, I take it? It’s interesting, Van could’ve sworn she killed you already, there was some doubt whether or not you were the same one. But seeing you now, reckon it’s a lot easier to believe.”

Through the corner of my eye, I see Lady Naru step up to the imori and, with a deft spin of her staff, comes very close to knocking him to the floor. He’s barely with it enough after his own brief blinding to duck aside, baring a mouthful of particularly scary teeth at her with a low hiss as he dances back, but he’s watching her with cold wariness now. Regarding her as a proper threat now, but not attacking yet, his eyes instead flickering to Jammund, like he’s checking to see what he does first. The sorcerer gives the stave a more showy flourish before tapping it to the floor beside her, drawing herself up to her full height to the side between me and the pirate, and gives him a cool look. He returns it, still looking surprisingly unfazed.

“You’re an interesting one too, I don’t mind saying. Real easy on the eyes.” He sneers at her for a moment, before turning back to me. “Truth be told, though, I’m more interested in this one. I’m curious to see how well she dances.”

“What makes you think I’d give you the chance?” the sorcerer hisses now, her striking eyes narrowing as her lips draw tight. “Despite what you might suppose, you are the one who’s outclassed.”

“No, you need to go.” I growl, watching Jammund now as he ignores her, still focused on me as he takes a half-step back into a very strong ready-guard. It’s enough to make me follow suit too, since I intended to do this anyway. “Get that door open, let the others in. Go fast.”

There’s a moment I think she might argue, but in the end she just steps back, taking her staff up in both hands while giving me a dark sidelong glare. “Damn it …”

“I’ll stay with you.” Darwyn’s tensed low on my other side, looking up at Jammund with both her knives cocked and ready. She looks close to furious right now, enough that diminutive as she is she still looks like a genuine threat in her own right. “Help you cut this puffed up pirate down to size.”

“No, you go with her.” I turn back to Jammund. “He’s mine. Besides, I’m going for Gael.”

His brow quirks a little higher at that, his head tilting a little as he looks me over with a more critical eye now. “You got no chance o’ getting past, luv. Just me or the lot of us, we’ll cut you all down before you get halfway.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.” I shoot Lady Naru a quick sidelong look and hiss: “Go!”

As Jammund blinks, starting to frown a little, Lady Naru just lunges past me as she ducks down and grabs hold of Darwyn’s wrist. Now he starts to twig, and as his eyes narrow while he lunges forward she just speaks that strange soundless sensory word while the halfling doesn’t even have a chance to try and struggle, barely even managing to squeak: “Wait –” before they’re both gone.

I don’t even bother trying to follow where they’re going to now as I just take advantage of the old pirate’s momentary distraction as his intended target just vanishes right in front of him in that strange gaping half-glimpsed emptiness, the tiny prowler along with her. I lunge forward and whip the sword around low, hoping to get under his arm on the left, thinking I might be able to cut him open under the ribs and maybe end the fight before it’s had a chance to start.

Except he darts aside just as suddenly as I’m coming for him, and while he’s clumsy about it, caught out and almost throwing himself away from my blade, his footwork is smooth enough he almost makes it look effortless enough it could have fooled a lesser fighter. I have to plant my feet and draw back into a wary guard in order to keep from overbalancing myself, but at least he’s in no position to take advantage of me in turn, instead taking two more large steps back, bringing him close to the wall now as he regards me with a much more cautious eye.

Now I hear more commotion further down the corridor, almost enough to make me shift my attention that way just long enough to check what’s happening, but I know well enough that it’s the rest of them trying to muster as Lady Naru comes out on the other side. I manage to catch a rather harried oath of: “For fuck’s sake, hold on!” from Darwyn, then a deafening crack as there’s a less bright flash from that direction, followed by the sound of at least a couple of stumbling bodies, and more swearing.

I just hold my ground, my eyes still locked on Jammund as I take a wary step back and to the side again, uncomfortably aware now that I’m the only one still here on this side of their group. Knowing full well that if I have miscalculated this I could well be overwhelmed in a matter of moments.

Thankfully he’s taking a chance as he shoots a sidelong glance to check on the unfolding scene, which gives me enough confidence to do the same. Beyond him I catch sight of a smouldering, smoking crater in the middle of the passage, where the hedge wizard is starting to push himself up while the halfling looks ready to spit as she inspects her now smashed and ruined bow. The imori’s just focusing on me though, carefully edging his way around Jammund’s side now as he holds his sword low and seems to be looking for an opportunity for his own attack. Damn it … that’s not what I was hoping for …

“Fucking bitch … oh for … ORRIC!!!” The frustration is sharp in Vandryss’ voice, her thick Tektehran accent giving it a particularly harsh edge, and while I can’t really see her through the haze of the smoke from the spell’s aftermath I’m sure she’s glaring daggers right now. “Just end this shit! It’s time!”

His eyes narrow as he growls something low and angry under his breath I can’t make out, but he’s focusing on me again. “Oh for … just go! I’ll hold this one here, I need you both to go! Follow the plan, like we discussed!”

“What?” This time it’s Tavarrat who speaks up, and I can hear a subtle edge of desperation in her voice. “No, we can’t … I’m not leaving you! Don’t be stupid Orric, just –”

“I fuckin’ mean it, Luthan! Leave now!”

“Shit!” I actually hear Vandryss spit, she does it with such ferocity, then she starts barking orders at the mercenaries around her with genuine fury. “You lot! Fucking get after them! Right now, just do the job you were bloody hired for! Stop them now, preferably permanently, like you’re supposed to!”

For a moment the hedge wizard and halfling just look at each other, then back at her, like they don’t understand the order, then he hefts his staff and reaches out with his free hand, offering it to her. She looks at it for a long beat, and I know immediately what that’s about, making it instantly clear that she feels the same about porting as I do. Then she shakes her head and takes hold, although she’s wincing as she does it … then he speaks his incantation and they’re both gone. Leaving the imori, who’s looking back now, seeming to be wondering about his own role as he then turns back to me, baring his teeth as he must consider staying after all.

Beyond I can see the rest of them, the haze finally thinning enough again, catching sight of Tavarrat already making for the door behind them, reaching for the lock while Vandryss grabs hold of the half-orc before he can follow my friends. Instead she drags him after as the warlock unlocks the door and stares out towards Jammund with a pining look for a beat while the other two enter before ducking through herself.

“Master Ixen, if you would, reckon your mates’d appreciate your company.” Jammund hisses now, still maintaining eye contact with me.

“What?” His face isn’t the only thing about him that seems more snakelike than anything else, his voice more of a rasping hiss than true speech, while his accent’s the thickest Abharetian I’ve ever heard. “No, I’m here to fight, and this one here will give me –”

“I have this.” There’s a cool warning to Jammund’s tone now as he lets more of a growl enter his voice. “You heard my colleague, go do your job. Y’already took the money, go and fucking earn it. Before they let the rest of ‘em in here and complicate matters.”

The way the imori looks at me now makes it abundantly clear he wants so badly to ignore him and just come at me, and I find myself tensing in anticipation as a fresh tingle of bitter adrenaline starts coursing through me. I wonder what Jammund would actually do if he did, if he’d just back off and let it happen, follow his friends or go after mine instead, or if he’d use the distraction and gang up on me with this terrifying beast. Neither likelihood much appeals to me – even on his own I genuinely don’t know if I actually could stand against this one …

“Fuck …” Taking a long step back, this Ixen fellow starts to withdraw with a frustrated growl, baleful bright eyes narrow as he keeps then locked on me, finally pointing his sword my way as he adds: “Maybe our paths will cross again, I would certainly hope so. Until then …” He watches us both for several more crabbing steps before finally turning and breaking into a run in the same direction the rest of his crew went.

Unable to restrain myself, I clear my throat and yell out with all I can: “SULIN!!! DARWYN!!! WATCH YOUR BACKS!!! THERE’S MORE COMING!!!”

Jammund cocks his brow, that crooked little smile returning now. “Mind what’s in front o’ you, lass. Your fight’s here, not with them.”

Vandryss going through that door instead of following the others makes me uncomfortable, whether she went with Tavarrat or not. After the threats this bastard made towards Gael, it worries me greatly that they’ve gone to do awful harm to my friend, enough that I’m already starting to regret my decision to stay here for a one-on-one fight instead. I have to fight my way through him to get to them now, while that cruel bitch could have killed them already. I don’t have time for this.

So I just growl: “I’ve got wits enough for you.” under my breath, shifting my stolen sword forward in a low two-handed guard … and charge him.

His eyes widen considerably as I rush him with my sword already swinging, letting me know I’ve caught him unaware enough at least for a chance as he takes another step back and starts to twist, trying to parry my stroke. So I turn it into a feint as I suddenly duck left and run up the wall to get my foot up high enough to launch myself with sufficient force to bring my sword down swift and heavy on him from above.

Only for him to turn into it with a startled grunt and bring his sword up just in time to catch the blow across its flat, bringing his other hand up at the last to firm his grip up a little. In the end the force of my intended blow still drives both of our blades down far enough he has to bend significantly to his side to keep my edge from cutting high into his shoulder after all, finally stopping it a bare inch short of biting home. I grit my teeth and push harder, trying to force it into him after all, but he’s stronger than I originally expected, his rangy limbs holding surprising power despite his clear age. He’s straining as hard as I am, but holding up impressively well.

In the end it starts to feel like a stalemate, and while I know I could probably win in a battle of attrition if I decided to just wait him out I just can’t afford the time right now. So I finally pull back quick with a frustrated snarl and spring away to open up space between us, mindful in case he can muster enough speed to attack after all while I withdraw. Instead he just staggers back a step himself, gasping as he sucks in fresh breath, instead just winded for the moment but strong enough at least to keep his sword up now, pointing it at me with a steady enough hand to keep me beyond arm’s length as he composes himself.

His eyes dancing as he regards me. “That was … sneaky, you got some moves. Strong too.”

Narrowing my eyes, I don’t answer him, instead just taking a few steps to the side, approaching the wall again. Not quite enough room to circle, not in this relatively tight corridor. Judging what moves are actually available to me right now, since he’s clearly shown he’s got some talent of his own. He just watches me, getting his breathing under control again, and I see the wheels turning behind his eyes now, thinking like I am. Evaluating the threat, adjusting his plan accordingly. Meanwhile my overall problem remains the same, I still have to get past him.

So I suck in a frustrated breath through my teeth and take a step closer before planting my feet, keeping my sword low now as I loosen my grip up a little. Watching his eyes.

I don’t have to wait long, catching his quick glance to my right just before he lunges and twisting accordingly, but staying loose in case it’s a clever feint instead. But he comes in as I expected, and as I dance aside I bring my sword round, hoping to cut him down while he’s still turning in response. Except that he twists aside when I swat my blade towards him, ducking under my stinging slash before wheeling about on wide feet and trying to cut up under my defences after. I have to spring back to avoid the blow, and skip away with my heart in my mouth, finally winding up with my back to the wall once I’ve opened enough distance between us.

Slowly realising I’m past him now, I risk a quick glance up the corridor that’s now behind me, empty save for the charring from Lady Naru’s spell marking the carpet and bottom of the wall. Nothing between me and the door now, then. I could just run for it right now.

Except he’s still too spry for me to risk turning my back on him right now, and as I narrow my eyes he must work out what I’m thinking. He takes the first step towards me, cautious even as he gives his sword a cocky little flourish, and I grit my teeth as I step away from the wall, lowering the sword so it just hangs loose at my side as I wait for him on looser feet. Trying a different approach now.

Cocking his head, he pauses for a long moment as he looks me over again. Reevaluating me. I fight the urge to growl in frustration and take a few light, dancing steps towards him, hoping he’ll just take the bait and end my waiting.

Instead he just frowns, the smile fading quickly as he takes a wary step to his side, starting to crouch as he lowers his sword too, letting me come in, so I slow my approach, not planting my feet yet but continuing to bait him as I wait just outside easy reach. Trying to open my jaw now as I fight to keep myself loose.

When he comes this time he moves with more caution, but with a similar lightness of step that almost makes me miss the feint when he makes it. His sword comes swift enough I nearly miss the swipe, so I just stop thinking and respond, and while my own stolen blade is heavy and really not built for wielding one-handed, it parries quick and clean enough to make him dance back. I press before he can entirely recover, aiming a few swift, darting jabs at his centre of mass while I jump forward, keeping loose as I step with light feet, hoping I can harry him into the wall now as he backs up while striking each jab aside.

Instead he finally wheels aside, again trading places with me as the limited width of the passage makes true circling difficult. This time when he backs up he doesn’t leave me waiting long, coming quick with a high attack that I don’t bother trying to parry, instead just ducking aside and rushing past him to open another gap between us. As he turns I skip backwards on the balls of my feet, beckoning him in with my free hand.

This time when he frowns at me for a beat before letting a wary huff go and then charging I plant my feet firm at the last and step back onto my trailing foot, extending the sword before me in a firm, locked thrust pointed directly at his chest. He barely manages to arrest his charge enough to stumble aside, and when he staggers into the wall I break out of my stance with sharp, hungry speed, swinging the sword in a deft flourish while I wind up my attack, bringing my other hand up to add strength to the stroke.

He stays where he is, likely realising when he sees me coming he doesn’t have time or good enough footing to spring aside so he just swings his sword up into his free hand to meet my stroke. He just manages to get it up in time, stopping my blade again, and we lock up, him gritting his teeth after finally managing to plant his feet as he fights to keep me a bare blade’s width shy while I again strive to drive my own edge into him, this time going for his throat. The steel between us scrapes and squeals under the strain we’re putting on it, but both blades are too well made, and we’re too evenly matched in strength still, so neither of us are going to win a shoving match.

Growling low in my face, the tendons standing right out in his throat while his face is flushing red, a condition I suspect is frustratingly is similar to my own right now,Jammund snarls: “For Thorin’s sake … what exactly is the fucking plan here, luv? You tryin’ to wear me down? It’s starting to look like you’re getting’ tired as me right now …”

“Oh … will you just … shut the fuck up?” I try to shove a little harder, but it’s like I have no more strength to give, every joint in me seems to be locked tight while all my muscles, from my arms and back right down to my thighs and calves, are screaming for this to just be over. He’s got a point, I don’t know how much more of this I can actually take.

Seems like he’s trying to do much the same thing, working on bringing his right arm up now but only succeeding in turning his wrist a bit to raise his elbow a foot or so, while his breath is a tight, wheezing hiss … then he lets out a winded snarl at the same time that his whole upper body twists. We’re locked so tight together right now I can’t do anything in response, the movement’s so sudden I just wind up going with his motion so the sword gripped like a vice by my fingers jumps up and to the right, driven hard into the wall by his head. The edge bites into the plaster with a squeaking scrape that shrieks in my ears and I’m immediately overbalances as I have to stretch to prevent the weapon from getting torn right out of my grip. Meanwhile he twists out of our broken lock, dragging his own sword down with wicked speed as he does so. And I’m not wearing a single scale of armour …

The only thing that saves me from getting carved right open on the spot is timing, my momentum spinning me around as I’m thrown aside so that his blade glances me with a fairly shallow cut that mostly just slices meat. Even so, the pain is instant and significant, a line of white hot agony opening under my left arm, and pure survival instinct takes over as I stumble away, almost falling as I wheel away from him. The only mercy is that suddenly my breathing comes easier as the corset’s significantly loosened, but as I feel hot wetness immediately start to spread over my hip and leg my head starts to go light as I realise that’s my blood. Shit … not again, I just got over the last time …

Stumbling away, I keep moving to try and open some ground between us until my back meets the wall and my legs almost give out under me. I let myself collapse just enough to start clawing some focus back, but I can’t breathe in anywhere near as deep as I’d like while my side flares with fresh pain from each expansion of my ribs. It’s making it hard enough to concentrate, but when I finally chance a look down I see that my whole left leg’s already slick with blood, the cloth of my skirts a much darker shade of red than the dress Lady Naru fashioned. I reach up now with my shaking hand and try to staunch the flow, but I can’t manage much more than a prod before a greater agony lights up right through me and I actually swoon for a moment, barely managing to keep from collapsing on the spot. Somehow I claw my way back to full consciousness but it’s a hard thing indeed.

Fuck … he actually did some damage here, more than any other time tonight I’m thoroughly lamenting the fact that I was forced to come here with no bloody armour at all. Even a few layers of light boiled leather would surely have been better than this …

The only real saving grace for me right now is that Jammund hasn’t attacked while I’ve been comprehensively distracted, but then when I finally manage to blink enough to regain focus I can see he’s still doubled against the other wall. He’s still breathing heavily, his sword barely gripped in loose fingers hung at his side while he’s propped on his knee with the other hand, only now raising his head to look my way as he pants away. He looks pretty pissed off, but there’s real weariness there in his face too, showing me that, while he clearly wants to murder me more than ever before, right now he can’t actually muster the strength to do it. Unfortunately I’m almost certain he’s going to get his second wind significantly before I do.

Meanwhile time keeps on slipping through my fingers as I remember that I can’t afford to keep floundering here right now. Never mind that I’m clearly hurting, I still need to finish this quickly. So I grit my teeth and mentally prepare myself for what I know I have to do as I force my legs to straighten out a little more, my back too, drawing myself back up to something like my proper height as I try to tighten my grip on my stolen sword … then jam my hand firmly down against the wound in my side and barely manage to bite back the rising scream as the sudden flare of more acute pain wakes me right up again. I push myself away from the wall in the same moment and strive forward, my first steps a very clumsy stagger before I start to wrestle a little more focus and balance into my movements. Letting the sword drag by its point on the floor for the moment as I force myself forward a step at a time, saving what strength I have for when I actually need it.

Jammund sees me coming, of course, his eyes narrowing as he lets another winded grunt out, and he shoves himself up too, starting to shift around me as he stumbles into the middle of the corridor, trying to flank me now, I realise. I wheel around to face him as I do my best to plant my feet, pulling in another relatively deep breath that makes my ribs ache but does at least stoke my growing anger, adding fuel to the fire I use to focus. Watching him as he considers me for a long beat, wary now in spite of clearly being In significantly better condition at the moment.

Very slowly, I drag the sword up from where its resting against the floor, raising it as well as I can between us, shifting my trailing foot back as I try to effect a guard while I’m still gripping my side with my offhand. Even though I’ve managed to get the weapon up, I’m not so confident that I’ll actually be able to wield it right now when it comes to actual fighting …

Then he stops biding his time and comes for me, not bothering with a feint given my condition but instead just slashing up under the open side of my defences, and I stop thinking again, just letting my instinct and muscle memory take over now. It’s all I have left under the circumstances. My footwork’s wilfully clumsy as I don’t so much dance back as stumble, but somehow it’s coordinated enough that I don’t just trip and fall down as I manage to parry and counter every one of his swift, slicing attacks.

Even so, I’m not fighting back at all, simply letting him drive me back as I just defend myself. He slowly starts to wear me down, my movements growing more desperate and less precise as my focus starts to slip, my limbs growing heavier under his punishment, the weight of the weapon in my one remaining good hand and the encroaching exhaustion from my wound. I can’t keep this up much longer, and he knows it, so he just continues to work me back, trying with each attack to work his way through my defences but clearly growing more confident with each passing second that I’m as likely to falter on my own now.

Finally he drives in a particularly wicked thrust that I just barely manage to turn aside, but then he twists his lighter, quicker blade around and twists my own weapon around, causing me to stumble while my wrist bends badly and my grip falters. The hilt slips free of my weakened fingers and even as the sword rattles off to the side he’s already following through, not with his own blade but a hard kick to my stomach. The brutal impact must batter the wind right out of me, but I really don’t notice, the sympathetic explosion of fresh pain in my side as I’m pounded back is all that I really notice, exacerbated by a second flare when I land on my back a few feet further down the corridor.

My head swims as I come worryingly close to passing out after all, and I’m a long beat blinking up again before I manage to claw back enough watery, tear-blurred focus to catch sight of him staggering up. He’s breathing heavy again, at least letting me know that he still hasn’t fully recovered from our previous struggle just before he cut me open, meaning that his subsequent burst of impressive violence must have taken a deal more out of him that he let show. That being said, as he towers over me now with his sword still firmly in hand I doubt he’s going to need to work too hard now to finish me off.

Even so, I still muster up just about enough paltry strength to rummage under my skirts to slip out the remaining knife still strapped to my thigh, although as I work to raise it between us now I doubt I have the strength to actually use it. Looking up at him as he pauses to ponder the blade, then glances back up to meet my eyes, it’s clear enough he must come to the same conclusion. A slow, weary smile starts to creep across his lips, and a cold chill of inevitable dread rolls over me as I realise I’m about to die.

Then his back arches as he gasps in surprise and sudden, pained shock, a long, lethally sharp length of tapering pointed steel suddenly erupting from a little left of the centre of his chest with a surprisingly heavy burst of blood. The jet’s powerful enough for more than a few drops to splash my face, making me blink in startled surprise, and it must be a match to the look on his face because he clearly can’t believe what’s just happened as he gapes down at the long blade rammed right through his heart. As the strength leaves his arms and they drop to his sides his own sword slips from his slackening fingers to bounce away across the floor, then the blade’s the only thing holding him up as his legs follow suit. His mouth works for a few moments as he tries to speak, but nothing’s coming, then his eyes turn glassy before the light just leaves them entirely and his face goes slack, his head slumping forward. Orric Jammund expires without any ceremony at all.

“He’s …” I gasp as even the effort to speak makes my side scream now. “Oh fuck … ah … he’s dead, Kesla. You can let him down.”

The seemingly massive sliver of steel is swiftly drawn back out of the corpse and it drops all at once like a limp ragdoll, revealing my friend as she hobbles back a few steps, very much favouring one leg while the other’s planted stiff out to her side. “Yeah … oof … figured you needed help when I heard you shouting. Took me a while to get here, mind.” She blinks down at the body for a moment before finally turning to me, and her eyes quickly widen as she gets a proper look at the state I’m in. “Oh … oh fucking hell, Shay! Not again … gods, why is it always you?” Lowering her sword, she has to take another clumsy, swaying stumbling step to the side to reorient herself before she starts to move towards me.

“No! Kesla, there’s no time! Get to Gael! Do it now!” I point to the door, my desperation filling my voice now. “Quick!”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 29 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 28

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: THELGAEWYNN

As I shuck my axe from the solar plexus of the folding body of the half-orc fighter, I step aside to let it drop beside me as I take in the corridor ahead, and the sheer chaos unfolding around me. Second level down, now, and it’s as much utter chaos as the one above was, and again I’m a little surprised how many of Jammund’s people there actually are down here. The longer this moving skirmish goes on as we try to press deeper, hoping we might be able to meet up with the others, or at least push through to them if they really are truly hung up, the more I wonder if they might’ve been expecting us. Like maybe Jammund, or more likely Vandryss, just decided to gather as many of their remaining forces down here as they could just in case we decided to come. Given I already killed six making my way down here and maimed a bunch more besides, I wouldn’t be too surprised.

When Lady Naru got that message from Kesla, we were already in the thick of it, I had to jump to protect her when she suddenly went still while her last foe was still slumping at her feet after she cracked his skull with that staff of hers. She wasn’t out of it more’n a few seconds, I’m sure, but when she came to again she was suddenly wide-eyed and a little flustered, like something very big had changed in that short time. Then there was a massive booming crash from somewhere almost directly above us, and the whole structure shook, loose dust from the ceiling wafting down around us while we all picked ourselves up again. The fight started up again the next moment as everyone remembered what we were actually about.

So I didn’t hear about what actually happened until a few minutes later, when we finally had that level sufficiently brought to heel that we could take a moment to regroup. Kesla and Shay had gotten themselves into some major difficulties trying to make their way to us, and had used that little communication stone that Lady Naru made for them to beg for some help. Namely by sending Driver 8 into the building, in the most violent way he possibly could come. I imagine the whole theatre’s in absolute chaos now as everyone panics and tries to get out as fast as they can.

Up ahead, Lady Naru’s spinning her staff as forcefully as the width of the walls with allow her, warding off those around her as she opens ground to keep them from overrunning her. Beyond I see Zuldrad cutting his way through more, while I’m the closest on this side, while Brung and Darwyn are both doing their own work with those who’ve managed to get past.

If the halfling’s still feeling any lingering aftereffects from her wounds and the subsequent wear, she ain’t showing it now, moving with the exact same kind of quick, lethal agility that I’ve seen Art move with before now. It actually took me a few moments, when we first started, for me to realise this is actually the first time I’ve had a chance to really watch her in action, and I have to admit that she is damn good, as nimble and vicious with a blade as Brung, in fact. I have to admit, now I’ve seen just what she’s capable of, that Darwyn really is something special, easily marking herself as just as talented a prowler as her friends.

As I take the moment to check on them both, I also notice she and Brung seem to work well together, almost seeming to move in some kind of elaborately choreographed dance as they weave around each other. Darwyn ducks aside after spilling the guts of one of her foes and then skips left to avoid the sword-swing of the one behind him, only for Brung to leap up at him while he’s still fumbling from the miss and start cutting into him. Meanwhile she’s already moved onto her next target. They clearly don’t need any help from me.

But Lady Naru clearly does. I turn back quick and shove myself up into a powerful crouched run, holding my battleaxe low as I focus on the nearest of the wary, well-armed mercenaries clustered around her. Each still falling back from her spinning staff as she sweeps it about, looking for an opening which she’s working hard not to give any of them, knowing it’s only a matter of time before she falters once and lets them in after all. Which I ain’t about to let happen.

The closest one manages to clock me just a beat before I reach him, skipping back from her swing in such a way that as he twists he must catch sight o’ me coming through the corner of his eye, and he jumps aside, starting to turn my way. He’s a wily-looking human, approaching middle-age with thinning hair and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard, but clearly still in decent enough shape, more muscle than fat in his worn leathers and old yellowing shirt. He plants his feet and drops his sword low, preparing his defensive stance as he rounds on me now.

So I just swerve hard left a few steps short and jump up into a high running leap, swinging my axe high as I launch myself right past his guard. He’s barely starting to adjust as I come down hard on him, my feet battering his sword arm out from under him the same time I tuck my knees in so when my axe rains down on him it cuts right into his exposed right shoulder. None o’ these folk are wearing armour, if they were gathered to form a defence they clearly didn’t think ahead far enough to actually dress for it, so my blade don’t meet any resistance as it chops hard into unprotected muscle and bone. He folds right away under my weight coming down so hard on top of him, and my axe opens a wide, bloody gash right down through him it finally catches and he’s finally yanked down sprawling when I land.

Hooking my axe free with a sharp twist, I yank it aside while he lands in a gasping tangle, dropping his sword while he gawps up at me, and I almost don’t follow through seeing the shock on his face. But the last thing I need right now is to leave another live fighter behind me to worry about, no matter how badly damaged he is, so I suck it up and turn the axe again, chopping it down on his neck before he can bring his hands up. His head pops free with a single stroke, and I jump over the still twitching corpse quick as I can, tearing my eyes away fast so I can’t think about it too much. Already focusing on the next fight.

The next one’s already caught on, a half-orc veteran who’s clearly seen a bunch of action in his time. He takes a step back, watching me for a moment as he examines this new threat, and I do the same, already figuring this one’s likely gonna be a harder fight. Not just big and cautious, but experienced too. I’m starting to get the impression the ones we’re facing now are Jammund’s serious pros, and they’re going down a lot harder than most we been up against so far.

So I hold my ground, taking a half-step back as I tighten up into my own wary guard, adjusting my grip on my axe as I watch him think. His eyes, still noticeably amber-coloured, warn me he’s worryingly calm right now, meeting mine for a long, charged beat before they start to move over my weapon, but quick enough returning to catch my gaze. Looking out for that little giveaway should I decide to move first after all.

Then Lady Naru knocks one of his companions down and the poor bastard stumbles right into his back as his skull’s split wide, and the half-orc has no chance of a warning as he gets knocked right at me, suddenly off balance. His eyes go wide as he tries to steady himself, but I’m already breaking, ducking to the right now as I start to come in low before he can bring his longsword round. By the time he finds his feet again I’m already swinging.

My axe takes his legs out from under him, the blade cracking hard into his left knee and splitting it with a bloody splintering snap before I bowl him over. He barely manages to whoop in pained surprise as I whip my axe round and swing it high in a smooth, swift motion, finally driving it down while he’s still landing. He almost manages to get a hand up in time to block the stroke but he’s long since lost his grip on the sword so all the blade meets is flesh and bone …

As the blow sinks deep into his collarbone and lays half his ribcage open in a single stroke I see another one coming behind, and they’re coming fast. Another half-orc, but this one’s leaner and a good deal younger, muscular but more like a runner than one of these burly fighters. Shaven undercut beneath cornrows and a long, wildly sweeping ponytail, while their eyes are already turning red, their blood up. They charge me fast, already starting to cock the handaxe in their right hand ready to cut into me, shortsword held back in reserve.

Meanwhile I’m still stuck finishing my business with this guy. My current opponent’s gurgling an ugly death rattle as he twitches at my feet, my axe still buried in his chest. Seeing a new threat coming for me I plant my foot into his gut and give the axe-shaft a good sharp twist, trying to shuck it free, but I can already see they’re gonna be on my before I can recover with this weapon. So I let it go with a frustrated hiss and jump back, already starting to draw both shortswords at once as I try to square up in time to parry.

Except that something hits them in the left shoulder a few feet short and they’re turned hard in mid spring, their feet skidding out under ‘em while what turns out to be a dagger driven deep into the joint draws a significant amount of arcing blood. I jump out the way fast and drop into a wary crouch, cocking my right-hand blade as my would-be attacker hits the floor and skids right across the crappy carpet underfoot, mostly just looking startled right now. I wait until they’ve passed me enough they ain’t got a chance to strike out at me in time, then slice down on the backswing and open their throat before springing back a little further, twisting to keep an eye on ‘em as they start to choke on their own blood. Prob’ly not any kinda threat now, but better to be sure …

I recognise Shay before she’s even properly stepped into view, just from what she’s wearing, even just glimpsed through the corner of my eye while I check the dying merc at my feet. Somewhere between leaving the Temple and all this kicking off she’s lost those crippling heels, already walking with a lot more easy confidence, but the dress seems to be essentially intact, even if I can sort of make out splashes of blood in places. Even if the material is already red. Although now, as I look up properly, I see she’s tied the scarf round her upper torso now, hiding her admittedly extremely distracting cleavage. I’m not at all surprised, but I’ll admit to being more’n a little disappointed.

She’s picked up a sword from somewhere too, a serious broadsword that nonetheless looks a good deal more expensive than any of the other steel we faced so far tonight. The blade’s already streaked with blood like the rest of her, and there’s more speckling her face as she looks me over. “You all right?”

That makes me frown as I regard her for a beat. “Am I … yeah, ‘course. Thanks for the assist. I prob’ly had it anyway, but it’s still appreciated.”

Cocking a brow, she gives me a sassier look as her mouth quirks into a little half-smile. “Oh yeah? I’m sure you’re right.” Then she looks past me, taking in the rest o’ the scene, and some of her remaining tension starts to slip away. “Damn … did you really need us after all? It’s looking like –”

“No, you can still …” I run right over her as I turn to look myself, then my own words peter off as I see Lady Naru standing in the midst of the remnants of her own battle for survival, staff set as she’s leaning into it to catch her breath. One or two of her felled opponents are still breathing, unconscious as they must be given their battered bodies. More so than Zuldrad, now surrounded by corpses a good deal bloodier thanks to his own more inherently lethal handiwork. He’s inspecting the dead now, wiping one of his knives clean with a rag as he does it, seeming unnervingly casual about the whole business.

Biting back an oath, I turn to observe what’s going on behind Shay, only to find Darwyn and Brung seem to have dealt with their own leftovers, although I suspect Shay’s arrival prob’ly helped some. So I turn back to frown up at the half-orc again. “All right then … I s’pose you’re right after all. So how was it up there, then? After you called in your golem, I mean.”

That makes her brows shoot up, I see, and she blanches a little. “Oh … yeah, I imagine that did sound a little … oh, but it was necessary. We needed that. If he hadn’t come, I really don’t think we would’ve made it. Or at least not both of us.”

“Both o’ you?” My frown deepens as I look down the corridor behind her more furtively, but all I see is bodies. “Then where’s Kesla? If she’s –”

“She stayed behind, after Driver 8 made his big entrance. Mallys was still coming after us, even after he started creating chaos in the theatre, I think she got somewhat …” She frowns now too, looking past me and up, and I’m quick enough realising she’s querying the sorcerer now. “There’s a word for it, or a phrase, when you get over-obsessed with something you really want, no matter what.”

“Hyper-focus.” Lady Naru’s come up behind me now, I realise, even though I didn’t hear her approach. “Given what she told us earlier after her little adventure to visit Hontiresk this afternoon, I get the impression that dragonhalf mercenary has developed something of a vendetta against her.”

“Yeah, I can definitely believe that.” Shay’s nodding when I look back. “Kesla told me to come down here while she stayed behind, she figured she’d probably go after her instead. Another distraction, I suppose.” She sighs, looking regretful now, and a little bitter as she visibly grits her teeth. “I didn’t want to leave her, to be honest I’m not sure she’s really up to it, I know she has very rare skill but I remember what Sonagh said about Mallys, how well trained she’s supposed to be. But she insisted, and you did need help, so …”

While the way she falters now suggests she’s starting to wonder if she’s really read the situation right, I don’t feel like arguing with her now. Not under the circumstances. Maybe I could’ve beat that kid on my own after all, but you never really know, not in a fight, not before it’s over. So I don’t begrudge her help. “You are appreciated. We still got a ways to go yet, looks like. We’re done here, but there’s more to come, I don’t doubt.”

Shay watches me for a long beat, taking that in, and I can tell she’s going over it herself now. Then she looks up again, back to Lady Naru. “So what’s happening? Are the others –”

“Oh!” When I turn back the sorcerer seems to have been caught a little by surprise, and she has to juggle her staff a little for a moment while regaining her composure. “I completely forgot. Hold on.” Tucking it into the crook of her arm to lean against her shoulder, she folds her hands together now and lowers her head, closing her eyes in that manner I’m finally becoming familiar with. Communicating with Tulen, since she didn’t need any of her string for it.

While she’s doing … whatever it is she actually does when she’s using this particular magic, I turn back to the corpses gathered around me now, taking another look at my last opponent, now noticeably still as they lie in a pool of their own blood. Maybe I feel a little bad about this particular kill, they did seem awful young, but they were trying to kill me all the same, so I bite it down as I lean forward. Using the leg of their pants to wipe my blades clean before sliding each one home so I can work on retrieving my battleaxe from the previous kill.

By the time I finally got it free again Lady Naru’s looking up again, frowning a little, and that gives me pause, deciding it can’t be a good sign. “Great. What is it this time?” I barely mutter the words, mostly just giving voice to my own thoughts, but she must pick up on it all the same cuz it just makes her frown deeper.

“Tulen says they’ve broken through, down below. The resistance they were facing, down in the tunnels, they dealt with it. Apparently Sonagh and Dow proved the deciding factor there.”

“Well then that’s a good thing, surely.” Shay’s frowning again too as she regards her. “Surely that means they’re already making their way up to meet us.”

The sorcerer shakes her head. “They’re still held up in the tunnels. There’s a door barring their way. A large one, thick steel, built to withstand quite the bombardment. Art tried to use his tools to break in, but it resisted him. Tulen believes there’s a magic barrier reinforcing it, like nothing she’s seen before. It would seem Tavarrat has been busy again.”

“Shit.” I snarl the word, while Shay just lets a sharp hiss go through her clenched teeth. “That means it’s just us.”

“We’ve got to get through to them, then.” The half-orc looks down at the sword in her hand, pondering it for a beat before taking a handful of silk from her skirts and starting to wipe away the blood painting the blade. “If they can’t get in, we need to try and open it from our side. But that means –”

“There’s still a fight to be had getting to ‘em.” I give my axe a good shake to clear away the excess blood before checking it over after all. It’s still liberally splashed, but clean enough to pass muster moving forward. “If they been locked out, that’s gotta mean the rest of ‘em are still down there, waiting for us. Jammund an’ Tavarrat, at the very least. Vandryss too, prob’ly. ‘Least I should fuckin’ well hope she is. Gimme a chance for a crack at ‘er myself, maybe.”

“Not sure that’d turn out how you’d like.”

Recognising, Kesla’s voice, I’m already preparing my retort to that unfair prediction as I turn to her … then I actually catch sight of her and my words wither in my mouth. Bloody hell … she does not look good.

For a split I could’ve been forgiven thinking maybe she’d just run through a cloud o’ something nasty, that’d be enough to explain her appearance. Her clothes and already relatively dark skin are generously smeared and smutted with streaks and smuts of soot, but once I start looking it quickly becomes clear she’s proper been through it. Not just the over-poofy right sleeve of her shirt, which has been badly charred to blackened, shredded rags. As she hobbles towards us, leaning heavily into the wall while she’s got her left hand pressed tight into her side, I see the pain writ large in her face. She’s favouring her right leg too, moving with a real stiff, awkward limp in the other.

Shay immediately springs to her aid, hissing a worried: “Shit!” as she goes, and while Brung looks on with his usual wary calm Darwyn’s eyes are already widening seeing her like this. For a few moments she just seems kinda shocked by it, but then she springs forward too, getting to her before the half-orc.

“Thorin … you all right?” The halfling reaches out to help her, despite being a third her size at most, but the big woman waves her off pretty quick.

Wincing, she has to breathe in before she can answer, finally taking her hand away from her side as she just lets herself slump. “Oh … honestly, I been better.” Now I can finally get a proper look at her side, I see how the quilted cream linen lining her fancy armoured vest has been torn … no, now I’m looking I see the rent split in the fabric’s too smooth for a rip, it’s clearly been cleaved through with a blade. The iron pieces woven into the layer underneath have been laid bare, and I can just make out a particularly bright indented scar running across each ‘em, instantly telling how barely they managed to save her from being laid open in a single stroke.

“Fuck me … looks like you should be dead.” The words are out my mouth before I can stop ‘em, and they bring Shay up short before she takes hold of her. Her eyes immediately go down to what I already seen, and she gasps.

“Bloody hell …” Sucking her own breath in as she winces in sympathy, the half-orc snakes her arm under her and takes up her weight, shifting her round a step or so before starting to lower her so she can sit down on the floor. “She’s right, that looks … what the hell? I told you … you said you were going to be more careful.”

“Bitch got lucky, what can I say?” Kesla winces again as Shay finally settles her down at the base of the wall before crouching beside her, taking great care as she stretches her bad leg out straight in front of her. “Oh fuck … the jack took the worst of it, but not so much my ribs ain’t still letting me know they regret my decision. To be honest, I did worse to myself when I decided to jump down to the stage before I’d reaches the bottom. Pranged my bad knee good an’ proper in the landing, fucking thing’s locked up on me.”

Lady Naru’s moving back through us to reach her, frowning as she looks her over. “Unfortunately we don’t have a cleric to hand right now, which complicates matters somewhat. I’m afraid I can’t actually heal you, even my magic doesn’t work that way. At best I could use a Mending spell on your ribs, but it’s likely to hurt far more than it currently does while I’m at it. And I would not even try to do that with your knee, that sort of damage is beyond my magics.”

As the sorcerer takes hold of her staff with one hand and adjusts her robes so she can drop into a crouch in front of her, Kesla cocks her head as she looks up at her, frowning a little as she actually seems to be considering what’s just been offered. “I dunno, pain’s never really bothered me over much, not since da started training me. I can’t be out of this right now, you need all the help you can get.”

“With your knee fucked you ain’t gonna be much good though, are you?” Darwyn looks regretful when she says it, but she meets her eyes readily enough.

Kesla gives her a pretty sharp look back, but I doubt she really means to scowl at the halfling for it, reckon mostly it’s just down to her pain making her proper tetchy. She shakes her head and lets a regretful little sigh go as she settles her head back against the wall. “Fuck … yeah, you got a point there. An’ I’d be a hypocrite trying to force myself on after giving you so much grief about your recovery.”

Darwyn don’t say anything to that, but her brows shoot up all the same.

“At least tell me she’s dead.” Shay sounds a little desperate when she asks this, shifting her feet a little to adjust her position, and I start to become keenly aware how her tightly-bunched, well-muscled long legs are poking out through those splits in her skirts. Her thighs at least are quite naked, and wondrously smooth. “Mallys … you killed her before you came down here at least. Right?”

The way Kesla lets her next sigh go with so much frustration speaks volumes on its own. “It got a bit … complicated up there. I had to disengage in a hurry, the fire spread quicker’n I would’ve preferred. I’d like to hope the fire might’ve finished her off before she could get down, but …” She looks to Lady Naru now. “Red dragonhalves don’t tend to burn, do they?”

“No, unfortunately they don’t.” the Sorcerer answers her with her own far more subtle reticence. “It comes from them being firebreathers themselves, I’m afraid.”

“Shit …” Shay turns to look over her shoulder, back where we’ve already fought our way down from up above. “Then she could be right behind you then.”

Kesla starts to laugh, but it quickly turns into pained, choked coughing as her ribs complain. “Oh … damn it … gods no, Shay, I’m not a moron. I closed the entrance down here behind me, locked it up all the way. They’d need a golem o’ their own to get through that fucking thing, I promise. No way she could on her own.”

Sighing in relief this time, Shay settles back as much as her position allows and looks round at the rest of us. “Well that’s … all right, so what about Big Man, then?”

“I told him to get out quick as he could, while they’re all distracted, doubt he even would’ve been able to get down here anyway. Said to head back to the Temple if he could without getting tracked, otherwise just find somewhere to lay low ‘til we can get back to him. If we get outta here, that is.” She looks to Lady Naru again. “How we doin’ with that?”

I’m a moment realising she’s not clued up on the current situation like the rest of us, and I look down the other corridor behind us now, where we still have to go, according to the floor-plan that vile woman Sal provided us. I see Zuldrad standing by now, listening to all of this with his usual wary stoicism, just frowning the tiniest bit when he notices me looking his way. I give a little shrug and he cocks a brow subtly in response.

“We been fighting our way down best we can.” I add now as I turn back. “From the look of it we just took this level same as above. Still got the one below, reckon that’s where Vandryss an’ the rest o’ hers are, the worst of ‘em. Prob’ly Gael too.”

“The others are stuck, unfortunately.” Shay growls, her own frustration showing through as she turns the sword in her hand over and sets it point down on the floor in front of her, leaning into it a little. “Tavarrat’s blocked them off, in the tunnels, so they can’t get through. That’s why we’re short a cleric.”

Frowning deeper, Kesla goes over this fresh information for a few moments, searching each of our faces in turn as we’re gathered round her. Finally she looks down at her hands, turning ‘em over in her lap now. “Damn it … so this has all gone tits up.” She ponders for another beat before finally looking up, turning to Shay now. “Then it’s all on you now, luv.”

“What?” Shay leans back a little more, and there’s a moment she almost overbalances before catching herself again. It makes her breathe a little harder when she starts speaking again, as if she wasn’t already a little startled. “But … no. You’re here, this is still your –”

“Shay, I’m knackered. Like Darwyn said, with my knee gone, even if Sulin does fix my side I ain’t going anywhere until Krakka can get to me. I definitely can’t fight right now, not like this. I mean I could, but it’d be a fucking mess.” She chuckles a little, and this just gets her wincing again. “Ah … fuck. You better got on, the whole place is burning down above us. I don’t think we’re in any danger from down here, but better not to risk it. Right?”

“But then …” I falter immediately as they both turn to me soon as I speak, feeling my face flush from the sudden regard, but they seem too surprised to pick up on it. I take a breath and lick my lips, working out what I’m actually gonna say as I try not to worry the shaft of my axe with restless fingers. “I mean, if that is the case, then … well, what about all the prisoners?” I wave my offhand around, vaguely indicating the walls on either side, not really knowing how many o’ the rooms behind those locked doors actually are full o’ the very people we been hoping to rescue. “If the fire does spread down here, then we gotta let ‘em out.”

“To where, though?” Kesla sighs, still regretful. “I locked the door up there, and below it’s the same, ‘least until we can get down to open it up. If we can. There’s nowhere for anybody else to go right now. They’re safer where they are at the moment.”

“So what, we just leave ‘em where locked up until –”

“Yeah, we do. It’s pretty shitty, but until we finish what we started down here, they gotta wait.” She tries to shift herself now, working on finding a more comfortable position maybe, but this just makes her wince again. “Oh … shit … I get it, it’s a shitty deal, but that’s what we got to play right now. The sooner we get this done, the quicker we can let ‘em all out, same as with Gael, and their da.”

Shay looks up at me now, looking pretty sorry too now, but don’t offer any solution of her own. I have to bite back an oath as I turn away fast, my next breath an angry hiss all the same, but as I stalk away towards Zuldrad I really can’t find fault in the argument. Kesla’s right, we got no choice in the matter. So we better just hurry up and beat this shit.

The hobgoblin slots his last freshly-cleaned knife back into its sheath as I approach and don’t say a word, just offering up a noncommittal shrug of his own. Maybe it’s commiseration, I don’t know. He’s not much easier to read than Brung, even now. “We moving again, then?”

“Reckon so, yeah.” I look down at my axe as I stop next to him, then inspect my hands. Still speckled and streaked here and there from the fight, but nothing that’s going to foul my grip, ‘least not yet. “This is it for this level, yeah?”

“Yeah. Looks like whoever was left down that way came running when the fight started. The smells are a bit too complicated in here after, but I can’t hear anybody else up here, not even trying to hide their breathing. Not out in the open, anyway. We got folk all round us, but …”

“Yeah …” I growl, gripping my axe a little tighter all the same, trying not to let it gnaw on me any more’n it already has. “You ready?”

“Enough.” he admits, giving another little shrug, then just starts walking down the corridor towards the next corner. I blink, turning back to check on the others, finding Shay still crouched by Kesla, but Brung’s already catching up with me while Darwyn’s moving more leisurely so she can check her gear over. Lady Naru’s hanging back, but I see her watching me still, frowning deep as she considers.

“We doin’ this or what?” This earns a sharper look from Shay now, but then Kesla reaches up and gives her shoulder a grip, sighing as she says something low enough I can’t catch it. The half-orc regards her for a long, loaded moment, then breathes out heavy, leaning forward to give the big woman a kiss on her cheek and whisper something back. They stay there for another beat, both looking more regretful still, then she pulls away and straightens herself up to standing in a quick clean movement, finally giving me a much harsher glare now. I just turn back to the sorcerer.

Lady Naru sighs as she shifts her staff from one hand to the other, starting to follow now. She don’t seem much happier than Shay right now about leaving Kesla behind, but she’s holding her tongue, clearly seeing sense. I almost ask her what she thinks about the plan regarding the prisoners, but kill the urge pretty quick, focusing on what we’re about instead.

Even so, when I find Brung waiting on me now as I turn back, I give him a pointed look that I hope he catches the meaning of. His eyes narrow a little seeing it, but as he just falls into step with me he remains stubbornly silent.

Finally I just give up and speak myself, keeping my voice low as we go. “You found ‘em yet?”

The goblin turns those baleful yellow eyes up to me for a moment before simply shrugging and continuing on his way. “Not yet. No point now. Job to do. Best do it. Right?”

I almost stop on the spot, a little surprised by what, for him, feels like a show of particularly expressive eloquence, but catch myself in time. Instead I give him a drawn out sidelong look, finally hissing back: “There’s times I wish you were a little less ruthless, y’know that?”

“Not ruthless. Just pragmatic.” He returns my look for a beat, like he’s making a point, and I almost want to give him an angry little shove. “Get ready.”

Damn it … he’s got a point, unfortunately. Looking up now, I see we’re already approaching the bottom of the last corridor, finding Zuldrad waiting ahead at the top of what I realise must be a small staircase leading down towards what I can just see is another big door set in the wall below. Going by what we found up above, this’ll lead into the main stairs heading down to the bottom level, an’ likely more trouble if they are planning to make a fight of it now. Which would seem most likely right now.

When I look back this time I find Shay weaving through the group to join us, still holding her scavenged sword low at her side, at the ready, frowning deep as she takes in what’s ahead. No more reluctance in her now, she’s sharp and ready as the rest of us. It’s enough to make me pull in a deep breath and get my own shit together as I focus on what’s coming too.

Looking round at us for a beat as we gather around him, Zuldrad takes his own breath and draws one of his longer knives again, setting his jaw as he turns back without ceremony and starts down the steps. He slows as he approaches the door, finally leaning into a half-crouch as he listens at it for a long beat, his tufted tail flicking back and forth with a somewhat jerky sharpness that speaks of greater apprehension than I could ever catch in his face. Finally he turns the blade over to hang underhand and takes a slow step back, reaching up now to test the handle.

When he turns it the latch clicks and the door shifts easy enough, and I don’t know if I find the ease of passage a relief or cold warning. I tense all the same as I bring the axe up, making ready for a potential attack as he pulls it open, but as the door swings wide and he crouches lower in front of it nothing springs forth. Honestly, I’m not really sure what I expected, but this is making me nervous.

“Just … wait here.” Zuldrad hisses low, almost under his breath, before slipping the other knife free and starting a tight, crouched descent into the staircase beyond. Moving slower and a good deal more wary now as he turns the corner and drops out of sight.

More nothing happens for perhaps a minute, and eventually the tension becomes too much for me and I have to inch forward to take a look for myself. It’s no darker down there than it’s been so far, light from below showing they’re clearly burning the same ensconced little oil lamps, and while my nose is less sensitive than others’ I can’t pick up anything unusual on the air. Mostly it’s just the silence that’s getting to me now, like a warning I can’t quite fathom.

“Thel?” Shay whispers, closer behind me than I expected. When I chance a look through the corner of my eye I find her tightened up too, watching me warily. “You good?”

Baring my teeth as I clench my jaw, I let my breath go in a harsh puff through my nose and growl: “I don’t know.” before stepping down onto the stairs after the hob, holding my axe low but ready now as I start to creep.

Turning that first corner once I’m through the door and on the landing beyond, I peer over the top of this next staircase in a low crouch, tense and wary as I grip the axe a little tighter and clutch it a lot closer to my chest. Zuldrad’s at the bottom now, stood just inside the open doorway leading off to the side, pressing himself tight against the wall in the shadows. Taking another breath, I hiss at him as subtly as I can, but he’s a few moments responding, making me think he ain’t heard me until he finally turns his head to look up. Eyes narrowed, jaw tight, clutching both knives in tight, pale-knuckled hands.

He don’t say one word, just raises one hand, still gripping his knife, in order to uncurl one finger to place to his lips, then beckons me down. Easy enough to work out what that means, so as I come down I try to step light and silent as I can, although in full armour that’s an uncomfortably difficult prospect indeed …

‘Least I don’t trip and take a noisy tumble on the way down, I’m trying so hard not to make a ruckus I make it down in one piece. I give him a pointed look as I stop on the bottom step, and he just points to the open door beside him, frowning deeper as he does it, again making his point clear enough. I shift closer to him first before finally taking that last step down, so when I lean toward the frame I can do it as tight into cover as I can, and barely peek through when I do it.

Even so, in that brief glimpse I catch enough to get why he’s being so wary. There is a fuck-load of ‘em out there, maybe a dozen of Jammund’s pirate types, all armed to the teeth as they’re lined up along either wall, facing the door with cool, stoic patience. The four at the front are each on one knee with bows nocked and half-drawn, ready to raise and shoot the second they get the slightest hint. Given they surely caught a glimpse o’ me before I pulled back, that’s already raised to a proper certainty.

“Shit …” I breathe low enough I almost don’t hear it, pulling back as I turn to look back up the stairs. Seeing the others starting to make their way down, moving slow and quiet as they can given what they already picked up on. Shay’s in the lead, but I immediately focus on Lady Naru, pointing to her now and beckoning her down before raising a hand towards Shay and waving it down. Telling her to stay put and, by extension, the others.

Narrowing her eyes, there’s a beat I think she might ignore me and keep coming, but then she turns back and silently passes on the message to the others before dropping into a crouch on the spot, still halfway up the flight. The others quickly follow her example. Meanwhile the sorcerer reaches the bottom and pauses just behind me, already dropping into a low crouch too so she can lean in close, offering her ear for me to whisper close into it as she holds onto her staff for support.

“There’s a whole bunch of ‘em, right out in the open. Just waiting. Including four bows, ready to shoot. No chance we can rush ‘em, whoever goes is gonna turn into a pincushion in the first five feet. You got anything?”

Looking down at the floor for a long moment as I pull back, she ponders what I’ve said, likely going over her options, fingers idly tapping at the stave gripped between ‘em. Finally she nods, raising her head again with a shrewd look, not saying a word ash she stands up to her full height and raises one hand, which immediately starts to draw a sigil in the air. A particularly complex one too, I notice.

Finally she speaks another of those weird magic words and the floating blue sigil flares bright for a brief moment before she whips her free hand through it and seems to whisk it into the staff. For just a split the whole metal shaft seems to flash bright, then starts to quiver in her hands as she takes a tighter grip on it, settling her jaw tight now as she takes a step past me. Facing the door now as she takes a deep breath, then jumps out into the open while bringing the staff round to point it out into the passage beyond in a single swift, fluid motion. Like she’s done this a hundred times before. I mean she prob’ly has.

I catch the subtle creak of four bowstrings tightening almost all at once outside, but none of ‘em get a chance to loose as the violently shivering staff flares again, far brighter this time, bucking in her hands so hard it almost throws her right back into the wall. This is mostly soundless, but just a split after there’s a bright flash in the corridor outside and a great deafening crack, and several people cry out in pained shock or simple surprise. And now I hear the unmistakable shunt as at least two bows are sprung after all …

Lady Naru brings her hand up barely a blink before the arrows hit home, and I see three shafts just stop dead in mid air barely an inch short of it. She’s deathly tense for a long moment, the arrows visibly quivering in space, before she starts to relax with a subtle huff and the arrows drop to the floor. And she follows right behind, falling to her knees as she starts gasping for fresh breath.

“Whoa! Hey, my Lady!” I spring forward fast, dropping into a crouch in front of her now, dumping my axe as I reach up to take hold of her shoulders while she grips onto her staff as if for dear life. “Lady Naru? Sulin? Are you okay?”

“Oh … goodness, it’s been … a while …” She raises her head slowly, looking awful tired, and while she’s still the same beautiful, smooth and svelte woman she’s always appeared to be, somehow she seems so old at the same time. Mostly behind her eyes, but still …

“Have you … you’re okay though, right?” I’m so worried now that she might’ve just burned herself out, that we just lost the only mage we got left for the duration.

Blinking a few times, she focuses on me now, and frowns. “Oh … no, I’m … I mean yes. I am, of course … just give me a minute or two. The spell just took a bit out of me, that’s all …”

“Bloody hell …” I hear Zuldrad whisper behind me, sounding genuinely shocked, and when I turn round, starting to scramble back to standing, I see what’s got him so spooked as I look into the corridor.

There ain’t a single one of ‘em standing out there now. At first glance it looks like something massive just swung right through here fast and impossibly hard and ploughed ‘em all down in one fell swoop, many of the bodies flipped over to land in jumbled tangles after being blasted several feet back. But then as I start to step out, taking it all in, I see that some o’ the bodies – and that’s all most of ‘em genuinely are now, just bodies – have been twisted and broken during their flight, bent into impossible shapes for anyone to actually survive. There’s blood on the walls and soaking into the cheap carpet, mostly from smashed skulls as they hit on landing, but others are just broken. Maybe a handful, particularly those near the back, might still be alive, but even these won’t be in any shape to move anytime soon. If ever again …

“Gods … what did you do?”

Lady Naru steps up behind me, still having to lean heavily on her staff as she comes, and it’s all I can do not to flinch away from her now as I look up into her eyes. But she seems so sad now, like she’s regretting the call she’s just made, and it softens my regard significantly. “The best I could, under the circumstances. Perhaps we should move while we have the opportunity.”

“She’s right.” Shay mutters as she steps past me, barely turning as she does to shove my axe back into my surprised hands. When I look up at her I see she’s regarding the damage in front of her with a tight grimace, like she’s fighting real hard to stay objective seeing what just happened in here. “This won’t be all of them. Keep your eyes open, the same as your ears.”

Zuldrad clears his throat now, wiping the back of his tightly clenched hand across his mouth as he looks round, then takes a deep breath as he visibly steels himself, compartmentalising just like she’s doing. “Right …” he breathes low, still sounding a little choked. “Um … yeah. On it.” He steps out almost immediately, making his way at a brisk walk down the length of the corridor.

“Cut throats as we go?” Brung ponders as he regards his surroundings, seeming as unfazed as ever. “To be sure.”

“What?” Darwyn almost chokes the word out as she stares at him with wide eyes.

“I doubt you’ll need to.” Shay breathes, sounding pretty hollow now as she keeps her eyes locked on the hob. Clearly making an effort not to look at the bodies now.

Following her gaze, I watch as Zuldrad pauses just before the corner, stepping close to the wall as he can with one of the bodies in the way. He regards it for a long beat, but he’s too far away now for me to properly gauge his expression, then tightens up into a half-crouch as he starts to creep forward to look out into the unknown.

An instant later he’s stumbling backwards, unbalanced now, as his shoulder savagely jerks him round. The way he twists I’m slow seeing what’s actually happened to him, but then I finally catch sight of an arrow driven deep into that shoulder … just as another catches him high in his back, right between his shoulder-blades. He jerks as it hits, stumbling forward, and now he drops his knives as he arches his back. Just in time for a third arrow to jam into him, a little below the last one.

“NO!!!” Darwyn breaks now, just as he starts to fall, her first few steps stumbling and clumsy as she almost goes down she’s so desperate to get to him, but she catches herself quick, starting to run hard without any regard for herself.

“Shit … Darwyn! Wait!” Shay calls out to her, starting to move after her, but I’m already ahead of her, starting to chase the halfling down as I start sprinting fast as I can manage. Which still feels painfully slow given all the weight I’m carrying right now …

Then Zuldrad takes one more arrow lower in his back, right where his liver is, I realise, and now he drops with particular finally, going loose and limp as a ragdoll at the last so he just faceplants. This just provokes another scream from Darwyn, just a wordless shriek of horror this time, and I push myself to race faster, spurred on as much by the shouts behind me from the others. I can hear Shay coming after us now, but I don’t think she’ll get there fast enough. I don’t even know if I will.

In the end I give up trying and just toss my axe aside before throwing myself forward, piling all my weight on top of the halfling barely a metre short of exposing herself to whoever’s sniping from round the corner. She gasps as I bear her to the floor, winded for a moment, but she starts to struggle immediately, soon enough cursing me as she fights to get out from under me while I just wrap my arms round her. “Get off me! Lemme go, I have to help him!”

“Just stay down, you stupid little idiot!” I hiss in her ear as I tighten my grip the best I can. She’s surprisingly strong for somebody so small, but even so I’m still bigger, and definitely more powerful. Mostly she’s just hurting herself right now. “For fuck’s sake … just hold still, for you daughter’s sake at least if not your own!”

This is what finally gets through to her, even though I fucking hate myself for saying it in the first place. Meanwhile I look up from where we’re bundled up together on the floor, checking on Zuldrad, and I can see he’s trying to push himself up now, even though he can only move one arm, the one without the now broken arrow driven through the joint. And he’s already so weak, I can see … fuck, he’s in a real bad way.

Darwyn’s sobbing now, whimpering his name as she shivers in my arms, and I roll over onto my back, keeping her hugged tight to me as I look up at Shay as she skids to a rough stop a few feet short of us and drops to her knees. Her eyes are wide, and they get wider as they see the state o’ the hob and then take in what I’ve got to deal with. For a long moment she tries to speak and fails miserably, looking from him to us and back again while her mind must be racing to try and find a solution.

“Fuck …” I growl under my breath, looking back towards the corner now as I ponder what’s actually beyond it. There ain’t been any more arrows since, but then Zuldrad’s already down, whoever that is don’t need to shoot him again, he’s gonna bleed out stuck as he is now, ‘specially if that last shot really did catch him in the liver. Now they’ll just be lying in wait, prob’ly already nocked and ready, just waiting for one of us to try and rescue him so they can up the body count in their favour. I’d have to be a moron to fall for this trap.

Except I got to like that hobgoblin, he’s a smart kid and he’s got a good heart, and Darwyn’s already going to pieces over what’s happening to him. I can’t hang back, not now. So I suck it up and turn back to Shay, taking a beat to stretch out best I can with one hand to drag my axe across the floor as I clear my throat. Already hating myself for what I’m about to put myself through. I keep my voice good and low, a bare whisper, hoping the archer ain’t close enough to catch it. “Soon as they’re distracted with me, you grab him, drag him back fast as you can.”

Shay blinks, frowning deep as she opens her mouth, no doubt to ask what I mean, but I’m already sitting back, throwing Darwyn roughly into her arms before I scramble up just enough to shove myself forward. I’m already starting to wind up with the axe as I don’t so much run as just stumble round the corner, so when the first arrow hits me it just pings off my right pauldron and skitters away over my head, mostly harmless. The force is still enough to make me stagger, so I end up weaving like a drunk until I finally plant my feet and try charging in earnest with a growing roar.

Just in time for the second arrow to strike me square in the chest, which means it just ricochets from one of the overlapping breastplates to spin up over my shoulder while I propel myself forward. Fighting to focus now as I fight the stumble this time despite the hit, even though the wheeling arrowhead nicks my cheek, opening a fine line of stinging fire under my eye. I just use the stinging pain as I push myself into a rush, raising the axe above my head.

Managing to take in the archer now, maybe twenty feet down the corridor and already nocking another arrow. Now I see it’s that fucking halfling, chubby faced and almost dark-skinned as I am, black hair bound up in a pair of buns while she’s dressed simple and practical in gambeson and bare feet, more the great outdoors-type like Yeslee than a real fighter like us. The bow in her hands is near big as she is, but she handles it well, speaking as much about her clear skill as the lethal shots she’s already made. She shoots at me this time, even with my armour I might be in trouble.

So I drop to my knees, skidding to a stop in a few feet on this crappy carpet as I reel back and, just as she takes aim, throw my axe at her hard as I can overhead. She barely sees it coming in time to start to dodge, but she still looses in the process, and I don’t even think about it as I just throw myself aside so it just prangs off my other pauldron. When I go down I roll, already drawing both my swords as I find my feet again, preparing to charge again, hoping I can get on top of her before she can shoot again and maybe cut her down.

Except now I see she ain’t alone back here as I finally take in what’s behind her, although while I can sort of make out other figures here most o’ my vision’s taken up by the massive fucking armoured ogre already bearing down on me. Charging past the halfling as she throws herself aside and coming with full bloody force and some serious fire in its eyes …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 28 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 2 months

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 27

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: DRAMRATH

Kesla Shoon makes a much more ballsy leap over the balustrade of the staircase I’m chasing her down than I honestly would have given her credit for, although once I see her do it I wonder if I might have sold her short after all. The daughter of Edhril Shoon making a blind leap to uneven ground below that I doubt she can see much at all from a height of at least ten feet should be much less of a surprise to me than it actually proves to be. In the end I stop for a moment just to marvel at it, watching her land and drop into a somewhat clumsy roll she nonetheless comes up out of without any visible injury, immediately drawing her sword as she does it. Prompting more of the audience who are actually growing ware of what’s unfolding near to them to leave their seats and try to clear some room.

Less than I would have expected, though. Almost as if some of them actually think this is part of the play. I mean, sure, it would be a very strange move for any playwright to pull, especially when the scene that’s unfolding on stage right now seems to be dramatic and not action based … but you never know. Art is a subjective thing, after all …

Down below I see the one who was with her, a very beautiful half-orc woman in a particularly striking and extremely expensive-looking red dress draw the longsword hanging at her hip and strike a defensive pose as she prepares for the closest of the advancing guards to arrive. It’s such an incongruous image I’m almost tempted to just stand here and watch, the dress and hair and her clear noble bearing so much at odds with the fact she’s wearing a substantial sword at all, never mind that she’s squaring up so efficiently. She clearly knows what she’s doing as she readies for the coming attack, and it’s only now that I recognise her, the one that ran Kuth so ragged back on the Heath the other night –

Something erupts from the wall at the back of the chamber, just beside the stage on our near side, and the entire room seems to jump as it happens, everything rocking with genuinely cataclysmic violence. Especially the stairs underneath me, which immediately throws me off balance, and as I stumble and my feet start to slip out from under me I only have one choice to prevent myself from taking a tumble down the remainder of the steps. I grab tight hold of the balustrade with both hands and hurl myself over the side. Even though I’m a good nine feet higher than Shoon was.

As I drop I barely have enough time before the landing to take in what’s going on directly beneath me, specifically Kesla Shoon cutting her way through four of Hontiresk’s signature impressively large security guards. The closest audience members, who were already starting to scramble in earnest as soon as the wall exploded, start to scatter with even greater urgency now, clearly twigging now that what’s unfolding near them now definitely isn’t part of the performance. The whole place is starting to move now, the audience at large making their way towards the exits as fast as they can, and I suspect it’s mere moments before panic truly sets in and people start to die in a stampede.

Then I land and throw myself into a forward roll entirely on reflex, turning and starting to draw my sword as soon as I’ve found my feet again. Even now I’m momentarily taken aback as I witness Shoon decapitate one of the remaining guards while the only other one not bleeding in a crumpled heap stumbles into the nearest seat with his arms tight around his stomach. Trying to hold his guts in, no doubt. She gives her sword a quick whip off to the side in an action that immediately sends me back to training sessions with my blade-master in Tabaphic when I was young, something he was particularly strict about drilling into me. Take any opportunity you can to keep your blade clean, even in the middle of a fight. Like now, using momentum to clear the excess blood from the steel. Then she turns as the headless body starts to crumple and, despite the relative gloom, her eyes fix on me.

Holding my sword low, I take a deep breath as I raise my hand, preparing to summon her for the rematch we didn’t have this afternoon. Through the corners of my eye I notice a few of Hontiresk’s guards stopping on either side of me, likely registering that I’m preparing for my own fight with her and now unsure what the protocol actually is, under the circumstances. I just focus on Shoon, taking my first step forward as I open my mouth to speak.

“Might wanna rethink that, actually.” she almost chuckles, cocking her head as she regards me now. I’m a moment trying to work out what she could possibly mean by that, even slower noticing those same guards around me starting to pull back, a little rattled now. Just as I finally catch sight of what’s charging up fast behind her. Directly from where the wall just exploded, in fact. Oh hell … why didn’t I make that connection the moment that happened? I was too focused on my intended opponent to realise how much trouble we’re actually in.

Shoon ducks aside just before that bloody golem from the Heath comes tearing through on all fours directly at me, and all I can do is throw myself aside, aiming for the seats now as I just let go of my sword so I don’t wind up accidentally impaling myself. I go down between two rows of the seats, and I don’t bother trying anything fancy when I land, just throwing my arms up to cover my face as I crash down on my chest and all the breath is knocked right out of me. It’s an uncomfortable enough impact I almost don’t even catch the seats just behind me getting forcefully torn right out of where they’ve been bolted into the floor, likely in a single casual backhander from the golem. When the wreckage finally starts to crash down it sounds like it’s all a significant distance away.

“Fuck …” I growl low in my throat, taking a wary beat before I even think about moving in the hope that it just kept right on going, very aware of all the screaming that’s now going on which definitely supports that idea. Finally I take a slow breath and start to push myself up off the floor, still going slow as I bring my knees up and plant my feet, finally dropping into a crouch with my hands still planted firm on the floor as I slowly let the breath go. Now I raise my head, just enough to take a quick, careful look out into the wider room.

I was mostly right, the golem did indeed keep charging right past me, now I see it a little short of the nearest entrance, flailing its gigantic arms about while it batters more of Hontiresk’s security guards into bloody pulp. But none of the patrons, though, at least not that I can see. Whover didn’t get out is clearly making a detour to the next available exit, and going fast.

When I turn, the first thing I see is my sword, disconcertingly close, it would seem, having jammed into the folded seat of one of the seats in the row in front. Clearly having landed close enough it very nearly impaled me after all. Bloody hell …

Then I look past and I see Kesla Shoon has already joined her companion, and as I watch they both cut down the last remaining guards between them, not seeming to have much trouble at all with the prospect, in fact. Then the larger woman points towards the stage and her half-orc friend barely even looks at her for a moment before nodding and starting to run for it. Shoon pauses for a beat, turning back now as she casts about, finally catching sight of me and holding for a moment. We hold each other’s eyes while I slowly push myself up, then she backs away towards the stage too, maintaining that contact for a few more moments before turning and starting to run in earnest.

Shit … I reach over now and grab hold of the hilt beside me, giving the sword a tug. It doesn’t budge, seeming stuck fast, and when I look down I see it’s stuck a good six inches or more into the wooden base of the hinged seat. I’m almost impressed by this noteworthy demonstration of the sheer quality and craftsmanship of elven steel, but I really don’t have time for this, so I take hold of it with both hands and start tugging with a good deal more force. It sticks for a few more seconds, something squealing angrily as I try hard not to twist the steel, knowing full well I can’t actually snap the steel but wary of tempting fate all the same. But then it finally starts to give and I grit my teeth before planting my feet firmer and giving it one last, particularly strong yank.

The sword pops free so suddenly it unbalances me, and I reel back on clumsy feet for several feet before finally catching myself. Then I notice I’m now stood in the open at the end of the row again and suddenly become uncomfortably aware how it’s gotten a good deal quieter in the last minute or so. No more sounds of brutal, bone-crunching violence, I notice …

As a cold shiver rolls down my spine, I take another slow, deep breath and turn with very wary deliberation to face the exit behind me again, where I know the golem is. Finding it still stood where it was, with no more living foes around it now but just a crumpled, gruesome collection of bloody, dishevelled remains scattered around it. Looking right at me, I think. I can’t quite tell with those strange, glowing red eyes, there are no pupils, but somehow I can feel its regard all the same, making that uncomfortable cold prickle so much worse.

Taking a cautious step back, I reach across and very slowly sheathe my sword again, knowing full well it would do me no good at all in the current situation. Taking another step, I raise my hands, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, and when I breathe in this time it feels shaky, instantly betraying my worked nerves. For a long beat I toy with the idea of perhaps asking it to just ignore me, but somehow I doubt that would do any good. It’s clear enough it's already marked me as an enemy.

On my fourth step backwards, it starts to shift too. It doesn’t approach me, not yet, but it still adjusts its footing, turning to face me a little more directly, and I freeze on the spot for a long moment seeing it. As I watch it I notice through the corner of my eye that the theatre has essentially been cleared now, I appear to be alone in here now, so there’s no-one else here for it to focus on. Well that’s just wonderful …

Letting my breath out now, finding it just as shaky leaving my lungs, I chance another step back, and it moves again too, not taking a step this time but starting to tighten in on itself, and it only takes me a beat to realise it’s squaring up. Preparing to take a run at me now. Shit … that does it, I stop thinking now and just turn on the spot, immediately breaking into a hard sprint down the side aisle in order to make a dash for the stage. I hear it coming less than a moment after, a genuine explosion of noise behind me, like clear it’s not even bothering to detour around the seats this time, just ploughing hard on all fours right through them. Coming bloody fast, it sounds like. Fuck … I don’t know if I’m going to make it at this rate.

Somehow I reach the end of the front row without being flattened and I almost swerve off to the side, considering perhaps going for the small door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY in the corner, but something makes me stick with my original plan at the last moment. It’s still fucking terrifying suddenly swerving hard into the path of the approaching behemoth, especially now I can actually see it approaching alarmingly fast through the corner of my eye, half the chairs in its path instantly crushed underfoot while the rest just go flying. But when the stage is within vague reach I don’t even bother trying to close the distance, I just take one more big step while the rest of me tenses, and throw myself bodily at the looming rise.

I’m already airborne when it suddenly occurs to me that there are oil-burning lamps lining the edge of the stage, some already knocked down to start spreading fire across the boards when the golem crashed through the wall. But there’s nothing I can actually do about it, so I just clench my jaw and narrow my eyes, bringing my arms up to shield my face, likely uselessly, as I tuck my legs up under me. Even so, the angle’s oblique and the height a little too tall for me to quite manage to land on the boards, so while I at least manage to clear the corner of the orchestra pit the edge still sweeps my legs out and suddenly I’m tipping over in mid-air.

When I land I land hard, and I feel two lamps shatter right under me as I tumble in a clumsy roll across the boards. I feel the heat bloom instantly, and I know right away that my clothing’s caught now, but I don’t think about trying to put myself out yet as I just kick my feet out and start scrabbling for purchase so I can drag myself up. Only thinking about the golem coming hard for me and desperate to get as far away from it as I can even as I feel the flames starting to bloom up my arms.

I have to roll over once to finally find my feet, and then I’m dancing fast across the boards as I fight to strip off my burning jacket. But once I’ve finally stripped it away and tossed it aside it slowly starts to dawn on me that no matter how fast I’ve been moving there’s no way that the golem wouldn’t have already overtaken me, and yet I’m still alive and unharmed. I pause on the spot and take a deep breath, slowly turning around. I don’t have to worry about getting burned, thanks to my red dragon blood I’m essentially immune to fire. Unlike my clothes. But that’s really not the issue right now …

The golem’s just stopped, a few feet short of the conspicuously empty orchestra pit, stood almost casually as it seems to just be watching me. Like before. I can still feel that sharp, intense regard, but somehow … I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel like much of an inherent threat now. But I can’t think of a single reason why it would suddenly break off the chase, not when I’m so close.

“Hello?” I recognise the voice well enough, even though the fact that it seems to be coming from somewhere above me still throws me. “Up here, luv!”

Turning around on the spot, I look up and start casting about the upper workings above the stage, where the fly system’s situated, and after a moment I see Kesla Shoon standing there on the central catwalk, looking down at me. Her expression suggests she’s entirely at home up there, which I find a little baffling given it’s a good thirty feet above me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I call up to her, frowning as I feel the full weight of this pure surreality. “This is not a bloody game!”

Taking hold of one of the great jumbled tangle of lines, she gives it a careful testing tug first before letting it take her weight so she can lean out over me, reaching up with her other hand to cup her ear. “You what? ‘Fraid I can’t quite hear you, luv! Come again?”

Growling low, I cast about for a moment, looking for something to throw, then just give up, realising this would just be foolish and entirely pointless, I doubt I could hit her from that height, it would simply be peevish. I turn for a moment to regard the golem, who doesn’t seem to have moved, still regarding me with what I could only describe now as a very cool look, almost like it’s judging me. Which is odd given how its distinct lack of expression makes it look just as it’s always done. In the end I just wave at off with a particularly angry dismissive growl and stalk off into the wings, looking for a way to climb up to her now.

I’ve not actually been backstage much in my time, this is still a somewhat alien environment for me, so within moments I start to get lost. The fact that the fire’s starting to spread now doesn’t help, the smoke’s still thin but it’s starting to make the air a little hazy as I stalk about through the tight, winding confines of the wings and crossover, hemmed in by rambling stretches of tall wooden walls. But eventually I find a staircase leading up, steep and, while well-built like everything else, still somewhat rudimentary, which I see leads up to higher levels and platforms above. I look up now, but from here it’s almost impossible to make the catwalk out very clearly, so I have no idea if she’s even still up there.

Part of me starts to nag that this is getting stupid, there’s no real reason for me to go chasing after her, that this place is starting to burn and with that great hulking thing wandering about no sane person would try to come in to fight the flames. This could become a dangerous place very quickly, I definitely need to get out of here, find my friends and get to a safe distance until we can regroup and think of another way to get at these people.

The others will already be here by now, or at least on their way, I told Trouble to break off and go find Hontiresk, so she could inform him of what’s going on, perhaps get through to Tavarrat since there’s no doubt she’ll have given him a means to contact her. Then through her she could send a message to the rest of our group, tell them to get over here pronto, as I’ve heard them say in Abharet. With luck they’re already downstairs, in the catacombs, dealing with whatever crazy shenanigans the Creeping Bang are pulling to try and free their friend, and the rest of the captives. Much as I’d rather just let them have the wizards and everyone else that’s been stolen, we’re here to do a job, and under our current problematic contract we’re awkwardly obliged to see it through.

I could just find my way out the other side of the backstage, to the entrance to the cellars, and go deal with that myself alongside Jammund and the rest of his people. Maybe we could resolve everything down there in one fell swoop, finally put them all to an end out of sight of the rest of the city. But I just can’t shake that niggle, deep down, that I’m owed. The unfinished business on the Heath, brought to an abrupt end between me and Shoon, even if I was the one who called the retreat. It’s gnawed on me since, and a festering part of me really wants to finish that, even if I have a sneaking suspicion she really is better than me.

So I start climbing, moving with a confidence I’m not sure I really buy into yet as I step onto the next level up and cast about again, finally finding a ladder which I immediately jump on and start scaling. Looking up again to see it at least leads to a platform I suspect has access to the catwalk.

The air’s starting to get thicker now, when I finally make it to the platform the acrid haze is starting to ebb and shift, making it a little more difficult to pick out details, but for now it’s still clear enough to pick my way around. Working my way around stacked boxes and piled coils of rope, I finally find two nailed boards stretched across to the catwalk, and as I step out into the relative open I see her come into view through the thin smoke.

She’s still dressed as I saw her below, no armour that I can make out, any more than I’m wearing, looking very much like a typical noble’s bodyguard in her extravagant but practical garb, cut and fitted for ease of movement despite its smartness. Although as I look at it now, even through the thin smoke I can definitely see she’s already generously splashed with blood, visible to my experienced eyes even though half of her ensemble is already scarlet coloured. And her hair’s loose, unlike both times I saw her before, tight, bouncy black corkscrew curls that tumble across one eye as she regards me with cool interest.

“Evenin’ there. So glad you could join me.” She shifts her feet a little, which I notice isn’t the simplest prospect since the catwalk’s barely two broad planks wide, and raises her sword as she affects a ready guard. “Shall we?”

“While I should query your mental state given this particular venue for our rematch, I’ll admit I’m too inclined to grant your wish to argue.” I step onto the catwalk myself, and it shifts under my added weight, immediately informing me that we’re not really fixed in here, only actually attached by hanging lines and strung chains. We’re not swaying yet, but I suspect that could change when things get … boisterous. I take a few steps back and a deep breath in as I set my feet a little more firmly, and I can feel the dryness at the back of my throat grow, informing me that the air’s growing less viable for our continued presence. Or at least hers, smoke’s never really bothered me.

Drawing my sword at last, I pull down into a low crouch, raising my weapon with both hands gripping the hilt, and fix her with narrowed eye. “When you’re ready, then.”

“Oh no, by all means, you’re proper welcome yourself, luv.”

The way she smiles, just a little bit, when she says that, is frustrating enough I almost let it set me charging after all, but I hold my ground, tightening my grip as I just bare my fangs and raise my sword a little higher. “I really don’t mind. Feel free to start.”

Cocking her head, she regards me for a long beat, then takes a subtle step back … and brings her back foot down hard, sending a hard, rocking jolt through the whole structure. Shit … I barely catch myself as the catwalk suddenly sways violently, only just keeping my footing along with my balance as I stumble. And then she’s on me, clearly intent on using my distraction to her full advantage.

The sweeping slash she aims at my belly comes uncomfortably close to biting home before I’m ready, so I have to twist as I jump backwards, clumsy as I plant my feet again while swatting my sword down hard and battering her blade away. She just twists in response, already far more comfortable in her own position as she turns the deflection into a counter, and follows through with a particularly savage backhanded slice at my face. All I can do with that is wheel back, bending my back as I arch my neck aside from the stroke, and even then it comes alarming close to my nose as I stumble back.

She presses me hard before I have a chance to find good footing, battering me with hard probing swipes and jabs that come too quick for me to really take accurate note of, my own responses largely instinctive and driven mostly by strong muscle memory. Again I’m reminded how expertly she hounded me on the Heath, but I start to wonder if she might have been holding back somewhat then, testing my capabilities to get a better read on me then. Now it seems like she’s foregone that restraint, instead attacking with her full ferocity, and I’m having genuine trouble responding well enough to maintain an effective defence.

What’s most alarming is that she’s largely abandoned her offhand grip on her sword now, despite her heavy steel she’s attacking with the deft, nimble speed and agility of a fencer. Only gripping and guiding the sword with her left when it truly needs that extra precision or strength through its alarmingly swift cut-and-thrust passage. So far there’s no sign of any pattern here, nothing I can pick up on as repetitive signatures or relied-upon preferences. I’m learning nothing that could give me any kind of focused, educated advantage in order to counter her form.

In the end I do the only thing I can think of, simply swinging a particularly hard low clash that she parries but still reels back from under the brutal force of it, and it’s barely enough to give me a very brief gap in order to stagger back. Finding the remaining available room behind me running out fast, but I’m backing up to the end of the line with very particular purpose right now. I plant my backfoot firm and bring my sword low as I prepare a tight defence … then as she advances with her sword high I swipe to the left with all the strength I can muster.

I aim for the chain, not the ropes, trusting the uncanny strength and razored keenness of my blade’s elven steel to sheer clean through it. There’s just a hair of resistance as I make contact, but it severs with an angry pop and the whole catwalk bucks angrily as it’s instantly rendered a good deal less stable. The thick, tightly-knotted lines remaining are strong and well-wound, they take the strain as the two broad planks suddenly tip a little to the left in sympathy, but they give an audible creak all the same, and suddenly everything’s starting to noticeably list.

Shoon barely manages to catch herself as the ground under her suddenly becomes a good deal more treacherous, and her intended attack is badly spoiled. In the end her savage downward stroke misses me by bare inches and I dance away as much as the minimal room I actually have allows, ultimately forsaking my own responsive attack so I can instead dart past and exchange places with her. Squaring up on her turned back now as I prepare a hard two-handed lunge for her liver.

Only for her to twist at the last, almost as if she senses the danger after all, and before I can drive my blade home she spins her own sword round and knocks it aside with a wild flourish. I have to wheel back as the force of the counter knocks me back on my heels, peddling back several feet until I can regain my balance, and by then she’s already recovered, gripping her sword low while she watches me through her frowning brows. Somehow both warily serious and appreciably amused all at once.

“Nice move, there, luv. I didn’t see that one coming. Fuckin’ ballsy, you could’ve just killed us both if you’d cocked it up.”

Thorin … her unnervingly chipper mood, despite where we are, and what’s happening all around us, starts to grate on me. I’m sure she’s doing it to work my nerves, but even so, it’s working. I’d be so happy if I could carve that little smirk off her face, I swear.

But then, I do have her where I want her now, at least, even if she doesn’t seem at all fazed by it. So I offer up my own smirk and take a step back … then stomp my foot down hard on the left side of the catwalk, not only causing it to shudder violently but also tip aggressively down while the ropes protest again. I just manage to maintain my footing enough to push off and charge at her again while it rocks significantly, like a poorly moored boat on an angry stretch of river, turning and twisting my blade for a low, savage slice into her side.

Shoon rocks back, weathering the worst of it, but she’s still unbalanced enough she can’t quite guard herself in time as I press her hard. My sword bites into her just under the ribs … and sticks, stopping too shallow into her tunic to have actually penetrated. With a very heavy metallic click, I manage to pick up, just before she reaches up to grab my upper arm and lock it in place as I look up into her face in wide-eyed surprise. “What the hell –”

The hit made her wince, at least, but even so she doesn’t seem anything like as hurt by this stroke as I would have hoped. Then she starts to smile, her grip tightening on my arm now as she holds me fast. “Shame you didn’t think that far ahead.” Then she reels her head and shoulders back before I realise what she’s doing, and butts me right between my eyes.

My head just explodes in a great flash of blinding white light and a truly painful lightning crack that seems to split my skull, and when I can feel my body again most of me is as clumsy and rubbery as if I’m made of jelly. She’s let me go now, but as I stagger back the small remaining rational part of my mind warns me that she intended to. But it’s so tiny right now, I can barely hear it while the rest of me is screaming from the pain from the worst hit my head has ever taken. I almost can’t believe she could actually manage something so savage, not with a soft human skull like that.

Mostly I’m just a shocked mess, really, and it’s all I can do to claw enough sense back into myself to stop my feet from stumbling any further back that I might just walk myself right off the catwalk and take a devastating plunge to the blazing stage below. Honestly, I’m not sure if that would actually kill me, I’ve shaken off some very serious hits in the past, but I don’t doubt it would leave me badly broken, and right now that’s too dangerous to risk. I give my head a good hard shake and my skull screams again in protest, rewarding me with a nauseating wave of fresh pain that almost makes me collapse on the spot as it is. I reach up now and somehow manage to touch my forehead with very shaky fingers, which just prompts more pain from the goose egg I can already feel starting to form there, but at least when I take them away there’s no blood on them.

“Fuck …” I hear her growl now, and I blink the best I can to try and clear my somewhat blurred, watery vision, but it still takes uncomfortable moments for me to gain enough focus on her to see she’s not escaped unscathed either. She’s stumbling a little too, but as I look it becomes clear enough it’s not so much from the headbutt, while she has a dark mark starting to form between her own brows now she seems a good deal clearer than I feel. Instead she’s doubled over a little in favour of the side I tried to cut into, which I realise now is still conspicuously clean of her blood. As she reaches up with her hand she probes the wicked tear in her tunic, and winces loudly, tensing a little more as she gives me a sharper look now. “Oh … yeah, it don’t seem like you broke anything, but feels ‘least like you managed to bruise my ribs doing that. I do not appreciate that.”

“How … did you … I don’t …” I give my head another shake and this hurts almost as much as the first try, she really has rattled me significantly.

Cocking a brow that just makes her wince a little, which at least tells me that the butt hurt her a little too, she gives me a somewhat tired half-smile. “Ah-ah, no I don’t reckon I will tell. Trade secret.” Taking a deep breath, she plants her feet now and drags her sword up from where she’s had the point resting against the plank beside her foot. But at least her hand shakes a bit as she raises it to point towards me. “Reckon you got more pressing concerns right now, anyway.”

“What the fuck …” I don’t know what to make of that, she’s acting like she has all the time in the world and that this is nothing more than a bit of fun for her. That her success is assured, and she’ll be able to escape without a scratch. I genuinely don’t understand it. “How can you … is this a joke to you? How can you be so calm? Don’t you see what’s going on down there? This is crazy. Don’t you understand what …”

My words falter as her smile just widens into a broad grin, even as she tries to draw in a deep breath which just makes her start coughing and brings up a deeper wince from her side. The smoke’s getting thicker as we speak, it seems, but then the air does seem to be growing a good deal hazier now. “Oh, I get it just fine. But you don’t clearly. I ain’t up here with you to fight, I’m here to keep you occupied. I’m the distraction.”

Fuck … as I step back again, realising she really has just played me, I give my head another shake, and while it still hurts the pain is less intense than before, my mind clearing some with the effort. Damn it … this whole time I thought I was up here to finish this, l but instead she banked on my growing obsession with beating her to get me up here. And now I’m here …

If that injury to her ribs really has slowed her down a step or two, it doesn’t show as she rushes me again, still favouring her swifter one-handed wielding as she starts swatting at me with the same vicious aggression as before. Again I respond in kind the best I can, but I’m still running mostly on instinct, now too rattled by the realisation that I’ve been so comprehensively duped. Like a fucking idiot, I came up here to fulfil my own selfish need for closure while her friends are off doing … hell, the gods know what, right now. There’s no way for me to know. So between this and my still slightly muddy head I’m very much on the backfoot again.

Then the catwalk gives a far more violent shudder than any of our current movements have any right to produce, and she falters, her most direct attack going wide enough I don’t even have to try to swat it aside, and she peddles for a moment to maintain her balance. She catches herself, but ends up stumbling back a few steps all the same, and as I go down to one knee, gasping in a somewhat winded breath which tastes very much like smoke now, I cast about for a sign of what’s wrong. The air’s growing uncomfortably thick, the smoke starting to obstruct some of our further surroundings now, but I can see well enough through it that the fire’s starting to spread with a true, voracious hunger now. Grasping flames are starting to ride up the walls around us now, while I can see some of the platforms around and below us are catching too. Then there’s another heavy jolt and this time the catwalk noticeably tips a few more degrees, and when I look past her I can barely make out one of the lines has gone, and not from the strain. The fire’s starting to catch among the rigging now, it looks like our time out here is numbered in seconds.

“Shit!” I hiss as I push myself up off my knee, stumbling clumsily as I try to right myself on this much more unstable ground, and as I struggle the planks under our feet shudder even worse than before, nearly throwing me off right here. Shoon seems to have registered the danger too, she’s already moving, and as she rushes past me she throws herself hard out to the side, aiming for the main platform behind. I don’t think too much as I stumble back and then make the leap for myself, just as the last rope must give because the catwalk suddenly just drops out from under me …

She makes the platform, I see, crashing through some of the stacked boxes, one of which was already starting to burn so as it all collapses around her it throws up a great cloud of sparking embers. I drop too fast to have a hope of landing safely behind her, so I do the only thing I can, tossing my sword ahead of me so I have both hands free and as I throw my arms out and just hope.

The edge of the platform hits me hard enough in the chest I almost just bounce right off, and as it is I’m so winded by the impact it’s a miracle I’m able to respond in time to save myself after all. In the end my talons are all that save me, catching the wooden boards of the platform and locking in place just in time for me to hang on for dear life, the rest of me swinging wildly out in the open air. I feel the heat fierce on my legs now as they dangle in the emptiness, and really have to work hard to keep from kicking in fear of just bucking myself off into a very painful drop indeed.

Pushing herself up, Shoon scrabbles back and almost falls right over again as she shakes out the flames that have caught her right sleeve, then thrashes about for a long moment working to strip her tunic off. Throwing this over the side she doubles over for another beat, hands on knees, snatching up what breath she can get, but eventually this just gets her coughing again and she spits off into the haze. Then she turns my way and regards me for a long moment indeed, frowning a little. “Yeah … sorry. Much as you clearly need help right now, I ain’t gonna offer it. You seem like you got it handled well enough, anyway. Just hang on, you’ll be fine.”

As she steps away she turns enough I get a better look at the gash cut into the side of the quilted white linen garment she’s been wearing underneath, catching the glint of iron underneath, and I realise what it actually is. A jack-of-plates … of course, that explains it. No wonder my blade didn’t just cut right through her middle and end it right there, she was armoured in spite of her disguise. Not that I’m at all surprised, given what I’ve learned.

Still, as she staggers off without another word, scraping her sword up off the boards, she reaches up with her free hand and presses it tight to that spot, coughing some more as she hobbles away. Looking a bit more wounded than she did before, when we were fighting, with adrenaline pumping fast. Now she’s slowing down the harm is starting to take a toll, and it looks like I dealt her significantly more damage than she originally let slip.

Not that it makes any difference to me right now, barely hanging on here … it’s all I can do not to yell out a few obscenities after her, despite the fact deep down I don’t blame her for just leaving. We’re not friends, she’s still very much my enemy, as much as we might respect one another she wouldn’t help me, any more than I would her. But it still irks me while I’m dangling by my claws.

Gritting my teeth, I try dragging myself back up as I am, but strong as I might be I barely have enough purchase here just to hang on. Hissing angrily through my clenched teeth, I work the fingers on my right a little to make sure I’ve got the firmest, tightest grip on the wood I can muster, then take the deepest breath I can with my chest compressed and the air getting so acrid and let go with the left. There’s a very hairy moment as my entire weight is hung entirely on just four talons and the board gives a very loud creak that warns me I’m really pushing my luck right now, while my body unavoidably starts to swing while my weight shifts. It’s all I can do to time it so that as I swing back I’ve got just enough momentum to shoot my left hand up and drive my claws in good and deep a little further across, and even then the pain at the root of my talons is enough I’m terrified they’ll just rip out right here. But they hold, and let my breath out slow as I prepare myself for the next part.

Again tensing my grip the best I can, I take another breath and offer up a silent prayer to whichever god might be watching right now before I start swaying after all. This time I keep my legs loose, instead moving from my hips, side-to-side, first subtly but quickly building up a smooth momentum before finally starting to put a little more force into it. Now my fingers are protesting as I feel my claws starting to snag and pull, and it feels like I’m pressing my luck a little now, I might not have much time or opportunity left before something tears. So on the next relative downswing I tense up a little more and, as I whip my legs back up, hard as I can now, I yank my right hand loose and, with what momentum I have, try to reach as far as I can.

The same moment I swing my right leg up in my attempt to hook my foot up over the edge of the platform, I again dig my claws in, and this time I feel something give as they snag into the wood. Pain flares in two of my fingers as I feel those talons snap, and it’s almost enough to rob my whole arm of any remaining strength in its intensity, but I hold on as I let a great angry yell out and barely manage to gain my purchase with my foot. Gritting my teeth tight enough I hear them creaking in my head, I start to pull again, working on dragging myself up and over as forcefully as I can now I have real purchase, and this time it starts to work. There’s a worrying moment as my heel slips an inch or so, but I manage to arrest it in time and redouble my efforts, and then suddenly I’m up on the platform again and I just collapse.

Rolling over onto my back, I lie there for a little while, sucking in great lungfuls of increasingly toxic air that’s even making it harder for me to breathe now, while I feel the wood underneath me growing uncomfortably hot now. Slowly it occurs to me again that this is probably not the best place for me to be right now, even if I am mostly fireproof.

Sitting up, I raise my right hand in front of me, reluctant to really inspect the damage but knowing I have no choice right now. The claw on my index finger has snapped clean, nothing left now but a ragged little stump. The middle, on the other hand, is only partially torn through, hanging loose with a little blood welling up from under the quick. Shit … there’s not much I can do about this besides simply tear it off. Wincing, I take hold of it and count down from three, clenching my teeth again in anticipation of some major pain, before giving it a little twist and yanking hard. It gives me another, more focused little spear of hot pain and I almost drop on my back again, but in the end I just double over some more, cradling my throbbing fingers as I breath hard again and will the pain to fade. That takes longer than I’d like …

I’ve definitely run out of time up here now, and it’s clear enough that Kesla Shoon has long since fled, no remaining signs to show where now. This platform’s already burning with some enthusiasm, I’m quickly running out of safe space to stay, so I push myself up with far more protestation from my body than I’d really like right now. It takes me a few swimming steps to really regain my balance again, my head’s still rattled a touch from that hit, but I spot my sword quickly enough, barely three inches from a burning patch and, as I scrape it up, already very warm. I give it a few swipes through the air in the hope this might cool it down a little, then sheathe the blade again, moving towards the back of the platform again as I start looking for a way back down.

Very aware now that, since this clearly was just a distraction, I’m definitely not where I’m supposed to be right now. I can only hope the others are managing to hold their own down below.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 27 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 26

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: SHAYLINE

Damn it, from the sound of it the whole plan’s going to shit already. Lady Naru made contact with Kesla just ten minutes after we first made it into our private box, making her freeze on the spot with her sword held at a strikingly awkward angle just as she was about to sheathe it again. The message was brief, at least, but when she finally snapped out of it again and fumbled her sword back into its scabbard she was frowning deep enough she looked fit to spit right here.

Apparently Tulen had just gotten through to her from down below, still in the tunnels even though the plan was that by now they’d already be in the cellar levels under the Playhouse, ready to make their move. Instead they got caught out before they even made it all the way inside, apparently running into an ambush which left Art badly hurt and the rest of them hung up with a serious fight on their hands. That made me swear a particularly nasty oath under my breath, and Kesla joined me, clearly only just stopping herself from thumping the wall behind her in frustration.

Needless to say we don’t have a choice in the matter, we have to move now, much earlier than we intended to. At least Lady Naru’s group have made their way in backstage, although they’ve literally only just achieved their own sneaky infiltration so they’re not yet in position, and with the company apparently hustling to get the play going they’re having to lay very low right now. Right now there’s not a whole lot they can do to help the others down in the tunnels, any more than we can.

“This is not gonna be pretty.” Kesla growls under her breath now, picking the key out of her pocket and leaning close to the door as she listens at it for a moment. Honestly, I really don’t know if she’ll really be able to make much out doing that, the orchestra are really playing up a storm in the theatre below us, the opening scene just now starting to unfold. Or maybe that’s not actually a bad thing, not really. After all, almost everyone’s eyes will likely be on the stage right now, so we only have to deal with whatever’s out there, in the corridor.

“Maybe we can just bluff our way through.” I offer up, mostly just hopeful even in the face of everything else that’s already going wrong. “After all, it didn’t seem like they actually know we’re here.”

Kesla gives me a wary look as she pauses just before slotting the key into the lock. “You really believe that?”

Unable to keep the scowl from my face, I just roll my eyes and step back. My hands go to my lap almost unbidden, checking the knives now strapped into the makeshift sheaths on their inside of both my thighs. Hoping they really are as invisible as we intended them to be when we were setting this up. Once again I’m acutely reminded of how ridiculously dressed I am for what we’re actually about, and how intrinsically uncomfortable I still am. This is not a good start.

The heels … well, honestly, they’re just the start. I can just about walk in them without having to really think about it, but this is purely down to my elven blood and the fact I have an intrinsically strong sense of balance. I still hate it, they’re genuinely killing my feet and slowly but inexorably putting a cramp in my calves I know I’ll pay for later from them being permanently over-extended. The rest of the costume is much worse, less down to how it feels than just how it makes me feel …

The angry self-consciousness is the worst of it, of course. I’m well aware that the way I normally dress does somewhat flatter my figure, but it’s still comfortable for me at the end of the day, and just as useful for me as it is stylish. This dress is just … it’s embarrassing, pretending to be something I’m not, something I can never be, that I never aspired to be and have no desire to be. Dressing like someone who wants to be ogled and lusted after, not so much to provoke actual titillation as to augment their desirability and therefore enhance their standing within their own social circle … Lady Naru tried to explain how it works but it just downright baffled me, and even Tulen ultimately agreed that it never made a whole lot of sense to her either. But I still had to go along with it, if I was going to pass for a wealthy young noblewoman in this kind of social scenario, I have to present a very particular and highly cultivated appearance.

Which means wearing a corset, apparently. Getting laced in somewhat tighter than I’d like, not so much that I’m having trouble breathing but still enough that I’m uncomfortably aware of the distinct snugness of the garment. That being said, at least when she crafted it using her magic Lady Naru fashioned it in such a way that I can still move how I need to, if and when it comes to it. But that doesn’t change the worst part of the whole thing for me. I’ve never had a problem with my breasts before, I mean I’ve never actually gone out of my way to flaunt them but I’ll admit that, much like the rest of my body I’ve at least learned to be proud of them. But the way the corset pushes them up and squeezes them together in such a blatant way … honestly, there’s something about it that feels genuinely vulgar. I mean it’s no different than a barmaid in a bodice, which I know is done for much the same effect, but somehow this just feels so much more … manipulative. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Well to hell with it … as soon as we got in here I decided to just go ahead and hide them, much as we’d decided I would as soon as it was convenient anyway. I’m somewhat aware now that, given we’re about to head out again it might have been somewhat premature, but … at this point I really don’t care anymore. I still wish I could do something about the bloody boots too, but for now I’m just going to have to put up with it. As for the rest …

“For fuck’s sake … I need a fucking sword.” I growl under my breath after a moment, just for myself, but Kesla pauses all the same just after pushing the key into the lock, turning back to give me another cool look.

“Let’s just deal with this first, shall we? Then we can get you one. All right?”

Holding my tongue, I just step up behind her and flex my fingers for a few moments, waiting for her to open the door. Finally she turns the key and waits for a long, loaded beat before finally opening it up just enough to peer through. I hang back now, trying to stay out of sight of whoever might be out there.

She still doesn’t say a word, but the way she lets a little breath go through her nose speaks of subtle frustration all the same. She turns her head just enough to give me a quick sidelong glance, then waves me back a little more, and I take the step as directed, letting my fingers curl into tense fists while the rest of me starts to stiffen without being bidden to first. Anticipating a coming fight, even though that’s the last thing we need right now.

Stepping back herself, Kesla opens the door the rest of the way, straightening the lie of her sword in the same moment as she draws herself up to her full height, assuming her role again. Seeing this reminds me that I am still technically performing, so I take a deep breath and force my fingers open again while I straighten my own back, square my shoulders and lift my chin, setting my jaw as I finally step up behind her now. Just as she steps out into the corridor.

When I follow her out, stepping with care I hope comes across more as haughty deliberation, I find the lights are a little more muted now but the space is still just about bright enough that Kesla can see well enough too. There are less guards now than there were before, but I still notice enough to give me pause that I have to work hard to hide my wary scan of our surroundings. And then I see the young man who saw us in, hustling over with a little frown on his face, and it’s all I can do not to curse under my breath.

There’s a moment just before he arrives I swear he’s about to speak, and I know he must be about to inquire what could possibly be wrong so soon, especially with the play just starting, but he muse rethink in the last moment. Instead he clears his throat and gives a deferential little bow, looking to me now. “My Lady, how may I be of assistance to you –”

“Toilet.” Kesla cuts him off, putting a good deal of gruffness in her voice while once again affecting that surprisingly convincing accent. “Where is it?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” He just gives a low nod this time and starts to back away, already gesturing to follow. “If you would come with –”

“No, just tell us. I can follow directions well enough.” She’s even more brusque with him now, and gives him such a savagely hard stare I’m not at all surprised he visibly squirms under that one uncanny dark eye.

Again he looks to me, just for a split-second, and I just roll my eyes, making it seem like he’s not even worth my time. This seems to do as good a job as Kesla’s withering glare.

“Of course … um, yes. My apologies, my Lady.” He clears his throat again, pondering for a beat, then turns and points down the line of the corridor we haven’t covered yet. “Turn left from the door, it’s the second door down on the right. But … are you sure you don’t –”

“Thank you, that will be all.” Kesla’s already turning away, and I follow her without giving him another glance, maintaining the act the best I can. Hoping he still hasn’t twigged to what we’re actually about, or that he might follow us anyway, purely through a sudden determination to try endearing himself to us after all. Looking for a really good tip at the end of the night, probably.

The guards, at least, barely even give us a glance as we pass, Kesla stalking along with her solid, warrior’s swagger while I just work on maintaining a self-important glide. Inwardly cursing every step while simultaneously praying to whichever god’s currently listening these bloody heels don’t betray me before we make it.

We reach the door at the other, closer end of the corridor without incident, and Kesla tips a little nod to the particularly large half-orc waiting there with his hand laid on the hilt of his sword. His eyes widen just a tiny bit as he registers the gesture, then he nods back, stepping aside before opening the door and pushing it wide for us. When we pass through, I make sure to give him as little regard as I did the others, even though it makes me squirm inside like every other time. Gods … da taught me too well, that manners are an important thing indeed in this world, and that you’ll do best making your way through your life if you treat people with the same kind of deference you’d prefer they direct to you. Having to act contrary to how I was raised now is really twisting me into knots that I have to fight hard to stop myself from gnawing on to try and break through.

The even larger human guard on the other side seems momentarily surprised as he steps aside a good distance to allow us through, likely as startled by someone moving now at this critical early point in the performance. But Kesla just gives him the same curt nod and he returns it before tipping me a much deeper bow, and this time I tip him a clipped nod of my own, unable to fight the internal crawling any longer. Then I follow Kesla as she starts climbing the shorter, wider passage up the ramp, just wanting to get away from all of this nonsense so we can instead get to what we need to now. Hoping I didn’t finally give myself away as I go.

Kesla just shoves the relevant door open with typical brusqueness as she leans in to check the way ahead, then pulls back out enough to give me a satisfied nod before pushing it open wide to allow me access, and I slip through without hesitation. The room is impressively large, with a surprisingly high ceiling, and it definitely seems to be of a type with the décor of the rest of the place. More of that red wood and gold leaf, although here at least it seems to be interspersed with large stretches of cool, gleaming polished marble and shiny brass. It’s definitely the most fancy toilet I have ever been in, certainly after being brought up in the much simpler climes of the Northern Reaches, but this is enough to put even the Silver Order’s impressive hospitality to shame.

There’s two whole rows of sinks running down the centre of the room, with impressively wide cubicles lining either wall, closed off with polished redwood doors. But the most baffling detail of all has to be the weird circular couch at the back of the room, very plush and clearly very soft indeed, lined with the same rich red velvet as the seating back in the box, surrounded by a cluster of similarly plush round stools. As I walk up to take a look at it, I see it’s been built around a wide pillar, while there’s carpet laid out around it too, unlike the marble floor under my feet.

“This is … I don’t understand, what is this for?”

When I look back at her, Kesla’s cocking one of her now far more inexplicably heavily scarred brows. “Last time I had to deal with highborns on a job, I came across this very conundrum, and I couldn’t help myself. Had to ask. Turns out some o’ these fancy noblewomen are real high-strung, an’ they get prone to fainting. Something to do with some of ‘em lacing their corsets too tight or something? I don’t understand it either, but ‘parently sometimes they gotta sit somewhere quiet and have a breather to calm down. Hence that … weird thing.” She shrugs. “I dunno.”

Turning away, I start walking back towards her, looking over the sinks now. There’s an impossibly large, single-pane mirror mounted over them, and I already saw there’s an identical one on the other side too. That’s just … bloody hell. Rich people. When I turn back I see Kesla watching me now, and she shrugs again, as though she already knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“All right, then …” I plant my hands into the small of my back and plant my feet before giving my spine a little stretch. Again wishing I could just get out of this fucking dress. “Now what? How are we supposed to get backstage?”

“Honestly?” Kesla scratches at the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders now with clear discomfort. It’s a strikingly familiar action which is made instantly odd to me purely because it looks like I’m seeing a complete stranger do it. “I got no idea. But … hmmm … all right, look. There’s one thing we could do, but it’s risky. You feel up to it?”

Much as the idea of anything that might work right now appeals to me, making me want to just jump to an agreement without hearing her out, I hold back, instead weighing the options for a moment. “I’d say it depends, really. How likely is it to blow up in our faces?”

Kesla ponders for a moment, then shrugs again, wincing a little this time. “I dunno. Fifty-fifty, maybe?”

Frowning, I watch her for a long moment, mindful that we’re clearly on a pretty serious time limit right now. “Better than nothing, I suppose. What do you want me to do?”

“Just wait here, inside the door. On the blind side. I’ll jump things off, but … just be ready to join in, ‘case this goes south on me.”

Now I almost ask her what she actually plans on doing, but instead I hold my tongue. I trust her to know what she’s doing, this is a big deal that we’re about and I’m sure she’s got enough confidence that this should pay off, or she wouldn’t suggest it. So I just nod and walk past her to the door, finally standing with my back to the wall on the far side, where I should be blocked from sight when it’s opened. I rich under my skirts and slip the knife strapped to my right thigh free, holding it low at my side, before tipping her another, somewhat less confident nod now.

Returning it with her own wariness, Kesla takes a deep breath and steps up to the door, pulling it open and leaning into the corridor before calling out, again affecting that odd accent. “Excuse me? My good man, could you help me for a moment?”

Oh, okay … I think I have an idea what she’s planning now. Yeah, I get it now, what she meant by this being risky. I take a breath and lean my head back against the wall now as I wait, offering up a silent prayer to Thorin as tighten my grip on the knife.

I hear the heavy, thumping footfalls outside first, before a low, very bassy gruff voice asking: “Ma’am? How can I be of assistance?”

“Oh no, it’s not me.” Kesla’s already pulling back in through the door now. “It’s her Ladyship. She has a rather … unusual problem, and we require a … man’s help with it.”

Bloody hell, Kesla … are you trying to appeal to him that way? How well’s that going to work?

His steps slow, and for the briefest moment I think she might have tipped her hand, but then he clears his throat, and when he speaks again he stutters just a little on the first word. “Why … of course, yes ma’m, I would be only too willing to help.” He follows her through as she back inside, pushing the door closed behind himself as he comes. Starting to look around now as he takes his first steps inside in earnest. Looking for me.

He's a big one, I don’t think I’ve seen such a large man before, certainly not human, he’s a good six inches taller than she is and much broader, especially across the shoulders, while his smooth shaven, scarred head just emerges from them without any neck. He’s a bruiser, clearly, but something about the clarity in his voice, and the sharp way he regarded us outside in the corridor, warns me he’s probably smarter than he actually looks. Something’s already warning me this ruse won’t work for very long, not with this one.

Then again, I don’t think Kesla’s going to let it get that far … she just rushes him, no warning at all, already starting to leap as she’s drawing her fist back, and between her momentum and already impressive strength it certainly looks like she hits him very hard indeed. The sound, too .. gods, it doesn’t sound like a regular punch, there’s a surprising metallic crack to it as she makes contact with his face, and when she lands, following through on the over-extension, I see why. I didn’t even notice her palm those nasty-looking heavy brass knuckledusters out of her pockets when she came back in, but then clearly neither did he.

He doesn’t go down, but he definitely wobbles, stumbling badly on suddenly rubbery legs for a few steps as he reels sideways from the hit, and Kesla’s already following through, dancing aside to follow him as she pulls back with her other arm. She lands a second punch, not so hard without the added momentum but still directed with full force, this time driving it hard into his stomach, and he doubles over, again managing to keep his feet but only barely. He gasps as he stumbles, spitting up a big mouthful of bloody drool that seems a good deal chunkier than I would have expected, at least until I realise that’s teeth, and I wince seeing it.

The fact he’s still conscious is more than a little alarming, though, when I look to her now I see Kesla’s visibly surprised too, even given the force of her blows, and as she frowns at him I see she’s rethinking her strategy. Wondering if she should just draw her sword and kill him on the spot, but … no, now I’m thinking about this it seems like a bad idea to kill him like that. We might still need to hide what we’ve done, at least for a little while, we don’t want someone stumbling on a cleaved corpse or even a lot of blood, not just yet. And I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing as she looks to me now.

Even so, as I step forward now, there’s a moment I still approach him with the knife pointed at him blade first, my own instincts taking over so I come damn close to killing him after all. It’s only at the last instant that I pull myself back, but I still try to put my whole strength into the hit, reeling back as I grip the knife in both hands and then bring it hard down on the base of his skull, pommel-first. There’s another, even louder metal crack as I strike home, and he drops instantly … but still doesn’t go all the way down, instead falling to his knees while his hands just come up in time to catch him so he ends up on all fours, groaning low and sounding completely miserable while another mouthful of blood and phlegm comes out of him.

“Thorin …” Kesla breathes after a moment, staring down at him in open amazement. “How the fuck …” She looks to me again. “Maybe you should stab him.”

Looking down at the knife, I find myself genuinely considering it myself. But instead I just shake my head. “No, I don’t think … no. That’s not …”

Frowning again, Kesla lets a little sigh go and steps up … then wheels back and kicks him in the side, every bit as hard as she just punched him. He lets out a much more winded grunt as the sheer force of the impact flips him over onto his back, hitting the floor hard which surely knocks the rest of the air out of him. She pauses for a beat before following through this time, starting to hesitate but fighting through, then leaps astride him, dropping to her knees as she straddles his belly. Already reeling back to hit him again.

But he’s still with it enough, amazingly, despite the spectacular beating we’ve already delivered just with a few hits. His face is a mangled mess, his lower nose battered badly askew while his jaw looks halfway shattered, knocked a good three inches off to the right while his teeth are a broken mess, half already gone. And there’s so much blood … but while his eyes are wild and a little glazed, there’s still enough focus in them to focus on her, and when she lands he sucks in a somewhat ragged breath and tenses … in the same moment he shoots both arms out, hands going straight for her throat.

Kesla doesn’t react quite fast enough, his hands just managing to find their target, and the moment they’re wrapped around her neck they start to squeeze. She gasps, immediately bringing her own hands up to wedge between his twists and trying to pry them apart, but they seem to be made of iron. He just spits out another little bloody wad and screws his face up as he growls something that might just be wordless, or simply ruined by her punch, as he starts to squeeze harder.

I react before really thinking about it, because if I actually had I’d actually have said to hell with it and stabbed him right in his face. Instead I stalk up and bring my foot down hard on it, leading with the heel, and somehow it seems to land perfectly, the slender end of the heel going straight into his eye. Or maybe through it, I can’t really tell, at least until he lets out a much bigger moan which might be a scream mangled by his ruined jaw, and there’s a second spurt of blood under my boot.

The effect is pretty spectacular, though. He lets go instantly, letting Kesla reel back for a few moments while she starts coughing and whooping as she gulps in lungfuls of fresh air, and brings both hands to his face as I stumble back, suddenly unbalanced. I kind of lose track of what happens next as I’m fighting to regain my footing, finally stumbling into the wall and barely managing to catch myself against it, righting myself on these bastard fucking heels. Biting back a curse as I end up breathing heavily.

When I finally turn back Kesla must have slapped his hands out of the way before starting to batter his face, landing punch after punch with sickening loud, meaty impacts. Each hit sounding wetter than the last.

“Oh fuck …” I breathe, suddenly scared as I shove myself against the wall and just manage to totter over to her, reaching down to grab hold of her right wrist and pulling hard to try and arrest the flight of that fist, and even then she nearly yanks me off my feet. Again I’m reminded just how strong she actually is, especially when her blood’s up. I’m not sure if I just prove to be the stronger thanks to my orcish blood, or that she must twig at the last that it’s me, but it stops her in time, and for several moments we both just stay there, panting heavily as she comes fully back to her senses.

I’m a very long moment finding the courage to actually look at the poor bastard’s face, and my gorge rises the moment I do. “Oh … fuck, Kesla … what did you do?”

“Shit … I guess I got a bit worked up there.” There’s some regret in her voice as she takes in her own work, but not so much as I might want to hope for, perhaps. Like she’s already moving past it as she realises there’s really nothing she can do about it now, and that at least he’s no longer a threat.

Certainly this is what I’m trying to tell myself right now, but when I look at what’s left of this poor bastard’s face, I’m not too sure I really believe it. I don’t know if it’s her brass knuckles or just her own brutal strength and powerful survival instinct, but she turned this poor man’s face into pulp. There’s really nothing left of his jaw, his cheeks or his nose, just a mangled, battered and blood-soaked mess, and I can’t even see his eyes in the chaos now. His chest’s no longer moving, either, so she’s definitely killed him. Oh gods … that might be the worst way I have ever seen someone die. Outside of what we saw in Lady Vezrim’s home, at least.

“Well we need to …” I pull back now, somehow managing not to unbalance myself again as I straighten up and start to move around the corpse, searching the walls with greater deliberation now. “Fuck … oh, we have to hide that. Um …” I’m a moment really focusing on what I’m actually looking at even so, but then I realise we’ve lucked out after all.

“Yes! That’ll do it.” I go to a tall open-fronted closet set in the wall just beside the first of the line of cubicles on this side of the room, where there are maybe half a dozen slots cut into it containing dozens, perhaps hundreds of small folded towels. Reaching out, I pull one down and shake it out, finding a two foot square of almost impossibly soft, thick cotton flannel cloth, which I immediately scrunch up in my fist before throwing it to Kesla. “Here! Wrap up the head the best you can.” I pull down three more and toss them over, then grab two more and stalk back, looking at the floor with a more critical eye.

Scrunching one up, I toss it down before stepping on it and starting to work it back and forth across the first splash of bloody drool he spat up, then continuing to mop up the larger spots and splashes of residual blood after. Finally I stop and repeat the process with the other towel, tackling the second splash and the worst of what’s left of the splatter. By the time I’m done I look up to find Kesla’s already crouching at the head of the corpse, scooping her arms under its armpits to wrap around the chest and start to hoist it up off the floor.

“Oof … oh bloody hell …” Her face quickly darkens with the effort as she struggles, but when I start to step towards her she shakes her head, gritting her teeth and tensing her spectacular thighs in order to lift in earnest. She has to strain something fierce but finally picks the body up enough she can drag it backwards towards the cubicles. Now I start after her with greater purpose, before remembering the towels and doubling back to pluck them up.

I take a moment to inspect the state of the floor once I straighten up. It’s not a spectacular improvement, there’s still scattered spots and a little more gory splatter from where Kesla beat the late guard to death, but with the patterning of the marble it should just about pass muster at a glance. I’m hoping that’ll be enough, at least for a little while. These kinds of people don’t tend to look at the floor, so it should be long enough for us to make some headway, as long as we at least hide the body itself.

Catching up with Kesla now, I move ahead of her at last and push open one of the cubicle doors halfway down, reasoning this one is going to be the least likely for a visitor to just pick on a whim. I toss the towels inside to fall into the back corner beside the commode, then I just wait for Kesla to reach me.

Strong as she is, she’s still huffing and puffing with a particularly flushed face by the time she reaches me, sweating some while her tendons are standing out, veins bulging from the effort. She makes eye contact with me for a charged beat and looks away quick, growling under her laboured breath before finally managing to spit out: “Oh … not … a word … I’m regretting … this decision … already …”

“Well to give you your due credit, it did work. In the end.” I try not to sound too smug as I step out of her way so she can back into the cubicle.

It’s a good thing this place is so opulent, grand and well-appointed, the stalls alone are far wider than any I’ve seen before now, this one easily affording her enough room to drag the body to the commode, manhandling it about until she’s able to sit it down on top. Then she slips out from behind and just drops against the partition wall for a few moments, getting her breath back again. Her face slowly growing less flushed as her pulse starts to slow down once more.

“All right, then. Now what?”

Letting a heavy sigh go, Kesla pushes herself away from the wall, only wavering for a moment before finding her feet again, and turns to me. “You still want a sword?”

Frowning, I look down at the knife I’m still clutching in my offhand, and finally start to slot it back into the sheath on my thigh. “Oh! Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

Nodding, seeming a little resigned, perhaps, Kesla steps back to the body and unbuckles the swordbelt, carefully dragging the strap free before turning and holding the whole bundle out. I frown a little as I step into the cubicle at last, reaching out to collect the offered weapon and its harness.

Once I’m actually holding it, my initial confidence starts to waver. I’ve trained with swords this big before, when I was young and still being taught the blade with da he insisted I learn as many of the kinds available to me as I could. Even so, I soon found my personal preference with lighter, leaner steel built more for finesse and speed, whereas this broadsword, heftier even than Kesla’s impressive bastard sword, is much more of a handful, intended to win through muscle and savagery. I remember that one time she and I crossed swords in earnest, back in the mountains, and I tried to take her on with the borrowed sword of one of my fallen allies … and if that fight had been allowed to reach its conclusion I suspect she would have won that one, very much at the cost of my life. I’m not really made for this kind of steel.

Even so, when I draw it from its scabbard and hold it out at arm’s length, looking down the lines … honestly, it is very well made. Not the impressive dwarven steel that Kesla carries, but this is high quality work even so, when I give the blade a testing bend it springs back to true with impressive ease, while it’s definitely suitably weighted for one-handed work like I’ve seen her favour. The edges are good and keen, too, telling me this weapon definitely isn’t just for show, although its condition tells me it’s still not seen much action in its time. But at least the dead man looked after it well enough to serve me now.

Wrapping my offhand around the lower haft of the hilt, I spread my feet and give the blade a few test swings, producing some suitably hearty whooshes as it parts the air … until my balance starts to slip and I remember the heels, having to throw my left arm out as I totter to regain my balance. “Shit!” I hiss, feeling my face heat up immediately, and set my jaw as I turn and take some more careful steps back to retrieve the swordbelt and scabbard.

“How’s it look?” Kesla asks as she pulls the cubicle door closed, then starts to frown as she realises it won’t stay that way, and there’s no way to lock it from the outside. “Hmmm …”

“Well it’s not really my preferred style, but …” I give it one last little hack through the air before whipping it round so I can guide the tip into the scabbard’s throat and slide the blade home. “It’ll do. Perhaps I can find something a little more suitable as we go, but for now I can live with it.”

“Well that’s good, cuz from what I remember they’re all armed much the same. Hontiresk likes his security big, so that’s pretty much the standard.” She tries pulling on the door, which creaks a bit as she tries to pull it tighter into the frame, but the way it’s been installed this won’t work any better. “Oh for … bloody thing, this ain’t gonna work, but we can’t leave it like this. Any ideas?”

Cinching the belt the best I can around my hips, I find the strap is much longer than I’d really prefer, obviously meant for someone significantly wider through the hips, so I just loop it in a knot instead and tie it off as tight as I can before adjusting the lie again. It’s not perfect, but I guess it’ll serve. I let the sword hang, then look down at my feet. “All right … how did this work again?”

Planting my feet the best I can, I take a deep breath and bend down at the waist, stretching until I can easily reach my ankles, and start to feel along the edge of the sole of my left boot. It takes me a long moment to remember the trick Lady Naru explained to me. These books are spell-crafted just like the rest of this ridiculous costume, but at least with these she wove a little extra something into its structure as she formed it around my foot and lower leg, for just this occasion. I suppose now’s as good a time as any. So I give it a try, hoping I’m recalling the combination right.

First two taps, then one more and a stroke, before three taps, all down the outside line of the heel itself. I just remember to bend my foot forward and lift my own heel in time before it has the chance to unbalance me, the entire sole quivering under my foot with the strangest vibration that makes me shiver a bit as it starts to reshape itself. I have to admit it’s not at all unpleasant a sensation, actually, and it’s a miracle I maintain my one-footed balance while it's happening.

Within moments, the heel has become far thicker and flatter, the sole straightening out enough that I can lay my foot down at a far more comfortable angle. There’s still a little arch there, but no more than I’m used to in my own boots, and it’ll definitely serve if we have to fight.

Kesla gives a low whistle. “Wow … that actually worked.”

“She’s a sorcerer, remember? Why would you ever doubt her?” I shift my weight so I’m resting most of it more comfortably on my left foot, then bend so I can repeat the process on the other boot. This one works as well as the first, and soon enough I can start stepping about the floor with a good deal more ease, while my feet are already thanking me for taking away the wretched strain those bloody heels were putting on them. “Ooh … gods, that’s better. Remind me to thank her later, if we’re still alive.”

The look Kesla gives me tells me she really doesn’t appreciate the joke, and I sigh as I turn to the problem at hand. Walking forward, I step into the stall and pull the door closed, then slip the latch to lock it in place. Then I step back and look down at the bottom of the door. Yes, this should work well enough …

Dropping down onto the floor, I slide across the cool marble tiles and slip through the gap underneath the door with just a little twisting and squeezing when it meets my backside. Within moments I’m springing up onto my coiled legs and straightening back up to my full height, smiling at Kesla as she gives me a cool look, one brow cocked with clear sarcasm. “Very graceful.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” I look down to inspect the front of the dress, although I’ll admit I’m not all that bothered how it actually looks once I start thinking about it. But the floor’s definitely clean enough, and we’re both wearing a lot of red anyway. What blood I might have gotten on it doesn’t seem to show right now. “I’d say we’re done here. We should move.”

Watching me for a cool beat, she finally nods in agreement, taking a moment to inspect her hands, which seem clean enough to my eye. I suspect she used at least one of the towels to clean the worst of the blood away from her bracers and fingers while she was wrapping the corpse’s head. Finally she steps back and turns to the door, stalking to it with purpose now. I take a moment of my own to check everything over one last time, particularly double-checking the new fit of my boots, before following her.

Just before she reaches it she pauses, looking down at the floor for a long moment, and finally lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuck it … at this point, I doubt it matters anymore, anyway. If we do this, we orob’ly don’t need the disguises any more. You don’t really convince now, anyway.”

Before I can ask her what she means, she’s already reaching up and rubbing both hands up and over her face, and as I watch there’s the subtlest hint of something like smoke starting to wisp under her fingers as they stroke the uncanny scarred skin. And as she moves both hands upwards the strange visage starts to slip, the scars fading in rippling vapour until fer face resembles the one I know again. Finally she shoves both up and back over her ears, and the hair there melts away in much the same way, leaving that much more familiar undercut, all the way to the back of her skull. Once it’s done she turns to me again, and when I raise my brows she lets a much more relieved sigh go. Comfortable in her own skin again, I suppose.

She waits at the door for another few moments, listening warily, then turns to me. “Sounds good. Far as I could tell, he was it in this corridor, so with a bit o’ luck we might be able to make it downstairs without too much trouble. Just keep your wits about you as we go, in case that changes. We been lucky so far, but …”

“Yeah, I agree.” I sigh, giving the hilt at my hip a little pat for reassurance. “Best not to press it now. Might not hurt to offer up a prayer or two to Thorin as we go, too.”

That has her grinning, cocked and rueful but good-humoured enough. She nods again, then turns the doorknob and pulls it open, leaning out to check in both directions before stepping out. I take another breath and follow her, flexing my fingers as I go, just in case.

I just happen to look down the corridor stretching on behind us, heading towards the back of the building, when the door at the end of it suddenly opens, three figures stepping through. I recognise one of them, but the others are new. But they all stop where they are pretty much as soon as they see us, the one in front frowning deep as she takes me in, then the larger woman in front of me. And her frown gets very deep indeed.

“What the fuck …” The dragonhalf woman from the Heath draws the sword on her hip, already taking a step towards us, and I see her eyes flash bright like burning amber as her face darkens. “You!” The black-clad half-hob with her just stands there, looking startled, clutching one of the most enormous swords I’ve ever seen to her chest. Meanwhile the substantial half-orc guard accompanying them just blinks, which I suppose on that stoic face might qualify as surprise.

“Oh shit … go! Fast!” Kesla grabs hold of my arm and yanks me roughly across the floor, planting her feet once I’m in front of her and giving me a little shove, and I’m only unbalanced for a moment before I snap back to my senses, and do what she asks of me. Unsure if she’s following me now, but I’ve got other more pressing concerns demanding my attention now. Like where I’m heading now …

At least with my boots altered the way I prefer them now, I can run with confidence, so I just focus on the road ahead as I break into a full sprint, grasping my newly-acquired sword at my side to keep it from clattering about. I barely clear the doors leading round the back of the boxes before the first one’s thrown open, and whoever’s coming out, likely to investigate all the shouting, steps through right as Kesla follows me along. I slow as I hear two bodies crash together and someone goes down, turning awkwardly as I almost stumble to look behind, and the first thing I see is the dragonhalf charging at full speed right after us, which almost makes me start running again anyway. But then I see the half-orc guard who let us out now sprawled face-down, just starting to pick himself up while Kesla must have simply turned her fall into a roll as she comes up from a low crouch and barely even slows down as she just launches herself after me.

Our eyes meet for a split-second and she hisses: “Keep going! Don’t worry about me, just fucking go!” I don’t say a word, just turning to do what she says.

We’re on the ramp itself now, much the same as the one on the far side, curving round on its middling slope down to the lobby, and I run flat out as gravity lends me a hand to make me even faster. We’re halfway down, Kesla already hot on my heels while I can hear them running hard to catch up now, when I see two figures making their way up the other way at a far more leisurely stroll, more of these oversized guards just making their rounds. Damn it …

“Forget it!” Kesla hisses again close behind me now. “Turn! Now!”

What the hell does she … oh hell, I see what she means soon enough, the side-entrance coming up on the inside of the curve in the wall, double doors closed but obviously leading into the theatre itself. I can’t help it, I spit: “Really?” but don’t wait for a reply, already swerving to approach it at the tightest angle I can while putting as much of an additional burst of speed in as I can given I’m already running about as fast as I can. Through the corner of my eye I see the other two guards now coming up the other way, starting to run as fast as they can fighting the climb now they’ve twigged that there’s something off here. I’d much rather get there first if I can help it.

Turning my body at the very last instant, I don’t even bother trying to open it by the handle first, I just bullrush the doors with my shoulder, aiming as square on to the crack between them as I can given how fast I’m charging in. Even so, I clench my jaw and fight the urge to wince, anticipating what’s coming but hoping it won’t be too unpleasant.

The hit’s nowhere near as jarring as I anticipated, but then these doors aren’t locked so they don’t stand up at all to my sudden, forceful impact as the latch just snaps and I’m spilled right through … before slamming much harder into the guard who was stood by on the other side. This unexpected crash does hurt, but he’s caught completely off guard, not standing up to me running into him for an instant, so I bowl him clean off his feet and he goes flying, tumbling head over heels over a rail into dark, empty space. I barely catch myself in time, my whole arm smarting from the painful impact, but the rail’s just tall enough to catch me in time.

He crashes down below a bare moment later, but I’m already moving, the intensity of the situation keenly impressed on me as I turn and start running down an uncomfortably steep staircase to the theatre floor below a good deal fast than I’d like. It’s a miracle I don’t take a tumble before I reach the bottom, but I might just be running on too much adrenaline right now, lending me a scary amount of focus that gets me to the floor in one piece.

When I pause at the bottom, it’s entirely to get a grasp on my surroundings, even though this is my first time in here, and it is a truly ridiculous space to be in right now, especially under these circumstances. It’s not the first time I’ve been in an enclosed chamber this vast, but with most of the lights down it feels more like a huge cave than anything man-built. Almost all of the light here now is coming from the stage, smaller, much dimmer sources of illumination from within the boxes not even reaching us down here, but with my eyes I can make out what’s going on just fine. Including the fact that the man I managed to punt off what turned out to be a balcony at least thirty feet up is unlikely to ever get up again after that landing. And it seems he might have taken a few patrons with him too …

For now most of the audience don’t seem to have picked up on this just yet, still focused on the play unfolding on the stage, but I can see more than a few who were sat around the poor bastards he managed to land on are getting to their feet, clearly alarmed. Then I see more movement around me, and I realise there are more security making their way towards the site of the crash, and then when I turn it become clear some of the closest are actually coming for me. Damn it … I don’t think here and now is really the best place and time for this.

“Shay!” Kesla doesn’t bother trying to modulate her volume now, she just yells it as she rushes down the steps towards me. “The stone! Use it now!”

Oh hell … I almost ask her if she’s really serious about that, but as I see more of the guards now starting to twig that we’re the threat, I realise she’s got a pretty damn good point right now. Worse that the dragonhalf is now climbing down too, making a very clear effort to catch up as she skips steps with reckless abandon. There’s no time, she’s right.

Shoving my hand up under the scarf tied over my chest, I grab hold of the largest necklace hung between my breasts and yank it away, feeling a subtly painful bite at the back of my neck as the clasp resists for a moment before snapping. As I manhandle the jewellery for a moment, going mostly by touch as I search for what I’m after, my eyes are already focusing on the nearest guards, already close enough I literally just have seconds to do this. Finding the largest, heaviest of the facsimile diamonds Lady Naru created ostensibly to give me a means of communication with her that could be hidden in plain sight, I give the gem a hearty squeeze between thumb and forefinger and take a quick, sharp breath. Knowing what I’m about to have inflicted upon me from past experience and already hating that I have to do this right now.

As the false stone cracks between my fingertips, everything just seems to fall away as I just retreat into my own mind, folded into a strangely empty dark void of silence and formless emptiness. But I know I’m not alone, although how I know that I really don’t understand. Any more than I know that it’s Lady Sulin Naru herself in here with me …

Shay? What are you … what’s wrong? I didn’t expect you to be doing this so soon –

My Lady, I don’t have time! You have to call him in NOW!!! Right now! Please, just send him STRAIGHT THROUGH, he has to come straight into the theatre itself! NOW!!!

What? Shay, I CAN’T do that, that’s insane! What does Kesla –

PLEASE!!! I told you, there’s NO TIME!!! If you don’t do this NOW we’ll be overrun! Just SEND HIM NOW!!!

There’s no way for me to tell, when I’m just as suddenly thrown unceremoniously out of that uncanny, genuinely nightmarish state of subconscious strangeness, if it was myself breaking contact or Lady Naru severing it instead. All I know is that when I return to myself with such jarring extremity that I almost stumble on the spot, I have a strange moment when I notice my would-be attackers don’t seem to have gained any more ground than they had before I activated the stone. I could have sworn that I was in that state for longer … but as the first one closes in I don’t have any more time to think about it now as I take a step back and draw the sword. Instantly dropping into a ready stance as I tense up, preparing to counter whatever attack’s about to come.

Just as the back wall, just to the side of the stage, literally explodes in a great blast of splintering timber and pulverised masonry, the whole building shaking violently from the force of it. As Driver 8 charges to our rescue …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 26 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 25

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: ART

Given how we started, looks like we’re making real good progress here. Using the directions Sal coughed up after the interrogation we were able to draw up a pretty legible map that, with only a few little niggles that could be put down to simple error of recollection, has served us real well so far. Dumoli’s been guiding us along, using his own impressive dwarven nightvision to read it without the need for any actual torchlight that might give us away, but then it helps we’re all comfortable in the dark down here. Even so, I’ve taken the lead the whole way, purely cuz I’m a lot better at scouting for traps than the dwarf, thanks to my Guild training. Nothing’s presented itself yet, but I’m being wary all the same, figuring it’s better to be safe than sorry right now.

Krakka’s the only one who’s been having any trouble with the journey, but Tulen’s been holding his hand the whole way, guiding him along very much at his insistence. He’s been muttering low under his breath most o’ the way, asking for guidance from Serena, and I suspect that might be helping a bit, since he ain’t stumbled once the whole way, not even when the going’s gotten tough. Like navigating sewage streams and low-hanging pipelines, even the odd unexpected drop-off I’ve a mind to have a little word with Sal about when we get back. If we do, anyway.

Then Dumoli looks round the next corner before pulling back to peruse the map, and points to the right-hand passage of the three routes we been presented with. I take my own look down now and it ain’t until I’m starting to lean in low that I spot it …

“Oh … yeah, wait here.” I breathe it low, but it carries well enough down here, so much I can’t help a little grimace as I hold up a warning hand right after and shift just enough to look further down the tunnel ahead o’ me now. Listening for any sign we might’ve been rumbled, if there is anybody waiting.

Nothing changes, I hear nothing but the subtle trickle of water from behind us, maybe more ahead. Nothing shifts in the deep gloom ahead, and I instead slowly return my attention to the spiderwebbing-fine strand of gossamer thread strung from one side of the passage to the other, barely three inches above the floor. Comfortable ankle height to catch by anyone who might blunder through without checking first. In other words anyone who don’t have the kinda training we get in the Guild.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I lean back on my coiled haunches and turn to give Dumoli a sidelong glance. “How much further?”

Frowning deep, the dwarf squints down at the scrap of paper in his hands, lips pursing as he starts to interpret the somewhat crude map scrawled on it. “From the look of this, not much. We seem to be getting close.”

“Course we are. Honestly, I’m surprised they let us get this close without any surprises.” I look past him now, seeing the others starting to cluster behind Dumoli, peering out the best they can to try and find out what’s happening. Krakka just blinks in the near perfect darkness, his beady dark eyes catching mine entirely by accident. “Okay, just … wait here. Do not move from this spot until I say it’s safe, you got me?”

His frown deepening, the dwarf folds the map closed enough to tuck it under his belt, picking up his hammer so he can lean it against his shoulder, and gives me a curt nod. “Sure. Just be careful.”

This time I fight off the urge to wince, hoping he ain’t tempting fate with that request, and just give him a little pat on his well-armoured shoulder. Turning back, I lean back to have another look at the lie of the passage ahead, this time watching out for secondary tripwires as I take my first, tentative step closer. Very wary indeed, now. Given who we’re dealing with I don’t like to think what could be in store for us here.

Whoever set this, looks like they’re going easy on us right now, all things considered. This ridiculously fine wire is real hard to see, I barely caught it just cuz I was actually looking for it, but even so it would’ve been pretty easy for ‘em to lay two or three more further along. Whatever poor bastard managed to miss this would’ve blundered into ‘em completely blind after tripping the first one and made things so much worse for whoever else was with ‘em, I don’t doubt. Which would be exactly what I’d expect from Vandryss.

Instead, as I step over this single wire, I keep my eyes trained tight on the ground ahead, searching closely with every subsequent step I make past the tripwire, and find nothing else, either at ankle height or strategically higher. So once I’m sure there ain’t further danger of blundering into one after all, I turn back and start to inspect the rest of the passageway instead. Slowly picking up on the similarly subtle-tell-tale clues that I can just spot, again cuz I’m looking for ‘em.

So I take two more steps back until I’m sure I’m a safe distance away, and reach into the little pouch on my belt, selecting one of the smaller stones and giving it a little evaluating toss before tightening up, preparing myself for what comes next. When I throw it at the wire.

There’s that split-second delay as the stone first stretches the wire taut before it finally snaps with the quietest little half-musical ping, and then another split after there’s a louder click followed by a cracking snap which reverberates hard around the whole tunnel. As a good dozen three foot tall, thumb-thin iron spikes punch up out the floor with little puffs of dust, each extending with the speed of a striking viper. They lock into place at their full length, and I wait a good slow count to five before I start to breath again. Waiting just in case there were any more subtle surprises I didn’t catch first time round.

There’s a pregnant pause before I hear someone clear their throat back the way we came, before I finally hear Dumoli hiss: “Are you still alive?”

That almost makes me chuckle. “Yeah. It’s safe. Come on through. But be careful.”

He’s a long moment responding, but I hear him coming well enough given how heavily armoured he is right now. He steps out into the passage and stops immediately when he sees what lies beyond, frowning deep again as he inspects the spikes. “Charming.”

“Yeah, well this one was child’s play. Y’ask me they weren’t even trying with this one.”

Giving his hammer a half-hearted little swing, he knocks a few spike out of their housing and frowns over the rest. “I don’t know, it looks effective enough to me. You’re sure this is safe now?”

Nodding, I take a few cautious steps along the now open passage ahead. “Safe enough. Just finish opening it up for the others, I’m gonna scout ahead. Might be best I keep a closer eye moving forward.”

Dumoli don’t answer me this time, just offering up a non-committal grunt, but I hear him continue to batter his way through the rest of the spikes, making room for the others. Meanwhile I start to move with much greater caution down the tunnel, narrowing my eyes as I start watching the ground ahead, watching for further signs of more nasty little surprises.

These bastards … honestly, can’t say I’m remotely surprised by this turn of events. We made it into the tunnels way too easy, Tulen getting us past the lingering patrols watching over the half-destroyed tavern easy enough with a few clever little charms that kept the watchers distracted while we slipped inside. Thankfully after that progress was simple enough, they hadn’t left anyone inside so we made it into the cellar in mere minutes, and the cover hiding the secret entrance to the passageway was exactly as we’d left it before. I’d been nervous enough it might’ve been found after all, but I guess I gave the townsguard a whole lot more credit than they really deserved. Or maybe they just concentrated too much on the bodies and the mess in the tavern itself, and found no cause to check deeper.

But now … damn it, all that refreshing swift progress we managed to make getting down this far just went up in smoke, cuz moving further in now is gonna take so much longer now I gotta play it so much more cautious moving forward. I really hoped we might make it inside quicker than we’d banked on, which could’ve given us time to really establish a foothold while we waited for the others to get into position too. Instead we could wind up lagging behind badly, or maybe even find it simply impossible to make it through after all …

Fuck … that’s the absolute worst case scenario, and I’ll be damned if I let it get that bad. I’ll make it into that fucking cellar if I have to go it alone. I’m getting Gael out, no matter what.

I’m most o’ the way down the other end of the passage when I hear movement behind me, someone catching up with me again. I stop where I am and take a long moment to check my progress first before finally turning back, not surprised to find Dumoli coming now, but maybe a little seeing Tulen so close behind, Krakka in tow. “How’s it look?”

“Nothing more yet, but I could do with a direction soon enough. We got two more passages coming up, looks like.”

Stopping on the spot, Dumoli frowns again as he lets his hammer settle head-down at his side and plucks the map out again, setting his jaw as he starts to peruse it. He must have to take a moment or two to find his place again. “Right … looks like it’s … left this time. Do you want some extra eyes?”

“No, I’m good. You just keep navigating, I’ll keep checking the route.” I turn back without another word, not quite crouching but still bending double so I can get my eyes closer to the floor as I start moving forward again.

Nothing more presents itself before I make it to the corner, but I still take a deep breath and hold it before crouching and very carefully leaning out just far enough to look down the left hand turn. No more tripwires, but … I squint now, leaning the rest o’ the way until I’m down on my paws too, bringing my nose closer to the floor as I start to sniff now.

Somebody was here, and recently. More’n one of ‘em, clearly. There’s footprints in the dirt here, but … no, this almost seems like camouflage, now I’m looking. Something’s off about the floor here, and it’s almost wilfully subtle, even to my practiced eyes. Oh yeah, they were going easy on us before. Maybe they were trying to just soften us up, put us off our guard with something a little too easy to dodge.

I don’t say a word this time, instead pulling up just enough to raise one hand behind me, waving ‘em down. I hear Dumoli stop, and slowly the rest of what movement I can pick up behind peters out too, and I take another, more shallow breath, careful not to even risk disturbing the ground ahead of me, just in case. I start to inch my way round the corner now, but very careful, moving at a cautiously oblique angle as I work to skirt the footprints. Reaching out with my other paw now, wary as I rest it against the wall before pulling back onto my haunches to take a proper look down the passage now laid out ahead o’ me.

Like I thought, it’s damn subtle, but I can just about catch it all the same thanks to my training. Pressure plates, a whole slew of ‘em, covering a lot of ground. Far enough back I lose track in the relative gloom. Given the signs of recent passage I don’t doubt for a second that every one of ‘em is now spring-loaded and waiting for some fool to step on just one. Don’t matter which, a set-up like this means whatever it triggers, you wind up setting a whole lot more off once you start getting hit by the results of whichever kind of trap’s been set up. Just one big chain reaction. This one’s a very intentional bastard.

Taking a moment to check my immediate surroundings, I pick myself up out the crouch and turn to look back at the others as I straighten up. Dumoli’s frown turns genuinely stormy seeing my expression, and he just lets his hammer settle on the floor beside him again, while Tulen pats Krakka on the shoulder, whispering something very low to him before she starts to make her way to me.

“How bad is it?” she essentially breathes it, low enough it’s meant just for me. Reading my mood well enough to be wary about being overheard, now.

“A shitshow.” I reach up now and rub at the back o’ my mane, trying not to grimace but really not succeeding. “They ain’t fucking round.”

She stops a little short of me and very carefully plants her staff beside me, leaning into it now as she peers past me down the passage. She’s a long moment speaking again. “I don’t see anything. Are you sure?”

“You not being able to see it’s kinda the point. The plan is for you to just wander in here proper oblivious, step on a pressure plate and likely get impaled or cut in two or … I dunno, might be something a whole lot nastier than I can think of. Then you start stumbling about, hurt, bleeding, starting to die, and step on more pressure plates, or somebody else does trying to help you, and it just turns into a big ugly chain reaction. This kinda trap’s designed to hurt, it’s ugly, and it’s brutal. This kinda stuff only gets deployed by the proper sadists, so it’s gonna be something proper painful, and real lethal.”

“Lovely.” She ponders for a long beat, gripping her staff tighter now, then takes a step back and grabs hold of my shoulder. “All right then, if you please.”

“I don’t … Tulen, I’m serious. You do not wanna fuck with this shit. What are you –”

She’s already reaching into her components bag once she’s drawn me back, and before I can protest any more she’s throwing whatever it is into the tunnel ahead. She speaks under her breath barely a split after, and I feel the word instead of hear it, indicating an incantation while she brings her free hand up fast, not drawing a sigil but just sweeping it across the air in front of us. Just as what turns out to be a small glass jar strikes the floor eight feet down and shatters … and something goes click right underneath it …

One of the stones in the wall on the right above where the plate that just got triggered seems to just pop, like eggshell cracking from the inside out, and there’s the subtlest hiss of some jetting vapour, just before something ignites from the new hole in the wall. A bright blue flare, some kind o’ particularly hot gaslit flame, and it spumes out in a great jet downwards at a sharp diagonal angle towards the bottom of the opposite wall. Right across whoever would otherwise have been making their way through at the time. But there’s more happening even as I watch , the contents of the jar scattering across the floor, and as the flames light up the passageway the powder starts to glow on its own in a whole myriad of bright colours. Just as the air fills with more and more of those little clicks …

When I shout out: “Oh shit!” it’s more in anticipation than real shock, because I can see what’s gonna happen already almost before it starts to unfold exactly as I would’ve expected. The conflagration starts fast, and it’s rushing up the passage towards us way too fast for me to grab hold of Tulen and pull her to safety. Instead I just wrap my arms round her from behind and just hold on, tensing up as I’m sure we’re both about to wind up cooked like a couple o’ fresh-seasoned game birds.

But the fire never hits us, it gets almost unbearably hot as I screw my eyes shut and bury my face into her side as I try to pull her aside but she seems stubbornly locked to the spot … but we don’t burn like I expected, and after a beat I turn my head and open my eyes to mere slits in anticipation of the sudden blaze of light, which turns out to be even brighter than I thought it’d be. But it’s not actually touching us, somehow the flames are bending around us just an inch away from her outstretched hand, as if sliding off an invisible shield. Which is exactly what it is.

Bloody magic … she could’ve warned me …

Behind us I hear an alarmed scuffle as several folk stumble back, startled by the sudden flare, but I’m already seeing well enough that it’s all being redirected around us and instead spewing down the other passage, licking the walls and floor but not doing much real damage. Down here it’s pretty much all just stone, nothing much that’s apt to burn besides us, and right now at least Tulen’s got that covered well enough.

Less’n a minute, all told, before the hot jets of the trap just burn themselves out, leaving the tunnel fitfully lit with the flickering of lingering flames and odd hot, smouldering patches amongst the now burst and torn walls. There’s dancing embers tumbling and twisting in the air, and some o’ the spots that seem to have been hit hardest by the fierce blasts from the individual nozzles are glowing red where they been baked, even glassed in the most concentrated places.

As I step away from Tulen, I can’t help stepping closer to take a look, still moving with due care as I move. “Fuck me … that was even more vicious than I expected.”

“Yeah …” There’s a subtle edge of regretful guilt in her voice now. “Um … sorry about that. Perhaps I should have said something first …”

Turning back as I crouch, I give her a crooked, rueful smile. “Might’ve been helpful.”

“Alarming as that might have been, I can’t say it’s entirely unappreciated.” Krakka croaks close behind her, leaning past the corner to look into the tunnel now. Very clearly focusing on me now in the dull red firelight. “I was getting a little tired of being blind.”

Nodding along, I turn back and take a closer look at the floor now. Well … it’s not entirely clear to my eye given the state of the floor after the brutal burn, but it looks like she managed to get all the pressure plates after all. Or maybe that was as much the trick here in the first place, if not she managed to pull it off accidentally anyway. Pushing myself back up I start to move across the now loose, somewhat uneven tiles left behind now the mechanisms have been tripped, taking due care as I go just in case any odd ones managed to escape after all. But it don’t seem likely. “Can you get Dumoli up here for me, please?” I whisper over my shoulder as I go. Trying to be cautious now I’m moving forward again.

I’m not much further down the now open passage when I hear the chunky, metallic clanking of the dwarf’s footfalls behind me, somewhat awkward now as he’s discovering how difficult the way’s become now. I stop a little further down, turning enough to look behind and watch his approach. “What’s next?”

Frowning again, he stops on the spot and looks down, having to potter about for a few moments as he searches for the map now. Finally he locates it and shakes it out, having to turn it over after an awkward moment trying to read it without success. “Hold on, damn it … ah … yes, so that’s … hmmm …” He ponders for another long beat, then finally looks up, raising a gauntleted hand to point past me. “Just keep going. There’s only one turn ahead, then it opens out into some kind of antechamber. There are three passages leading off that, but you want the one in the middle. That leads directly where we want to go.”

That has me frowning now as I turn back and ponder the route ahead for a moment. Honestly, I’m a little surprised, I would’ve expected a bit more of an effort from them than just what we found so far. Or maybe that’s just a taster after all …

Letting a heavy sigh go, I crouch down again after all and narrow my eyes, taking a look at the tunnel ahead with a more critical eye. Watchful and wary. Not seeing anything, but deeply suspicious all the same.

Finally I Just reach into the pouch again and select one of the larger stones, looking down at it for a moment as I turn it over between my fingers. Then I look up again, cocking my head as I ponder the road ahead again.

After a few more moments I hear a little scuffling behind me and some low, muttering voices, then I feel breath in my ear as I half-sense someone leaning close behind me. Tulen, I realise, as she starts to speak: “Art, are you all right?”

Instead of answering, I toss the stone up with a lazy little flick and catch it on the drop, then take a slow, wary deep breath before chuckling it good and hard to start bouncing its way aggressively down the further end of the passage ahead. Not meeting any real resistance as it clatters haphazardly across the floor, then finally pings off to the left and bounces off the wall … finally snagging for a split-second before it snaps what I can only imagine is another one o’ them gossamer thin wires.

There’s another series of loud pops as more pieces of wall on either side of the far end of the tunnel shatter, but this time instead of more jets of flame it seems to be the fast, angry flickering of powerfully shot bolts which dig themselves hard into the stone they hit. Embedding themselves deep, clearly shot with brutal force indeed.

“Shit …” I hear Dumoli mutter on my other side, while Tulen just gasps in unrestrained shock.

Yeah … reckon that’s more in keeping with what we come to expect, ain’t it?” I dust my paws off as I stand up again. “Clear enough getting up to it, though.”

“You’re sure?” Tulen whispers, sounding nervous now, and I ain’t surprised after what we just saw.

I almost lie, trying to put a brave face on it, but I can’t do it to her right now, so just shrug, taking my first tentative step on the path again. “Maybe. Just … hang back for now, yeah? Lemme take a look first.”

As I start walking with a little more confidence, I hear a particularly sharp intake o’ breath from her, like she’s real worried about me, but trying to stifle a protest. I try real hard not to let it get to me, but I get close to faltering all the same, really having to suck it up to keep going as I tread forward on wary feet. Going slow and steady, proper watchful now as I make my way down the tunnel, keeping my eyes sharp as I check the floor and walls ahead o’ me, uncomfortably aware all the way of what’s already been sprung ahead o’ me. Like a warning.

Drawing close, I slow a little more, starting to stoop as I tense up more, taking another deep breath as I start to examine this fresh wreckage. But also, now, what lies beyond.

The passage continues a little further before turning right, and seems to drop maybe a foot deeper too. Given the relative lack of firelight from this far down, it should be gloomy dark here, but now I’m looking I swear it’s too bright up here, and more so, it seems, round the corner, some kinda low light source permeating somewhere that way. That makes me slow to a genuine creep now, and I hold the breath as I start to move closer to the near wall, approaching at an angle as I reach the new mess.

Stopping just short, I carefully lean close enough to inspect the mechanism that just got sprung, making sure it’s now dead as what I already passed. Sure looks that way, all the launchers seem to have been fired and once I crouch to inspect the floor I see the curled ends of the torn tripwire. Safe enough, then. Letting my breath go slow I turn back to check on the others, beckoning ‘em on now, but signalling to come slow and stay quiet.

Then I reach back to my twin batons, strapped snug between my shoulder-blades, and tug one loose. Taking a beat to heft it in my hand, I lean closer to examine the bolts lodged in the wall, hoping I ain’t about to make a total pig’s ear o’ this as I reel back and swat the hardened shaft of dark wood down on the first bolt. Aiming low so, if it does snap instead of popping free, it should still clear enough space.

The slender wooden shaft cracks when I bring it down, but turns out these bolts are still made tough enough, popping loose from the shattered stone to spin away and clatter down at my feet. Okay, so this should work after all … I raise the baton again, judging my swing a little more, and bring it down a little more forceful now, aiming for a wider arc in the hope of dislodging more in one go. This time I meet more resistance, two snapping after all, but three more ping free intact like the first, so that overall it seems to be doing the trick.

“All right, lad. Watch your back.” I hear Dumoli mutter as I hear his heavy metallic footsteps clatter up behind me, and the tone itself’s enough to convince me to just step aside quick, just as there’s a hefty whoosh just past my shoulder as I duck out the way. The dwarf’s warhammer batters through most o’ what’s left on that side and a few low on the other as it keeps going, finally cracking the floor underneath before he can catch it, and this is about enough by itself to open the way up for me.

“Whoa … okay, ta. Just … hang back here, don’t do anything more just yet, yeah?” I give him a cool sidelong look for a beat, making sure he’s on the same page as me as he starts to drag his hammer back across the stone. He frowns again, but finally nods, and I return it before moving.

Twisting round the remaining shafts, I keep my baton in hand as I move closer to the end of the passage, devilish careful how I plant my feet as I right myself enough to face the route ahead. There’s enough room just short o’ the drop for me to set my forward boot down and balance, so I lean close into the wall and use it to prop myself against now as I peer out into the open beyond.

The tunnel beyond opens out wider than most we been through so far, and after maybe ten feet starts to slope up towards a much more open space beyond. The stone here seems … honestly, I’d swear it’s cleaner, or maybe just better quality, like whoever built these foundations, or ‘least commissioned ‘em, actually gave a damn about how it actually looks down here. ‘Case they ever had to come down here themselves, maybe …

And now I’m looking … yeah, I was right, there’s actual light down here now, coming from the chamber ahead. Low, little more than the flicker of scarce candlelight maybe, but light all the same. Again, signs o’ folk actually moving round down here. Oh yeah … this is the place, all right.

“Okay … just wait here, please. Keep an eye out, but don’t move.”

“What about –” he starts, and I just raise a finger on my free hand, touching it to my lips. He holds his tongue.

Again leaning closer as I drop to my haunches, I hold my breath now as I look over every inch of the floor below and ahead o’ me, and the walls surrounding. Not trusting these fuckers an inch after what I just found. No signs I can see, but it don’t make me any more confident as I just swallow dry an’ hope for the best before stepping out into this next tunnel …

Nothing happens when I set my foot down on the lower floor here, and when I finally start to put my weight on it and this continues I slowly let the old air out. Not allowing myself to relax, not yet, but gaining a little confidence moving forward now. Finally pushing away from the wall as I step out with the other foot now.

Even so, I still drop into another wary crouch and just ponder the route ahead for a long moment, watchful now. Something just don’t feel right, I swear. I don’t see any more traps ahead, but somehow it still feels like one big one all the same. Like keeping on moving forward is very much taking my own life in my hands.

“What is it?” Dumoli hisses low at me, finally seeming to grow impatient.

“Can’t say.” I fail to keep the growl out my own mutter. “Which is worse.”

“Then maybe you should wait.”

“No.” I growl it low, without initial thought, my fingers audibly creaking as my grip tightens on my baton, and I start moving again before he can even start to protest. Keeping low as I start to move into the passage in earnest, as watchful now of the chamber ahead and that ominous low light as I’m trying to be of the floor and walls more directly in my path. Meanwhile I hear urgent whispering behind me now, Tulen starting to question what the hell I’m doing while Dumoli just responds with his own frustration, and then I head him grunt with effort and the pinging rattle as he start battering his way through the rest of the bolts.

I’m already making ground up ahead, even if the seemingly open path ain’t actually doing my wary mood any real favours. I just can’t shake that bad feeling, the one putting me on guard, like there’s something coming all the same, that I can’t see. Like I’m about to put my foot into something after all, even if my trained eye can’t see anything to suggest it.

So I pause anyway at the bottom of the slope, where the floor of the tunnel starts to climb up to the open chamber above, and I ponder everything around me for a long beat. Hearing the others starting to make their way after me with purpose now, despite my warnings. So I reach back and hold up my hand to stop ‘em again, trusting they’re paying attention, and take a long step back, sucking in a deep breath which I hold as I lean in again, hesitant now, while reaching out with the baton in my right paw. Slow and oh so careful as I gingerly probe the relatively smooth stone of the gradual slope in front of me.

Nothing happens, but I don’t trust it at all, so I keep my breath held as I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes before leaning in again and pressing a little harder. Still nothing. But that feeling still won’t shake off … I dunno, maybe I’m just being paranoid after all. Frowning deeper now, I breath out as I shake both my arms out, trying to loosen some o’ the tension before starting my slow, careful climb.

On the third step I feel … something under my foot, even though it’s exactly where I was pressing and I didn’t see anything anymore’n I felt it. But it don’t feel like any kinda mechanism I know, it’s more like a vibration, some kind o’ weird thrum, like making contact with metal that’s packed with some low static charge. It persists as I look down, and I see something glow under my foot, recognising something akin to the sigils I seen mages draw in thin air, but … no, the colour’s off, it’s green. Like … shit, like that teleportation circle we found in the Hardway, I realise now. Too fucking late, damn it …

The instant I make that connection I pull back, picking my foot up, and maybe that’s what it was waiting for, the contact to be broken, because soon as I do something happens. Not an explosion, not like what happened at the Hardway, but it hits me just as hard, feels like, knocking me back with just as much force. I don’t see anything happen to me, ain’t no blinding flash like I would’ve expecting, not beyond the subtlest brightening of the glyphs under my foot for that split of a second … not just a sound, again something I feel more’n I hear, like an ear-piercing screech that rattles my bones and batters its way right through my brain like it’s bouncing round inside my skull. I doubt it lasts more’n a second, but it feels like longer, even after it must just cut out I can still kind of hear it, but that small part o’ me that stays rational is quick realising it’s more likely just the buzzing aftereffect of my eardrums bursting.

Honestly, I’d go down anyway, the moment it hits me I feel like my skull burst right open along with my ears, which are suddenly cold and weirdly breezy, almost like my eardrums are just completely gone. But it feels wet too, and it slowly occurs to me that just means they’re bleeding, and real bad too, clearly. I hit the floor and roll over, already starting to curl up into a foetal ball, and I don’t know if I’m screaming or not cuz now I can’t hear anything but a weirdly hollow but utterly deafening rushing sound that fills my whole skull. But I reckon I must be, the pain is immense, everything above my neck is throbbing with such agonising intensity I just wanna die …

Feels like an eternity that I just lie there, rocking fitfully while I grasp at my shattered ears the best I can with such pathetically weak, numb paws, and what little I can see is just a shivering, constantly shifting blur that I slowly realise is me looking through tears. I can’t smell anything either, just blood, and I know it’s running heavy out my nose while I can taste it too, thick and unpleasant in my mouth now. I spit it out, but almost instantly my mouth just seems to fill up again.

Truth is it can’t be more’n a few seconds, then I sort of feel hands taking hold of me, gently probing my arms, my shoulders, my back, while I’m slowly dragged backwards across the floor. I raise my head now, or ‘least try to, wanting to find out what’s happening, and I squint now, making the best effort I can to try and blink my eyes clear, until I can slowly start to see again. Pretty much coming face-to-face with Krakka, and not being surprised at all …

He looks over me with wide eyes, and I start to realise he’s a lot more well-lit than I would’ve expected, Bloodmoon already starting to glow aggressively bright even before he starts muttering low. Not that I can hear him doing this as he starts to check me over, gingerly probing my ears but quickly drawing back as that subtlest touch sets a blazing fire off in my skull, making me wince. I swear I see him say he’s sorry, even though I don’t catch that either.

There’s others moving round us now, I see, and now I can see more going on too. There’s genuine panic in some o’ the faces round me, not at the injuries I just took but at the situation starting to unfold around us, and as I look up I see Tulen starting to dig through her satchel. Just as fast, dark things start flitting down towards us, one pinging close enough to my head I see it spinning off outta sight as it bounces. An arrow, or maybe a crossbow bolt, I couldn’t quite tell. We’re taking fire? Great.

The young wizard works fast, standing fearless right in front of the rest of us even as I see Dumoli rush up beside her and grab hold of her robes, trying to drag her aside as more o’ the bolts starting raining down with increasing accuracy. She just stands her ground, shaking him off, then pulls something loose from her components bag, immediately rubbing it across her hands before slapping them together and rubbing. Then she draws her hands across fast, and the air seems to turn strangely glassy in front o’ them as she does it, a strange amber coloured screen starting to form in the empty air. Oh yeah, I seen that before, I realise. Gael did that once, not long ago at all …

Two more projectiles whip down as she does this and immediately strike the growing shield, and they both just shatter into surprisingly tiny splinters on impact. Others manage to skitter past on the outside, but don’t seem to hit anyone, and then as she spreads it out those that follow suffer the same fate as the first two. Meanwhile Krakka hefts his hammer in one hand and presses it close at his shoulder while bowing his head, resting the other hand against my forehead, and I see his beak starting to move as he closes his eyes. Praying to Serena, beseeching her for her healing power.

Shook and rattled as I still am right now, I can’t help starting to offer up my own prayers to her too, it just comes, without me really thinking about it first. She’s helped me enough in the past, I know well enough she’s there, and she’s willing, and … honestly, I’m just scared right now. I don’t want to be deaf, and in pain like this, just struck down with my skull splitting open. I’ll grasp at any straws I can for help right now …

Slowly I feel the warmth spread at that contact, and this just makes me pray harder. Maybe I’m doing it out loud, I really just don’t know, my head’s a mush still and I couldn’t feel it any more’n I could hear it.

Further movement towards the back catches my attention, and now I see Sonagh moving up, with Dow close behind. Both watching Tulen and whatever’s going on beyond her now, taking it all in with darkening faces. Before he’s even stopped where he is he’s drawing his sword, rolling his head on his neck and, I don’t doubt, producing quite the cracking sound. Dow don’t even need to do that, he’s already hefting one hell of a battleaxe, one that looks like it’s seen a whole hell of a lot of action before.

To be honest they’re both a sobering, intimidating sight, even more so in the stark white glow of Krakka’s hammer. I already knew they were both veterans o’ the wars, but I’ll admit I really expected something a bit more like Kesla in her armour, that’s about all I really know about the Rundao military as it once was. But these two are something quite different, heavily armoured up an’ armed to the teeth as they are, although I guess I should’ve expected it. They been retired for a good while now, and they definitely can’t advertise their former allegiance anymore anyway.

Sonagh’s suit of lamellar armour bears some cosmetic similarity to Kesla’s but looks like it’s seen a lot more wear, or maybe it’s just that she went to such an effort to have her father’s armour restored to its former glory. The orc’s clearly looked after his well enough, but even so it’s still well-worn and heavily battle-scarred, while what coloured enamel it must once have worn on its thick steel scales has clearly been stripped from it to give it a good deal more anonymity now. But while the end result is that it definitely looks a deal duller, it ain’t lost any of its former effect in terms of intimidation factor, even without a helmet Sonagh still looks proper fierce.

His sword definitely does a lot of the work in that, definitely not a finessed blade with any inherent grace, just a long, heavy butcher’s broadsword as battered as his armour, but still clearly treated with the same respect and care all the same. Then there’s his shield, a broad, heavy square of thick, solid oak banded with wrought iron bolted with thick rivets, wide and deep enough to provide him with substantial cover for the job ahead. As he steps forward he’s already got it strapped in place on his left arm, shifting his weight as he seems to be adjusting his balance to its weight. Squaring up now as his brows knit together and his face darkens.

The bugbear is close to genuinely terrifying by comparison. I remember when we first met him, Dow was already a scary looking fellow, impossibly tall and broad, not just across his massive shoulders but thickly muscled throughout his trunk and long limbs. The fact he’s almost more bull than man just adds to the overall effect, not least with his wide, impressive horns, and those substantial scars heavily marring his face almost seem unnecessary given what he’s already got to work with. Honestly, weapons and armour seem similarly like pure overkill on him.

But he’s still as fully decked-out as Sonagh, albeit a bit more piecemeal in his own range of armour. There’s a full cuirass of similarly stripped lamellar scales, but he’s also wearing mismatched chunks of overlapping plate, particularly his pauldrons and some half-plating at his chest, which just serves to make his torso seem even more massive than it already was. Much like his gauntlets and sabatons, serving to bulk out his already huge hands and feet. He’s forsaken a helmet much like Sonagh, although I suspect in Dow’s case it’s more just that with those horns there’s no way he could ever get one to fit.

He's got an even bigger, heavier-looking broadsword hung at his hip, so long it almost drags on the floor beside him, but he’s clearly favouring that battleaxe. It’s an intimidatingly long-shafted monster with a horribly broad bearded blade and a wickedly long hooked pick on the reverse, and he’s hefting it one-handed, certainly big enough he can do this with disturbing ease. Which is just as well since he’s also got his own shield, styled much like his friend’s and just as big, strapped to the other arm.

As he rolls his shoulders and starts to loosen up behind Sonagh, I can see he’s getting into his own grim, kill-ready mindset too. His nostrils are flaring wide with every breath, hot and aggressively heavy enough I can almost see it steaming in the cool air down here, while his eyes are already narrowed to fierce little slits. I’m almost surprised he ain’t already pawing the floor, impatient to get going.

As they prepare themselves, Dumoli shoulders his hammer and has to fight to keep his balance under its weight as he speaks to them now, and while I can’t hear them anymore’n the rest I reckon I can catch the gist well enough. He’s asking if they really know what they’re signing up for, and the look that Sonagh gives him’s almost withering, not offended but sharp enough he might be a little affronted by the suggestion. Dow just bares his teeth for a notably protracted moment, and they’re as intimidating as the rest of him, a good deal sharper than they have any right to be. His focus is entirely on the road ahead, though, like he's already in the fight in his head and he’s raring for his body to catch up.

Finally the dwarf just nods and turns back, and I swear there’s a subtle grin to his lips as he waddles back to Tulen, speaking as he approaches. I don’t know if she replies to what he says, the way she’s stood, still maintaining this odd amber shield in the empty space in front of us while the arrows continue to shatter against it. For all I know she ain’t even heard him, too distracted by the task at hand. But then he finally steps up behind her, swinging his hammer low to prop it head-down at his side, and finally reaches up with his free hand to tap her on her hip. Urging her aside at the same moment, I notice.

Again, I can’t tell if she speaks, but I see her shoulders shift a little after a beat, a lot like she’s let a particularly heavy sigh go, then she drops both hands and the shield seems to dissipate in the same instant, and she finally responds to his urging. She’s already stepping noticeably far towards the wall, Dumoli having to scramble a little to follow her, in fact, and she’s bringing her staff up now as she starts weaving a sigil with her free hand. Just as the two veteran soldiers step over me in turn with almost no noticeable effort at all, Sonagh already tensing to spring.

I almost expect her to hurl a fireball the way she’s winding up now, but instead something a good deal brighter builds between her fingers, a crackling, jagged white bundle of static energy that she juggles for a beat, floating bouncily just above her outstretched palm. She reels back and it almost seems to dance in the air for a moment before she pitches it forward so it turns into a long, hot, angry streak of something cosmetically like lightning that peels off into the open space beyond. Going a good deal further and much faster than her own throw has any right to toss it. And Sonagh and Dow both charge right after it barely a breath after.

My ears suddenly pop a moment later, almost like they been waiting for it all to kick off, and it’s just in time for me to hear the impact in the chamber beyond the sloping passage. It’s a strange cracking explosion, alive with an odd fizzing crackle, but the near blinding flash that accompanies it is much less of a surprise, lighting the whole tunnel up brighter than a midsummer’s noon for less than a second.

Krakka leans close to me now, looking into my eyes. “Can you hear me?”

My voice cracks when I speak, I realise, making me wonder again if I actual did scream after all when I was hurt. “Surprisingly …” I give a cough to clear my throat, but I can’t vouch for how well it works. “Urgh … just about. A little hollow, maybe, but … yeah. Well enough.”

“Good.” He puts one hand under my back, just between my shoulder-blades, and starts to lift me up into a sitting position. I do my best to help, but in truth I’m feeling a bit weak now, it’s mostly just him. My head’s swimming some, it’s honestly a miracle I don’t just collapse right back down on the floor again, and my skull’s still throbbing angrily. “Oh … fuck … that smarts.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Tulen drops into a crouch beside us now, while I see Dumoli bouncing somewhat on the balls of his armoured feet, clutching his hammer tight like he’s really raring to get into the fight too. The wizard just looks worried, though, as she looks over me now, hanging onto her propped staff for balance. “After what happened to Yeslee, I’d say you were damn lucky. That could have been another Rupture Curse, in which case you’d probably be dead. Instead it looks like Tavarrat just set a Disruption Charm for any living person making their way through here. Which you triggered.”

“Like an idiot.” I growl angrily as I reach up with one shaky, somewhat numb paw and press at one o’ my still somewhat sore ears. Unsurprisingly when I look at my fingers they’re slick dark with blood, which just makes me scowl harder.

“No … oh no, Art, there’s no way you could have spotted that, I promise. The whole point of a trap like that is that it can’t be picked up by anyone but a trained practitioner of the Arts. So that was just bad luck.”

Frowning deeper, I just look up into her pretty eyes for a long beat, searching for any sign of a lie, that she’s just trying to make me feel better, but seems like she’s honest enough in what she’s said. So I look past her now, and I can see movement from the raised open space ahead, hectic and haphazard, while the sounds of clashing steel and furious combat starts to filter down to us. The two old warriors going to work, looks like.

“Go on, then.” I try not to sound bitter as I breathe the words. “You better get on in there. They prob’ly need you, scary as they might be.”

“But …” She blinks, like I just said something completely daft. “No, but I can’t … what about you –”

“Tulen, we’re here for a reason, remember? This ain’t about me. Just get in there, help ‘em out. I’ll be along presently, I promise.”

That makes Krakka frown, but while he gives me a sharp look he still holds his tongue.

“You’re sure?” she don’t sound any more convinced. Then Dumoli lays his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll watch her back, I promise.” He fixes me with a serious eye now. “Just don’t hurt yourself trying to prove something.” The way he sounds so much like he’s speaking from experience gets me thinking Thel’s on his mind.

Not answering him, I just give Tulen the most confident look I can, but given my condition I doubt it’s any kind o’ convincing. “Please, just go. Find Gael. Before this gets ‘em feeling too paranoid and they do something real stupid.”

This is what finally gets through to her, and I feel like a bastard putting my fears into words to try and bait her, but I gotta get her moving and it feels like the quickest way. But she still gives me a bit of a wounded look, letting me know she’s kinda seen through me now, and I can’t maintain eye contact with her now as she grabs her staff with her other hand too and uses it to pull herself back up to standing. She still pauses for a beat , though, and when I look up again she’s focused on Krakka now.

“Take care of him. He can be so exhausting but … well, I’d be sad if anything happened to him. And I know Gael would be too.” She gives me a pointed look when she says this, but before I can even think about replying she’s already turning away and starting to run up the slope of the tunnel.

Dumoli watches her go for a moment, frowning deeper, then turns back and gives both of us a closed look-over. He seems like he wants to say something, but in the end he just clears his throat and hefts his hammer again before turning too and charging off after the young wizard.

Soon as we’re alone Krakka turns back to me, still frowning deep. “Now you listen to me, Art of Shadows. I am not about to –”

“Honestly mate, I really couldn’t give a fuck how you feel right now. I need to be in this, I have to save my friend. Our friend. Now, before Vandryss gets wise to what we’re doing and decides it ain’t worth it keeping them an’ their da alive anymore. They’re both valuable, sure, but not so much she wouldn’t cut both their throats anyway in a blink, that’s clearly just the kind of evil cunt she is. So will you please just ask your goddess to get me back on my feet and in this fucking fight now?” I reach out and give his shoulder the tightest squeeze I can in spite of his heavy armour. Uncomfortably mindful how noticeably weak and out of it I still am right now. “I’m sorry I was sharp with you, but … I need you, mate. So much. Please.”

He don’t even last a beat, he just folds right away, dropping his head and hissing: “Shit.” under his breath. Making me feel shitty as how I just manipulated Tulen did, and he’s clearly just as aware of it as she was. Finally he looks up, and while he ‘least manages a little bit of a smile it looks so tired. “You can be quite a bastard sometimes, you do know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.” I sigh, looking past him now up the passage to where this new skirmish is starting to unfold in bare glimpses, except maybe for the first sudden flash of Tulen’s magic as she proper joins the fight. I sit forward the best I can as he leans in again and places his hands on either side of my head, provoking a little wince in sympathy with my still-throbbing ears at the contact, before lowering his head again and starting to pray in earnest.

Again I start to pray along with him, my eyes already wandering back to the chaos unfolding above. It really can’t hurt any more’n it did before. I really can’t sit this one out …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 25 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 24

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: KESLA

When the carriage comes to its final stop in front of the wide, sprawling steps leading up to the Playhouse’s main entrance there’s an uncomfortable moment as I realise I ain’t got the first clue what the actual protocol is here. I’m the bodyguard, not an actual servant per say, but technically I’m still s’posed to be subservient to Shay since she is the noble here, ‘least in theory. When I look to her she just looks right back at me, her eyes a good deal wider’n mine, and I realise she’s just come to the same realisation, without the first clue what to do either. So I suck in a wary breath and just err on the side of caution all the same after all, springing to my feet and opening the door so I can jump down even as a pair of attendants arrive to do it for me. They both spring back as I appear, taking me in with noticeable surprise, and I jump down with little more than a tightening jaw as I turn back to the interior of the vehicle.

It's a big enclosed wagon, not unlike the large traveling coaches that shuttle paying passengers across large stretches of the wild country between towns and cities throughout Rundao, but this one is a whole lot fancier than any I seen before. The bench seating inside is a whole lot more plush for a start, soft upholstered cushions lined in thick velvet instead of thinly-padded leather, and there’s even a covered bar which we were both loath to touch, preferring to keep ourselves sharp for now. Lots o’ room, too, but the fact it was nonetheless clearly intended just for the pair of us spoke volumes about the kind of disconcerting wealth we’re dealing with and its unavoidable psychology.

Shay hated it right away, but then when I suggested she just use it to get into character for what we’re about she got a whole lot more introspective. Now as I lean back in I find her taking a deep breath of her own to compose herself as she pushes up off her perched seat and takes hold of my offered hand with just the slightest tightening of her brow to show any consternation. As I guide her through the doorway and then start to help her down like I seen other bodyguards do for their wealthy charges in the past, she lets the breath go and manages to compose herself the rest o’ the way. By the time I got her settled on the packed gravel of the circular drive she’s managing a pretty good approximation of aloof.

When I turn to regard the driver, perched up on his high seat with the reins in hand, he catches my eye for a loaded moment and casts a subtle nod, then just turns away as he cracks his whip above the four-strong horse-team and they start to hustle the carriage away again. The two attendants are still hovering close by, I see now, and I give ‘em both a suitably hard glare, my hand resting on Hefdred’s hilt, hoping they’ll get the message and just bugger off. Thankfully they ain’t too slow on the uptake.

There’s others making their way inside ahead of us, while more carriages are rolling in behind us, as well as more than one palanquin, I notice, weird little boxes folk sit inside that large men carry between them on long poles. I get the impression these are for even richer folk than those who prefer to use carriages, although I really don’t understand the why behind that. Mostly it just seems vaguely ridiculous to me. There’s also nobles who seem to prefer to ride up on their own horses, and I find myself admiring that a lot more, if I’m honest. These seem like the folk that have their heads actually screwed on right.

As Shay smooths her skirts down again and adjusts the lie of her shawl, I raise my arm the way I seen done in the past, offering it up in such a way that, when she finally works out what I’m doing, gives a rather short nod and lays her own hand across my wrist. I give my own clipped nod in return and, as she lifts her chin high like Lady Naru instructed her before, start to lead the way up the stairs, conspicuously making the effort to help her up as we go.

‘Least she’s a lot better in the heels than I was expecting her to be. Maybe it’s just that inherent, uncanny grace in her elven blood, just kicking in automatic the moment her balance was threatened. I remember seeing her face fall when Lady Naru crafted the boots, seeing those four inch stilettos and starting to protest immediately, suddenly terrified cuz she’d never even tried wearing anything like that before. Way more’n the corset, definitely, ‘least once she had it on and realised it didn’t actually have to be laced up that tight after all. Ultimately I was the one who started having trouble with that, really having to work to keep my mind off what it was very obviously doing to her chest …

Ultimately, I think my conspicuous efforts to not look have actually helped me to get into character too. Instead I’m keeping my head on a wary swivel the whole time, watching everything going on round us with a stony face and sharp eye, while keeping my hand very comfortably planted on my sword the whole time. It may not look like Hefdred right now, but it still feels the same, and for me right now that means everything. The familiar touch of this cold, reliable steel and worn leather is doing wonders to keep me calm, and I know Shay’s taking heart from sensing that in me, vicarious-like.

The sky above is largely dark now, only a little warm colour left in the west now, and the air’s grown brisk, but it’s clear enough to me Shay ain’t feeling the cold, despite her relative exposure right now. Bred for the mountains up North, she’s comfortable enough here, at least. Even so, I still try to hustle us along a little quicker, mostly just feeling uncomfortably exposed despite our disguises seeming to hold up well enough, certainly given how those around us seem to be regarding her in particular. I’ve made out plenty of appreciative, lingering looks already as we climb, and once we join the group making its way inside she attracts more all the time. Lady Naru and Tulen definitely pulled off what they intended to.

That being said, I can still feel the stiffness in her, the nervous tension through her contact on my arm. She’s fighting the blush, at least, but I can tell how worked up she is all the same. Painfully aware of all the eyes on her, and deeply uncomfortable with this particular regard. But while my own appearance has definitely been altered, what regard I am picking up is a lot more wary, those who ain’t just making the expected call to just ignore me as part o’ the Help clearly calculating me as a threat. I don’t do anything to dissuade these regards, this is also doing exactly the job I was hoping it would.

As we pass through the main doors and an attendant steps forward after dealing with those ahead of us, I’m already reaching into my tunic to find the tickets. Plucking the envelope free, I flip it round to offer it up with a good, blank military stare, the kind that don’t look at the smaller man but conspicuously through him and a good distance beyond. This has exactly the desired effect, the well-groomed young man in the well-tailored silk-and-linen uniform snapping to attention as he focuses his attention closely on the envelope in my hand, reaching up and plucking it from my fingers with careful, deferential control. He opens it swiftly, taking just two quick beats to peruse what’s written within, and when his brows instantly shoot up I know Cafi Sirsk definitely came through in the clinch.

“Oh! Yes! Of course, my Lady, I am most honoured to make your acquaintance. By all means, please follow me.” Slipping the invitation back into the envelope, he returns it to me and, as I’m pocketing it again, clicks his fingers at one of his colleagues who immediately hustles to replace him. “This way, please.”

As we’re led up another, steeper flight of stairs, the main lobby of the Playhouse sweeps into view ahead of us, a vast, bright, glittering open expanse of more of that impossible gold leaf and polished wood and unfathomable yards of deep red carpet. There’s a massive hanging chandelier looming overhead maybe fifty feet up, brightly lit with what looks like thousands of candles, while the whole thing’s hung with a similarly dizzying amount of cut crystals intended to catch and magnify their light. Gods … just another baffling show of sheer opulence, looks like.

Some of the various richly-dressed, sleek, fattened and universally well-appointed nobles around us are already making their way up the staircases into the theatre itself, but just as many seem to be content to just mill about in this big open space. Chatting with one another, or just quietly, often arrogantly observing one another, like they’re making an especially deliberate effort to see one another and be seen in return. Social politics in action, just like I heard about. I’m still baffled by it all, I swear to the gods.

As we’re led diagonally through the group, heading towards the large double doors off to the right, a great many of those sharp-eyed, arrogant, wary or just plain calculating gazes turn to watch Shay glide past, and I just work hard to stare down every look I catch myself. We’re both being evaluated as we pass by, and I don’t like to think what they’re picking up.

The large guard stood by the doors perks up as we approach, his eyes just gliding across his colleague as the boy approaches, and immediately backs up to pull the doors open before stepping aside and giving a particularly noticeable bow to Shay. I try not to give her a nudge as I feel her stiffen, almost bowing back just through sheer instinct, but somehow she manages to catch herself in time so she just walks on past without visibly reacting to this generous deferment. Much more like a typical highborn would, of course.

From here on the road grows more familiar, at least. Turning left, the attendant starts to lead us up the slowly winding slope leading up to the box seats and the balcony above, what Lady Naru said were called the Gods, and while there are others making their way up around us these are a good deal fewer now. Quiet enough, now, that I start to relax just a little, but so far at least Shay seems to remain as tense as ever, even if she’s still making a good enough show of outward calm.

Eventually we reach the doors leading into the curving corridor for the box entrances themselves, and once again I see those same massive, stoic doormen standing by. But when the attendant gives them both another curt nod they both react noticeably docile, simply bowing low like the guard before one just steps aside while his partner opens the doors before doing the same. Letting us all through. I put on another stony blank military stare and go through, again trusting Shay to remain as aloof as she’s pretended so far. It seems to pass muster well enough, and then we’re through and it’s dark enough now I can trust at least the worst of any telltale clues to pass unnoticed in the relative gloom.

There are even more guards back here than there were earlier, I notice, but ‘least they seem a deal more distracted now, having a fair few more folk to be keeping track of as the boxes are filling up around us. The attendant leads us on without breaking stride, and soon enough we draw past the middle box, the one I notably remember belonged to Hontiresk himself. The doors are conspicuously closed, I see, meaning he’s likely already shut away inside.

Gubal’s stood right outside, I see. As we pass I see him look Shay over just like everyone else has already, and while he’s warily careful in his regard I’m sure I see the subtlest gleam of admiration in his look all the same, ‘least for a moment. Then he catches me looking back and I have just a moment of heat blooming deep within me as I feel the itch inside me, the desire to draw on him now, whether he actually recognises me or not. But of course he just sees a stranger, conspicuously regarding him as I might be, and soon enough he breaks contact and just starts examining whoever’s following us. By which time we’re already moving on anyway.

The attendant finally guides us to a door two boxes down, and fishes in his pocket for a moment as he reaches the doors before producing a large, heavily-laden bunch of keys. He sorts through them for just a moment before unlocking the doors with a quick, easy stroke, and then fiddles with the bunch for a moment before proffering the now detached key up to me. I look down at it for a beat of my own before allowing my brow to quirk just a little, taking the key from him and giving him the subtlest deferential nod in return. He breaks out a brilliant smile and opens both doors with a flourish, then steps aside as he gestures within.

Stepping briskly away from Shay now, I stalk to the open doorway and lean in, giving the room beyond a cursory look round while flexing my sword hand, ready for anything. Mostly just keeping up appearances, really, I never really expected anything like an ambush here, there was no realistic chance of that so quick. So all I see is something almost exactly the same as what I remember in Hontiresk’s private box, right down to the same kind of décor and even another wet bar in the corner. So I pull back quickly and cock my brow at the attendant, who nods back before stepping inside, then beckon Shay to come inside. She frowns a little before complying, and I step aside to let her through before ducking in after, giving the corridor one last quick but wary look before I back up inside too.

The boy’s already produced a matchbox and struck one, with which he’s now making the rounds to light the candelabras at the back of the room, on either side of the door. Shay, meanwhile, is waiting for me close to the back row of seats, watching him work now with a more wary eye, as if she’s wondering how much longer he plans on remaining with us.

Clearing my throat, I step up to him, letting my hand settle on the hilt again as I do it. When I speak now I try to affect something like an Abharetian accent, hoping I can pass muster as someone from somewhere much further south in warmer, steamy climes so he’ll take my features more at face value. “Thank you, young man. That should suffice. I can take it from here.”

Shaking out the match just before it burns out between his fingers, he looks up at me now with a more complicated expression starting to cross his face, but it don’t seem like confusion or suspicion. More like frustration, maybe, like he expected more appreciation for his effort. He clears his throat now as he puts the matchbox back in its pocket. “Um … so you don’t require any further assistance at this time, then? Should you require anything else during the show I would be happy to –“

“No, thank you.” I keep my face stony as before, not letting my tone change any either, keeping my voice good and cold and seemingly entirely indifferent, like I couldn’t care less. “Should my Lady require anything further I’m sure I can attend to it myself.”

He blinks up at me for a beat, like he wants to protest, but propriety must win out in the end cuz he simply nods again and starts to back away. “Of course. Well, should you require assistance during the performance there will, of course, be someone outside at all times.” Now he bows again, lower than before, and through the corner o’ my eye I again see Shay stiffen just the tiniest bit as she fights hard to keep herself from responding in kind. I just keep my stare trained on the attendant as he finally backs up and finally leaves the room, then step up after and close both doors behind him.

Now, finally, I breathe out, barely managing to stop myself from leaning against the doors as I do it. “Fuck …” I breathe the word low as I fish in my pocket for the key, then lock up so we can have a little breathing space, finally backing up once I’m done.

“Oh my gods …” Shay hisses with a bit more aggression, and when I turn back she’s perching on the back of the seat behind her, almost like she started to collapse the moment we were finally alone. Her hands are at her head now as she lets it hang, breathing a lot heavier now, and I’m cautious as I step up to her, reaching out but stopping short before I can touch her, not sure if it’s really the best idea to actually touch her right now, much as I want to comfort her.

“Hey … look, we’re in. It worked. You did fucking great.”

“I felt like … oh my … fucking hell, it was all I could do not to throw up half a dozen times when we were coming in here. I was just … I feel ridiculous, I swear. I can’t believe that fucking worked, I was shaking and clammed up worse than a child trying to come up with the cleverest lie in the world. If anyone had actually asked me a question I think I might’ve just puked right in their face. Or just fainted on the spot.”

“Yeah? Well you could’ve fooled me, Shay. Far as I could tell you were in total control the whole bloody time. Even with all the nodding and bowing. You did a bloody fantastic job there, I know you wanted to bow right back every time.”

“That was definitely the worst of it.” she half-hisses, half-croaks, wiping her mouth now as she starts to push herself upright. “I thought he wouldn’t leave. That … if he’d insisted on sticking around, I mean –”

“If it had come to that I might have had to punch him out and stash him in the corner for the duration. I was really praying I wouldn’t have to, but …”

“Oh fuck …” She clamps both hands over her mouth now, starting to double over, and I rush forward the remaining few feet, taking hold of both her shoulders as I pull her close.

“Hey! Hey … chill, it’s all right.” I rub her back gentle and soothing, waiting for her urge to vomit to pass, hands locked on her knees. “I didn’t have to. He went, clearly bought it like a moron. It worked like a fucking charm, and we are exactly where we intended to be, so this first part is, like, a total roaring bloody success. We are currently kicking arse in this.”

She snickers at that, a little more hysterical than genuinely amused, I think. But it’s something, at least. I give her a little squeeze, and she’s starting to breathe a little easier now, and after a few more moments she seems calm enough it’s safe for me to let go. She stays put as I step back now, letting a deep sigh go as straightens up, brushing the hair from her face, and now her cheeks are flushed dark.

“I’m sorry.” she mutters, sounding crestfallen now. “I can’t believe I just … that was really unprofessional. I’m just … not used to this –”

“Hey, yeah, trust me, I get it. I feel like a bit of a clown too, I swear. And I know I’m s’posed to look pretty intimidating right now.” I head to the bar now, cracking my knuckles on both hands as I go.

“Oh yes, that’s definitely true. You really do.”

Picking out two of the tumblers, I pore over the cut crystal decanters for a moment as I try to work out what they actually are, then finally just pick one up, popping the cap off before taking a little whiff at the now open neck. Whiskey. That’ll do it. I pour a couple thick fingers into each glass and cap the bottle again, then carry both to Shay. I hold one out to her now. “Get this in you quick.”

“What?” She frowns deep as she looks at the tumbler, then up at me. “I don’t … but what about the job –”

“Da called it Fighter’s Courage. Trust me, it’ll help.”

Her frown tightens as she ponders the glass for a beat longer, than finally takes hold and gives it a deep sniff. Her brows perk right up at that, and when she looks up she seems to be searching my face, as if trying to work out if I’m having her on. When my face don’t change that must convince her, and she knocks the whole thing back in one quick swallow. She only coughs a little.

Putting my own glassful away with similar gusto, I bare my teeth at the appreciable, surprisingly complimentary burn as the spirits slide on down, strong without being overly intense, and I gotta admit I’m impressed by Hontiresk’s taste if nothing else. He sure don’t shortchange his guests when it comes to the booze, but then given the care he clearly takes in everything else I can’t say it’s any actual surprise.

“Oh … bloody hell.” Shay coughs again, this time just to clear her throat, and puts the glass down on one of the little wooden tables mounted on the arm of the nearest wide, padded chair. “Well that was … I’m still not convinced that was really smart.”

“Give it time to settle in. Trust me, one is not gonna put you on your arse, you’re in no danger o’ losing a step. That’ll just help you calm down.” I put my own tumbler down on the bar, than step round to the opening at the front of the box, stopping just short o’ the curtain so I can look out into the open space beyond without making myself overly visible to anyone who might be looking.

The big curtains are still closed, the house lights still up, while down below I can see the audience still filtering in, although from what I can see most o’ the seats below are now filled so I doubt it’'ll be much longer. Down in the orchestra pit the musicians are already starting to warm up, that same somewhat tuneless sawing, rising-and-falling not-music permeating the air surprisingly clearly from all the way up here. That being said, the general blended hubbub of the crowd below is just as strong, filling the chamber far more than I would’ve expected, which speaks volumes for the impressive acoustics of the chamber as a whole. But then I understand that’s also the point.

The way the boxes are set up, it’s not that easy to see into any of the others, so when I lean a little more to try and get a glimpse of Hontiresk a few down in his own private space all I can see is curtains and relative gloom. But I don’t doubt he’s there all the same, and I hope he’s still entirely oblivious to our presence.

“All right …” Shay’s already wrapping her shawl the way she planned on before we left when I turn back. Working it over one shoulder and under the corresponding arm, then the other way, so that she can cover her cleavage up now she no longer needs it. While there’s a small part o’ me feels disappointed, definitely sorry to see that particular view go, I really can’t blame her, I know how uncomfortable it made her. “Now what?”

“Looks like we’re waiting. They’re still coming in. Maybe another ten or fifteen minutes before the lights go down an’ the curtains open. Naru said give it another twenty minutes beyond that before we try and move.” I step away from the opening now, heading back towards her. “Call it half an hour, all in. Y’all right with that?”

That just makes her frown again. “Fuck no. That sounds stupid long. I‘d rather get down there now, this waiting around isn’t doing us any good. Gael could be …” She breaks off with an angry hiss and cinches the knot just under the centre of her chest, then gives up and perches on the arm of the chair behind her. “Shit … you’re right. I’m just … I guess I’m worked up still.”

Stepping up to her now, I let my arm settle round her shoulders and lean in as I giver her another fond little squeeze. “No, it’s cool, I get it. I’m frustrated too. But this is the way we gotta play it. The others are still gonna be working their own ways into place anyway, moving right now wouldn’t do anything but tip our hand way before it’s time.”

“Exactly. I’m just being an impatient idiot. Once again I think about Gael down there, and …”

Nodding, I give her another little squeeze, then reach into the small o’ my back and slip one of my knives free. Nine inches of very sharp steel, fresh-honed and ready to go. Carefully turning it round in my fingers, I offer it to her now. “Here. Might as well have this now.”

Again her brows raise as she looks up at me now. “Oh! Thank you.” She looks down at it now, don’t take it right away, raising her hand but seeming to ponder for a long beat before finally curling her fingers round the hilt. When I let go she turn s it over in her hand, inspecting it with a close, keen eye, and after a moment she finally starts to smile. “Yeah, I think this’ll do.”

“Course it will.” Slipping the other one free, I hold this out too. “So you might as well go all the way.”

Now her smile turns into a full-blown grin, and it makes me so happy to see it. “Yes. Don’t mind if I do.” This time she don’t hesitate at all as she takes hold, immediately turning this one to inspect it too, and I step away from her now so I can finally draw Hefdred again. Even though I gave the blade a particularly thorough clean and the usual cursory pass-over with the whetstone before we left, I wanna take one last look before we get to business. Just for my own peace of mind. Besides, while all we can do right now is wait, it feels damn good to have my weapon in my hand. Ready for what’s to come …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 24 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 3 months

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 23

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THELGAEWYNN

I’m glad that after they were able to get the temple’s attendants to fetch the rest of their gear from their hotel, Kesla got ‘em to head over to our place as well to pick up the rest of ours. Given we’re going into a serious situation this time I’m a lot happier getting into my best armour, and having a choice of extra weaponry to bring along too. I’ll still be bringing my battleaxe, it’s served me well for years, but after going over the rest o’ my selection for a little while I decided on my shortswords, figuring these’ll be best if we gotta get up close an’ dirty. I’m still gonna take my usual half dozen knives along too, but ‘least if I find myself needing something with a little more reach these’ll serve.

When I draw the one strapped to my left hip it’s almost an afterthought, I know well enough it’ll be in good nick, this is just for my peace o’ mind. So I slide it free from its scabbard and look over the broad, two-foot blade with its diamond-shaped tip, taking a moment to test both edges as I turn it over. Keen an’ clean, just like I expected. I give it an absent-minded flourish, then slide it home, and almost sit back on the couch I’m perched on the edge of before I decide what the hell. I draw the one on the right anyway and give it a once-over. Same, of course. I didn’t need to bother.

Sheathing this one again, I let a light sigh go as I settle back after all, leaning onto my arms now as I plant my hands splayed wide behind me on the cushions. Giving my back a little stretch, definitely pleased with the way it don’t set the ache loose in my core, front and back, like it did right after they just started working on me when I got back from the Heath. I’m already feeling so much better than I did even this morning, when Kesla took us to the Playhouse. I got the strength back in my limbs again, the stiffness largely gone, and what tiredness there was is pretty much washed away. I know I’ll prob’ly pay for it when I finally hit my new bed when we get back from the coming battle, but that’s then. Since we don’t even know if we’re actually gonna get back in the first place …

Honestly, it’s been a sobering thing, suddenly having thoughts like that in the first place. I mean I never used to think about how I actually could have died so many times before in the battles I been in, even after the ones I got tore up some from. This is new, actually feeling my mortality, knowing there’s a real chance I might not make it outta tonight alive. It almost feels good, in a weird way. Like it makes everything else feel so much more vital, as we wait to go.

I proper stuffed my face in the canteen after I got out the infirmary that last time, not so much from hunger but just cuz that food tasted so damn good to me. And I talked Brung’s ears off the whole time we were there, too, since Du weren’t anywhere to be seen, prob’ly off looking after Yeslee. Not that the goblin seemed to mind, he mostly just sat there, picking over his own more modest platter with focused deliberation, but he nodded along and even spoke up every once in a while, which he don’t usually do. Reckon he might’ve been humouring me. I wonder if he picked up on my thinly veiled reticence after all.

‘Least Du had come out to join us when we made our way back into the lounge so we could start arming up, so he was able to help me strap my armour on. It’s interesting, he was unusually particular about every little piece of lacing, buckling and cinching, telling me everything about his mood without saying a word. He’s nervous having me along, even though I’m essentially healthy as he is now. Like my nearly dying a few days ago took all the wind out his sails.

When I reciprocated with his armour I weren’t quite so compulsive about the whole process, but I still found myself double checking laces here and there when I wasn’t immediately satisfied with ‘em. I don’t doubt he picked up on that too, and when we were finally done he just sat with me for a little while, ponderous and clearly distracted, like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the nous to find the words.

Brung did for himself like always, but then he’s never been one for a whole lot of armour, preferring to be light and fast by relying on layered boiled leather and a few scattered piece of steel plate. He broke out the rest of his knives, though, which said a whole lot on its own. He’s taking this serious as the rest of us.

Darwyn came in a little after we were done, Art following her with a pretty complicated look on his face, and I could tell pretty quick he is not happy having her along, even if she should be in as good shape as me now after the healers went at her again. I don’t know if she really took that nap Kesla made her promise about, but she does look better now than last time I saw her, at Sal’s interrogation. Maybe still a little irritable, but that might just be down to the way her former lover’s behaving round her.

They’re both gussied up in some even more well-appointed armour than I would’ve typically expected from Guild types, more serious gear like Brung’s battle wear, tough but light black leather armour augmented with strategic plate steel. That being said, in their case that metal’s the same odd, smoky dark alloy as their blades. And Darwyn’s augmented her gear somewhat, complimenting her various knives with a pair o’ long daggers which, in her hands, would be like shortswords anyway. She’s even put on a full length cloak with a hood, and a black scarf cinched tight enough round her neck she can pull it up to cover the lower half of her face quick if needed, like Art seems to favour. She clearly means business tonight too.

We started laying out our parts of the plan shortly after. Me an’ Brung are gonna be joining Lady Naru, Zuldrad and Darwyn in the infiltration of the Playhouse from the back, waiting until the specific set time when the house-lights drop to go in. Not being theatre-savvy, I had to ask what the hell Darwyn was talking about there. ‘Parently she means when the play starts, and the main lights in the big chamber of the theatre itself are mostly turned off, the only real lights left coming from the stage itself. Since that don’t mean the rest o’ the Playhouse is going dark too I don’t really see how that’d actually make a whole lot o’ difference, but she says Lady Naru reckons that’ll still be good enough since all eyes’ll be turned to the play itself. Either those watching it, or those either minding the audience or the workings behind the scenes in the wings backstage. Which is apparently where they want us to go, once we’re in. But proper discrete, like.

According to Sal, there’s an entrance into the catacombs under the Playhouse back there, which is what we’re gonna be looking for. Lady Naru’s gonna keep her magic ears open for a clue when it might be safe for us to head down there, since the plan is for us to head in the same time the other team does. The one moving in through the tunnels.

That’s Art, Tulen, Krakka, Dumoli, Sonagh and his big bugbear friend Dow. That surprised me some, I understand Kesla tried to convince the orc not to throw his hat in the ring for this, but I get the impression he feels beholden to her people after what they did for him. So he’s determined to help, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. So Kesla got Shul to port over to the orc’s tavern and collect Dow, along with their gear, and they been away in Sonagh’s room since, getting ready. I suspect it’s as much so he can spend a little private time with his kids before we have to head out.

As for the golem, Driver 8’s going to be coming with us, although the plan is for him to wait outside while we pull our little infiltration. He’s only to come inside if we really need him to, cuz there’s no way we could realistically hide with a near ten foot tall fucking golem in tight enclosed environs like that.

It’s Kesla and Shay that clearly got the worst o’ this plan, though. They’re going into the theatre itself, in disguise as a noblewoman and her bodyguard. Beyond that I’m none too sure what their part of the plan really entails, but I suspect it’s less hide in plain sight infiltration than another distraction. Just more subtle this time. Don’t sound any less foolish to me, mind.

By an’ large, beyond discussing the plan the group as a whole seem particularly subdued for now, barely a word exchanged between them beyond their own preparations, which says everything we need to know about the general mood. We’re being proactive, and this does have a decent chance of working, I reckon, ‘long as we maintain the element of surprise long as possible, ‘least until it’s time to not. This is for young Foxtail, mostly, they’re all determined to get them back, but there’s more to it than that, ‘least for us three. We’re going in there to deal with that evil bitch Vandryss and those deluded idiots call themselves her friends. And we’re going in there to rescue the folk they been kidnapping across the city, ‘least the ones they ain’t had a chance to ship North yet.

Ain’t no guarantee Yulla an’ Drin really are among ‘em, but I gotta hope. That’d make this worth it all on its own, if we get ‘em back.

Finally I give up trying to distract myself and shove myself off the couch, dropping to the floor easy enough given it’s just a matter of inches. I take a moment to stretch, testing my mobility in the armour again, and it ain’t changed since I been sat down. So I turn and drag my battleaxe up off the couch, playing out the strap of the harness before starting to slip it on. Noticing Brung watching me now, crouched in his ubiquitous spot by the hearth.

“Y’all right over there, Brung?” I wonder aloud now, taking a step towards him. Keeping my tone conversation as I can with the pervading mood.

He don’t answer me, which ain’t much surprise, but he still gives a little shrug. Non-committal as it might seem, it’s still noteworthy enough for him. Then his eyes slide off towards the chamber’s entrance, much the same time as I hear footsteps approaching, and I stop in my tracks, instead turning to follow his gaze.

As Art stands up from the chair where he was half-heartedly working one of his smaller knives around a piece of wood, idly whittling the remaining time away. He puts it away quickly now, and when I give him a sidelong glance I see his eyes have widened considerably. That’s interesting … when I turn back and get a look at who’s now stepping into the lounge I understand why.

Any small doubt I might have had about Shay not convincing in her role in this plan dies the moment I get a look at her. Half-orc as she may be, it’s become clear enough in the time I known her the rest of her blood’s elven, and it’s never shone through clearer than right now, the way she just glides into the room. She’s still got that fluid dancer’s grace, but there’s more poise than I ever saw in her before, a genuine regal air that sits startlingly well with her. Despite her expression.

I mean sure, it’s clear enough she’s deeply uncomfortable just looking at her face. As she sees every pair of eyes in the chamber turn to take her in she finally falters, her last step slipping just the slightest before she manages to catch it and keep her balance. Given that, from what I can see, she’s wearing four inch heels, that’s an impressive feat in itself. But it still makes her already colourful blush grow a shade deeper …

As she adjusts her stance she reaches down with her somewhat shaky hands and smooths away at the gliding, airy-light folds of her dress. This in itself is as much of a surprise to me as the boots, peeking out from under the hemline, I really would’ve expected her to be dressed in the same kind of draped, flowing robes that I’m used to noblewomen favouring. But then I understand that, while this is a formal event, like a grand ball or highborn party it’s also a very pointed social affair, so the men and women will both be dressing up in their most striking attires tonight. So this is something a good deal more flamboyant and, above all, revealing than I thought it would be.

The skirts are an interesting design, seeming to glide and shift in extremely flattering ways with each movement of her extremely long and lean-but-powerful legs. They’re made from overlapping, interweaving layers of very fine brushed velvet and some of the thinnest raw silk I have ever seen, with at least two substantial vents running up either side to flash her legs in subtle but also very interesting ways. But when my eyes are guided up to her waist again, and above, that’s when things really start to get interesting.

If I’m honest, Shay’s never really struck me as the type who’d ever wear a corset if she had much say in the matter. But I can’t deny it does look damn good on her even so. It cinches her waist in firm, but not much tighter than the gear I seen her wear before, so she still seems to have a decent enough range o’ motion as she moves. But it does do some very interesting things to her neckline, not to mention leaving both her arms completely bare. Making the striking, very beautiful tattoo on her shoulder take pride of place amongst her myriad distractions. Well, that and her suddenly impressive cleavage, anyway.

She’s wearing a pair of elbow-length gloves which seem to be made from particularly well-fitted satin, so snug it’s almost like a second skin, while she’s got a thick shawl, made from very rich crushed velvet, draped across her lower back and then hooked over either wrist. Even the boots seems to have been lined in something like the same satin as her gloves, albeit a little more sturdy. This, at least, I have seen before, but only in the particularly idle rich. Just about everything she’s wearing seems to be in very complimentary shades of the richest red I have ever seen, but picked out against her warm olive green skin tone it looks particularly striking. Which was clearly intentional.

While the dress is definitely rich enough, they clear ain’t scrimped on the accessories, either. There’s an interesting range of jewellery too, particular no less than three necklaces, although two of ‘em are nothing more’n simple chains of a gold so thin and fine they almost seem like they’re woven from some strange kind of gilded spider-silk. The one in the centre, however, is much more substantial , mostly made up of interlocking pieces of very fine ground diamond with more substantial stones mounted strategically through its span, with a particularly large, pinkish diamond dangling at its end. Right above her cleavage, almost like it’s pointing into it. This could explain her discomfort all on its own …

Then there’s the earrings. Far as I can remember, I don’t think Shay actually had pierced ears, so I’m a little baffled how they managed to get those on her in the first place. Especially such heavy-looking, dangling things which are very much of a style with that monster necklace. Coupled with some real striking, somewhat complex bracelets worn on either wrist over the gloves, this definitely seems to be creating a running theme in her ensemble.

Her hair’s been washed shiny clean and very studiously styled as well, teased and piled and ordered into what looks like an impressively complicated mass of artistically tousled tangles pinned at her crown, wavy bangs left to form a loose curtain across her left eye. There’s make-up on her face, which not only seems completely alien for Shay, but also entirely unnecessary, although it’s been done so well that it seems to fit the overall effect of the costume and hair. There’s even some kind of glittering effect to her skin which I’m totally baffled to find any real source for, although I suspect that could be more of a simple lingering effect of her elven blood that’s just been accentuated by the process.

“Bloody hell.” Art finally manages to get words out after what might be a full minute of everybody just standing round dumbfounded looking at her. It seems so inadequate for what we’re actually looking at I could almost burst out laughing.

“Yeah, all right, I understand.” Shay hisses with clear irritation, her cheeks still proper rosy as she brushes her hair carefully from her eye, only for the strands to fall right back into place. “I don’t look like myself. No need to make a big fuss about it.” She immediately turns a particularly hot glare on Art, raising one gloves hand to point right at him. “You, shut your mouth. I don’t want to hear one word from you right now. I know exactly what’s going through your mind.”

Brows shooting right up, he looks round at the rest of us now. “I am shocked you would possibly assume that I’d –"

“Ah-ah!” Another jabbing point, this one a lot more aggressive, but while it silences him he still grins right back.

“Well, look at it this way. ‘Least we know it’s gonna do the job we intended now, don’t we?” I honestly couldn’t actually tell if Kesla followed her into the room and we just didn’t notice in the first place, or if she only just arrived herself. Shay’s proved so attention-grabbing I only become aware of her presence when she speaks. But that’s the whole point, really.

Thing is, turns out she looks genuinely different too. For one thing, if I hadn’t already recognised her voice I might’ve mistaken her for someone else, the disguise is so good it genuinely fools me. She’s still impressively tall and very powerful, broad across the shoulders, with her solid trunk and muscular limbs, and her skin’s still that same beautiful shade of milky chocolate brown, but her features have been altered such that the woman I’ve come to know is gone. She looks a good deal more severe this way, just as intimidating but in a far more intense way than I’m used to.

Whatever it was Lady Naru did with her magic, she looks to have gained at least twenty years and a whole lot of experience, most of it at the very sharp end of a violent life. The handful of prominent scars I already knew have been replaced by a whole crisscrossed marring mass of deeper, more twisted tissue, some of it seeming almost ritualistic now I’m looking. It gives her a far sharper, more extreme visage I find entirely impossible to imagine being capable of so much as a smirk, never mind any mirth. They even managed to make her left eye appear dead, just a clouded grey lens that don’t focus like the right, although I’m sure she can see through it just fine. No way Kesla’d really stand for actually being made half blind just for effect.

Seems like they’ve given her a fair share of grey in her black hair too, and she’s got a whole lot more of it from somewhere too, which is similarly baffling. Her undercut’s gone, her tightly curly mop allowed to just flop free now, and she gives her chin an absent-minded flick now to flip it out her face as she steps up beside her friend. Almost like she’s already starting to regret that particular choice.

Certainly she looks the part of a seriously intimidating bodyguard. Much tighter britches than I’m used to on her, but these just go a long way to really accentuating how thick her thighs really are, together with the very well-polished knee-high boots they’re tucked into. Much like the flashy patent-leather bracers and fine kid gloves she’s wearing and what look to be a soft white silk shirt with unusually poofy sleeves. Meanwhile her tunic’s made from some kind of quilted linen which I don’t doubt’s reinforced, not even counting the fancy jack-of-plates I already know she’s wearing underneath, and the material seems to be coloured very much to match Shay’s dress. That’s just the kind of real fancy touch that the kinda super vain thing a proper self-absorbed highborn type o’ woman Shay’s pretending to be would think of to make herself stand out even more. Even if part o’ the point was s’posed to be that nobody actually looks at the help anyway …

Even Kesla’s sword seems to have been given a bit of a makeover. Nothing overly drastic, but I see that her bastard sword’s hilt seems to have been heavily buffed and polished, going from the simple dark bluff steel to a much more striking burnished pewter sheen, the red leather of the grip looking to have had similar treatment too. Even the scabbard looks like it’s much more well-appointed now, having had up a somewhat intricate stylised knotting motif stamped into it since I last saw it. There’s a few knives strapped to her too, but I don’t doubt she’s got a whole lot more where we can’t see ‘em, just in case it comes to a real fight. Which of course it almost certainly will. But her being purposefully armed was also intentional.

“Kes?” Art’s smile’s gone almost instantly as he takes her in, seeming as inwardly baffled as I initially felt when she first spoke. “Is that … bloody hell, you look … that is fucking uncanny, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Yeah, well it still feels like me, so ‘least I don’t have to act any different.” She reaches for her face now, but stops short of touching it, frowning a little now. “The plan is not to talk, anyway. No more’n I absolutely have to, anyway. I’m s’posed to be the strong silent type here.”

“Classic bodyguard.” I venture now, finally managing a little grin. “Great success.”

Kesla looks down at me now, and when she gives me a cocked little grin along with a little wink it looks so weirdly alien on that face I’m truly sold on this little trick. So when I finally see Lady Naru make her way into the room, closely followed by Tulen, I give her a very respectful nod indeed, deeply appreciative of her skills.

“Nice work, my Lady. However you pulled this off, I’m proper impressed.”

Blinking, she stops a little short and gives me a look over, then nods, smiling indulgently. “Why thank you, Mistress Frostforge. Of course, I cannot accept all the praise. Mistress Kelsira contributed some of the most striking flourishes to both.”

Tulen starts blushing immediately when many of the room’s eyes turn to her too. “Oh, well I … I mean, I just wanted to help. And it’s … well, I mean, some of it’s magic, sure, but we had some strong foundations to work with. So it’s really little more than some transmutational fabrication of the costumes themselves and some surprisingly subtle glamour-based augmentation and alteration to Kesla’s seeming visage. Shay is … well, she just is beautiful already, so …”

“Oh for …” Shay hisses now, smoothing her skirts again, but her blush seems to be fading now. Like she’s getting used to it some. “This is still not me.”

“I beg to differ.” Lady Naru beams back at her. “I believe this is very much the potential you carry inside brought to the surface, my dear.”

“Yeah, but …” Another hiss as she presses at her waistline now. “It’s bloody weird, though. I feel like a fucking porcelain doll, I swear to the gods. And naked too. Not having a blade on me, it’s just … wrong.”

“That’s what I’m gonna be there for.” Kesla lays her hand on her sword’s hilt now as she shifts her footing, seeming so much like her old self despite the fact she looks like someone completely different. “Anything kicks off, I pass you one o’ mine an’ you go to work ‘til you can get your hands on something more suitable.”

Shay gives her a hot look, but don’t speak the words I can sense boiling up inside her. Instead she takes a few steps to the side, turning now so she can look round at the rest of us, and now I can see everyone else is on their feet, gathering themselves and their gear now, as if sensing it’s time.

“That it, then?” I find myself voicing the thought, and when I turn back to Kesla she’s watching me, thoughtful again. I’m more’n a little unsettled actually catching such familiar attention coming from such a strange face.

“I guess so, yeah. It’s getting dark out now, so time to make a start on preparing the way.” She turns to Lady Naru now as the sorcerer produces that shortened staff from inside her voluminous sleeve again and immediately starts to draw the shaft out to its full length again. “So how we doin’ this? If you’re going with this lot, an’ Tulen’s going with that lot, then how are we s’posed to get to –”

“The teleportation circles. I’ve already made arrangements with Cafi, they’ll have a carriage waiting for you where I send you, close enough to the Playhouse that it’s no more than a five minute ride to take you to the front entrance. From there you go in with everyone else.” She steps towards her now, slipping something from her robes in the same moment. A thick white envelope, sealed with wax, which she holds out to her now. “You present this at the door, and they’ll do the rest. Don’t worry, it’s all very simple and self-explanatory. As soon as they see where you’re sitting they’ll be falling over themselves to make sure you’re shown every deference so they know you’re taken care of to your utmost satisfaction.”

“How likely’s it gonna be that Hontiresk takes a personal interest in this new guest of his?”

That makes her frown. “Honestly, I couldn’t say. I’ve never actually had any dealings with him outside of official business with Venne and her colleagues in the Authority. But I would imagine that if he were to make a point of coming to see you, he would at least wait until the intermission. And we should make our move long before then, so it should be a moot point.”

Kesla don’t answer right away, simply frowning in no particular direction as she just ponders, and I get the impression she’s no more convinced than I am. Sounds like a whole lot o’ risk to me.

“What about the rest of us?” Art wonders now.

Lady Naru leans her staff against her shoulder now as she looks him over. “Your group will be going second, after ours. We should all make our way down to the circles now, though. Just to be safe.”

“Are we missing a few?” Kesla’s casting about, noting Driver 8 starting to make his way from the back of the room now.

“Sonagh an’ his big friend are still getting ready, I guess.” I offer up. “Less you seen ‘em on the way here?”

“I can go find ‘em.” Art starts to head off out the room without being bidden to first, leaving Darwyn to frown after him. “Ask ‘em to get a wiggle on, maybe?”

“Please.” Kesla turns back to Lady Naru, still frowning some. “Anything else you reckon we might be forgetting?”

The sorcerer considers for a long beat before simply sighing, gripping her staff in both hands now very much like I remember seeing Gael do. “I don’t know. I’ve never really done anything like this before. At least, not in this kind of environment. I’ve broken into fortresses and snuck into dungeons and other kinds of fortifications, but I’ve never had to break into a theatre before. There are an awful lot of unusual moving parts to this plan that are very new to me. I can only hope we haven’t overlooked something glaringly obvious that’s unique to the circumstances.”

Fighting the urge to suck my own breath in with a wary hiss, I turn to look at Brung, who I realise has made his way right to my side while I been distracted. Ready to go as I am, now. He blinks up at me, as if sensing my apprehension, and just shrugs.

That don’t fill me with confidence any more’n our new friends’ wariness. I can’t see any missed points in the plan, no matter how I look at it, but I can’t help the nagging worry there’s something there all the same. Something that’ll trip us up just when it’d be most damaging. I just hope when it happens we can catch it just quick enough it don’t wind up killing everybody in this room …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 23 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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adventures-of-the-creeping-bam · 3 months

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 22

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: VIFRI

At least Tormed regards magical transportation with the same fervent disdain as Udre and I do, because I don’t think I could have done that twice. ‘Least I ultimately managed to hold onto the lunch we got before we went into the Hellcat’s mansion, but it was a close thing indeed, when we settled on the lawn I came damn close to dropping to my knees and vomiting on the spot. Instead I had to stay there for almost three minutes bent double with my hands on my knees, breathing heavy while Tormed stood by once I’d waved him off after he made a clumsy attempt to apologise for his lack of foresight. In the end I let him off easy for it, his reasoning at least was sound, it would’ve been a harder and much more unpleasant exercise making our way back out again. Not that it was really worth it, but still, the thought almost counted.

Instead of making another jump right away like Erahadur intended, the lieutenant instead insisted we make our way on horseback, which sounded a whole lot better to me, and even more to Udre. Redarra House was close enough anyway, it wouldn’t have been more’n a twenty-minute trot under normal circumstances, and even going slower to start with to accommodate our unsettled stomachs we ultimately made it in just over a half hour. By the time we arrived I was feeling pretty good again, and even Udre, who tends to find mounted travel a little baffling since she spends most o’ the time trying to work out the best way to juggle her great long spear, was in brighter spirits. That being said, reckon being so far removed from the oppressive atmosphere of that slaughterhouse prob’ly helped.

Ain’t my first time here at Redarra, but it’s been a while, and while Ceinog may still be my superior I ain’t been here much even if this is his patch. I’d forgotten how baffling the place can be, it’s at once official and ridiculously elaborate, particularly the showy garden. Most of all, there’s a new addition in the external décor that gave me a hell of a start once I got a look at it, but not for the reason it did Udre.

That golem … yeah, that weren’t there last time I was here, must’ve been a recent addition to the grounds. What I’d originally thought was a pretty weird statue turned out to be what I’m assured is an apparently inoperative war golem from the Old Times, before the Sundering, intimidating but supposedly ultimately harmless. I wasn’t convinced, looking at it scared the hell outta me … most cuz I saw one very much like it a few days ago at the Transit House which seemed very much alive.

That was when it clicked with me, that little niggle in the back o’ my mind, the reminder the scents Faldabri picked up back at the mansion threatened to kick loose. A bakaneko, and a halfling, and … well, honestly I wasn’t really sure what she was, I’d never seen anything quite like her before. That woman, the real tall one who was with that group of weird folk, they had to be mercs, they really didn’t look like anything else. I remembered her most, even though they had a fucking ten foot tall living war machine following ‘em round …

Mostly cuz it sounded a whole lot like she was from Tektehr. They seemed all kinds of belligerent, particularly that dark-skinned woman who was clearly in the lead, she made a hell of an impression on me too, not all of it bad despite the way she was clearly spoiling for a fight. I mean, she was beautiful, with skin like warm milk chocolate or creamy coffee, and something about her manner … I dunno, it was just sexy. Even so, the way the bakaneko had immediately started growling at us about the dwarf lass getting under our feet, and then she’d almost seemed to seize one it like an opportunity to try and just start something with us … yeah, it was frustratingly familiar, and it just rubbed me the wrong way. I was ready to get all official about it, confident enough that if they did start something we wouldn’t get in any actual trouble for finishing it …

And then the tall one started talking to us in Tektehran common. I know I weren’t the only one surprised by that, when we finally made it back to the barracks that was all the rest o’ the squad could talk about for hours after. In the moment though, that took the air right out of the fight for me, on the spot, she apologised for her friend, insisting that they were here on official business with the Authority, and that I shouldn’t read too much into her behaviour. That they were under a whole lot o’ stress, and hoped I’d take it into account. I mean, sure, weren’t nothing I ain’t heard a hundred times before, but hearing it in my own mother tongue … yeah, that bought ‘em a pass all right. Even if they did have a fucking golem with ‘em …

But now … thinking about that, in connection with this new information … no, this feels like way too much coincidence, no chance there could be two crews like that in town, not even in a place like Untermer. Weird folk pass through this port all the time, from all over Tao, but this particular combination? Especially with that woman?

I didn’t bring it up right away, I let it stew for a little while as we handed our horses off to the guards and made our way inside, but I at least asked Udre if she remembered the group we ran into at the Transit House. She barely even had to think about it before her eyebrows shot up in that way I’ve come to recognise.

“Oh yes, I do remember them. The Fir Bolg was a particular surprise.”

That had me a little stumped. “The what?”

“Fir Bolg. A Tuathan forest guardian. They’re rather like elves, but not exactly. Similar origins, I’m told, but they are a separate and rather unique species of their own. Just as powerful, in their way. I’m told they’re deeply tuned with nature, which is why it was such a surprise seeing one here. You almost never see one out of the wild, they hate cities and civilisation.”

“I never even heard of such a thing, though. Why aren’t there –”

“Oh, but that’s right, you wouldn’t know. They’re aren’t very many of them left, I’m told. There used to be whole tribes of them in the forests in southern Tektehr, but that was before the Wars got so bad. Now …”

That’s when she went quiet, with that crestfallen look I’m also getting to know pretty well. When she remembers something bad, some great and terrible fact that’s not so well known to most common folk, but really should be. Yeah, the Wars … reckon I know what that means. Might be most of her folk are just gone now …

But yeah, a Fir Bolg … that’s a pretty good clue, given that one particular scent that Faldabri couldn’t identify back in the mansion. Sounds mostly like a simple confirmation to me. So I tucked that into the back pocket of my mind, keeping it handy for later, when we got more concrete clues to go with. Hopefully here.

When we got inside the main offices of the Untermer Authority, it was exactly the kinda chaos I expected after what’s been going on all over the Hill since yesterday. I mean it’s always busy in here, but this was a special kind o’ desperate, there was something new in the air, an edge to the atmosphere making ‘em all a bit more frantic than normal. When we came into the bullpen downstairs the secretaries were hammering away at their typewriters and hustling back and forth between stations, muttering and whispering between themselves even as they worked with a particularly desperate note that was impossible to miss. They’re scared.

As we arrived at the bottom of the stairs one of ‘em just lost it moving between their desk and the filing stations at the back of the room, her whole armful of stacked papers just spilling everywhere all over the floor, and she burst into tears. Instead of ducking to retrieve it all she just stood there looking down at the pluming mess, eyes going wide, and then started sobbing, her hands going to her face as she started to sag on the spot. Within moments one of her colleagues was out of her stool and taking hold of her with gentle arms to guide her away while another crouched to start gathering up the papers while she was guided away, but … damn, that was a sobering thing to witness. They’re usually so efficient here …

Tormed spotted Ceinog first, off to the side o’ the chamber, just in front of the glassy veranda’s screen doors, stood by with a few others. He was mostly just standing to grim attention, looking off in no direction in particular in the same military way I spent many years cultivating, likely paying close attention to the conversations around him despite looking like he’s conspicuously ignoring ‘em. Cuz he clearly ain’t in charge o’ this right now.

‘Course I recognised who he was deferring to, although I was sure as hell wishing I wasn’t gonna see him here. I got nothing against General Jelsan Chanevri, as senior commanding officers go he’s fair enough most o’ the time, but he ain’t got much patience for fuck-ups, even when you ain’t at fault, and he’s got a long fucking memory. I really wish I could’ve just turned round and walked right back out before he there was ever any chance of him spotting me, but under the circumstances I had no choice but to suck it up and avoid his eyes. So I let Tormed take the lead …

The other two I didn’t recognise, although one of ‘em seemed kinda familiar. This one … it took me a little while to realise I had seen ‘em before, the other day in the Transit House, same time as those mercenaries, actually. They came to fetch ‘em, I remember, for their business, whatever it was. I didn’t catch their name, but everything about ‘em screams Authority, not just their dress but the way they talk, hold themselves, all of it. Too young to be senior, but with enough bearing to still be high up all the same. ‘Least that’s how I read it when they walked up and smoothed over the last o’ the ruffled feathers and led me to back the squad outta that potential altercation. Seeing ‘em here now made it clear enough I did make the smart call.

The other one’s clearly the proper senior one here, indeed they’re one o’ the oldest Authority officials I ever come across in my time. Tall, but skinny, lean and ropey, I can tell that even in their official grey robes of office, which are some o’ the most expensive I seen too, not necessarily fancy but definitely rich enough to make his station clear. He’s at least sixty, maybe more, his face deeply lined with hollow cheeks under his aggressively sharp cheekbones, too severe to really be attractive now but I suspect he might’ve been in his youth. His beard is thin, little more’n a wispy scruff aside from the longer tufts hanging from his chin, and his silvered hair recedes far across his scalp, while he’s left the rest to grow long, swept back behind his ears to hang down between his shoulders. His nose stands out more prominent in his face, a broad beaky blade like a particular gaunt eagle, and his eyes are a striking bright green, sharp as razors, not betrayed by his age at all.

There’s a real shrewdness about him that makes it instantly clear he’s a cold, serious man you clearly gotta be careful dealing with. I didn’t know who he is, but I had a pretty good idea, just goin’ off his appearance. Porbar Grintiga, Senior Administrator of the Untermer Authority, one o’ the most powerful men in the whole city. Given what’s been going on this past day an’ night, he’s having to take a lot of the weight o’ responsibility for the handling of this affair on his own back.

No wonder old Chanevri was being so much more pleasant than usual, ‘least given how he usually is round Rundao official types. Being Provisional Commander of the Untermer Garrison means he’s pretty much the real head authority in this city, but given the balance o’ power needed to keep things running smooth between us an’ the Occupied he’s gotta play nice much as he can. Including deferring to the senior Authority whenever it really matters, ‘least when it don’t directly pertain to purely martial matters. Given what an unholy clusterfuck of jurisdictional chaos this actually it, there’s really no clear command in this, so he's having to really grovel his way through right now.

‘Course, that’s why I’m here right now, along with my squad, instead of snoozing in my rack back at the barracks after the all-nighter we had to pull down at the docks. By this point I’m running on fumes, it sure ain’t doing my mood any favours now I gotta just wait around while they talk.

While we wait I ask Trick about these two officials, mostly just to confirm my suspicions. Turns out I was right in my assessment, the old man is Grintiga. The younger one with him, mostly standing by like Ceinog but at least seeming to be paying attention and even interjecting on occasion, is a Junior Deputy Administrator, name of Cafi Sirsk. Up until recently they worked under Madame Venne Daste, ‘least until she was butchered yesterday along with thirty or so townsguard and a handful of her aides. The first victims of what became a bizarre epidemic over the course o’ the night. And by rights, this Sirsk should have been with her at the time. The fact they ain’t numbered among the dead’s the reason we’re here to talk to ‘em in the first place.

I look ‘em over now as we wait for the conversation to be over, trying to get a read just on their manner. They’re young, but there’s a calm and professional air to how they’re handling themselves that speaks of someone wise beyond their years. Not that I’m surprised, I heard enough about Daste to know she valued brains real high, ‘specially in folk that work for her.

That calm don’t seem to be slipping, but … I dunno, reckon there might be a little strain in there, now I’m looking for it. A fatigue, maybe. Like they been run ragged over the night, same as the rest of us, but it’s hitting ‘em different. More like these folk here, I realise now. They’re scared, but for Sirsk it’s more polarised. Cuz it could have been them, maybe. Honestly, until we actually get to talk to ‘em I can’t really be sure.

Tormed leans in close to me now, voice barely a whisper so it’s just for me. “Are you all right? You seem like you might be spacing out somewhat.”

“Hmm?” He don’t take me off guard, but I still have to muster myself all the same as I straighten up, shifting my feet as I turn to him. “No, no I’m … honestly, I’m just fed up waiting. Ain’t like there’s really time for us to just be standing round like idiots waiting on folk to finish jawing. I been on my feet since yesterday morning, no stopping, dealing with that fucking mess at First Point. It ain’t good for my mood.”

“Goes with the job thought, most of the time. At least, that’s what I’ve always found.”

Frowning, I fight the urge to growl and just tighten my folded arms a little more. I give him a drawn out sidelong glance all the same, trying to get a read on him now. There’s something I wanna ask him, but I can’t quite work out how to word it right so it won’t sound like I’m fishing. Even if that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Cuz Daste was his boss, essentially. Venne Daste was the Administrator in charge of the enforcement o’ the city’s laws and ordinances, which put her in charge of the townsguard themselves. Since the Special Investigation Division, elite as it is, falls very much under that purview, this whole situation feels like it has ‘least the potential to become a major conflict of interest for him.

I’m right on the verge o’ just caving and asking his right out if he knows this official Sirsk, and by extension has a vested interest of his own in the particulars of this case I might need to know about. But then Chanevri nods with clear, noticeably respectful formality to Grintiga and steps away without a word, and Ceinog has to proper hustle to get after him as he just walks right towards us. And within moments he’s seen me, and he starts to slow down. He don’t stop, though, even when his eyes narrow, his jaw tightening again.

The General is a very intimidating man, I’ll give him that. When the War was still going on and he was a young officer, just a Captain in particular, he saw a lot of action on the frontlines, leading his men from the front to several brutal victories. A few notable defeats, too, but nowhere near enough to eclipse his rise through the ranks. He was a fierce warrior, and a fair one too, the kind that inspired loyalty in the men he led. And a smart tactician. From what I heard, the only reason he missed Kumehn Valley was cuz he was leading one of the battalions in the diversion instead. I can’t help wondering if that might’ve wound up a different story if he’d actually been there …

I can definitely see a fair bit of that young fighter in the old man now starting to slow to a stop as he looks me over with an increasingly complicated expression flickering across his face. He’s even taller than I am, six and a half feet at least barefoot, prob’ly, and real broad, but it’s all still muscle, big enough in the shoulders he’s got almost no neck and with wrists almost thick as my thighs. He keeps his silver-streaked curly black hair cropped short, his beard clipped to little more’n a stubbly scruff, and there are plenty of striking dark scars on his face to indicate he’ll have plenty more elsewhere. His face could be called handsome, but there’s a chunky roughness to it, more like a labourer than a relative highborn, although it does suit his substantial frame a good deal better. He’s also unusually dark-skinned for our culture, quite swarthy in fact, with dark brown eyes that are almost black in most light.

He notably dresses down compared to most of his peers, his armour relatively simple in design, but even so it’s clear enough how well-made and expensive it is all the same, and the dark red of the plate is buffed to a striking sheen. Mostly it’s the sword on his hip that gives him away as a man of his rank, a heavy bastard sword like mine, but much more expensive, the hilt and guard finished with burnished gold and wound copper wire at the grip. Well, that and his sash of rank, of course. He almost don’t actually need his thick bearskin cloak.

“You …” He mostly just breathes it, like it’s not really meant for me, or maybe just that he didn’t really intend to say it, but I still catch it, and it definitely stings. Just the way there’s a little bit of a growl to the word.

Even so, I do my best to stand to attention as I offer him a low, clipped nod of respect, even as my jaw tightens mostly on its own. “General. Well met, sir.”

When I say it, he cuts off whatever it was he clearly wanted to say and closes his mouth again, his eyes narrowing a little more as he looks me over yet again. Trying to work out if I’m being at all flippant, probably. Then his eyes flick to Tormed and his brow quirks up just the slightest, and there’s an almost imperceptible loosening of his jaw. “Ah, Lieutenant. Sooner than expected. Is this a good sign, perhaps? Are you already close to solving this?”

Tormed clears his throat as he straightens up a little more, and through the corner of my eye I can just see him make the quickest of glances my way before answering. “Regrets, but no, sir. I’m afraid it’s too early to really tell much, at least from what evidence there is at the sites we’ve examined. This is proving to be a particularly odd case, in truth. But we’re doing our utmost to solve it, I can assure you. The Sergeant here has already been extremely helpful in that capacity.”

That has him frowning, and his eyes roll over me again much more briefly before turning back to him. “Forgive me, but I’m not really understanding you. I would have thought, if you were still in the thick of your investigation, why would you be here?”

“Oh, I’m sure it would behove me to actually let vital details slip just yet, sir.” He’s keeping his tone quite jovial, I notice, but even so I suspect he’s still working hard to keep this somewhat unwanted conversation on a civil level. Certainly for my benefit. “Suffice to say that there is an angle that led us here. To one of the individuals you were just speaking, in fact, sir.”

Chanevri’s frown deepens as he turns to look back towards the two officials, junior and senior, both of whom are currently stood by watching us with barely veiled curiosity. Sirsk, I think, seems a little wary too, but they’re doing a decent job of hiding it. “Ah. I see.”

When he turns back he looks us all over, Udre and Trick and even the wizard Erahadur, before turning back to Tormed and offering a much more tightly clipped nod than he gave the Senior Administrator. “Very well. I’ll leave you to it, then. Just do your best, this is a nasty business, and we really can’t have it getting any worse.” He looks to me now as he says this, like he’s driving a point home, and it makes my jaw tighten. “See that you solve this soon, please. Perhaps there’ll be benefits for those who do.”

Before he turns away he looks me right in the eyes and, very much through his teeth, adds: “Sergeant.” Then he finally moves off without further regard to any of us, making straight for the stairs we recently came down and the main entrance beyond. As he goes four fully armed troopers who were lined up round the walls peel away in almost perfect unison and flank him, following him up as he makes his withdrawal.

Oof … he put an awful lot into the way he said just that one last word to me. If it felt like I was standing on perilously thin ice when he first saw me, then it might as well have just made a very loud cracking sound right underneath me. I’m a long moment before I’m finally able to breathe out again, having to try awful hard not to slump when I do.

I’m another beat realising that Administrator Grintiga is now making his way over, with Sirsk following at a more cautious pace. Both curiously examining each and every one of us. When the younger one looks at me I’m sure I see a clear flicker of recognition in their face, and have to frown back at ‘em.

As they draw close Tormed straightens up even quicker and a lot more efficiently than he ever did for Chanevri. “Administrator. Well met, sir.”

“Indeed, Lieutenant.” Grintiga gives him a surprisingly warm half-smile while dipping a very generous nod. “It’s good to see you, although I’ll admit I’m somewhat at a loss as to why. I would have thought the current situation would have you very busy. You surely can’t have business here. Not yet.”

“Unfortunately we do, Master. My apologies, but we must speak with your colleague.”

Brows shooting up, the Senior Administrator turns to look down at Sirsk, who just frowns up at Tormed. It’s interesting, they genuinely seem like they don’t know why we’re here. “Truly? But whatever about? Surely they have nothing to do with this … horrid business.”

“Oh no, sir. Not directly.” Tormed looks down at Sirsk now, giving them a tight little smile. “I can assure you, young master, I mean no offence, we do not suspect you of anything. We would simply appreciate your help with our line of enquiry. Regarding your late superior, of course.”

Sirsk’s brows raise now, while Grintiga simply sighs, looking down now as he nods, seeming grave now. “Ah yes, of course. That is, of course, most prudent. Very well, Lieutenant. I’ll leave you to it.” He turns to his colleague now, who turns to him with a cautious regard, but at least they don’t look like they’re about to silently beg for his help. “Come find me when you’re done, Cafi. I’m afraid there is still much to be done.”

“Of course, Master.” They nod deferentially as he steps away, looking at me for a loaded beat as if he wants to say something, but then deciding against it. Instead he simply moves off, making for one of the ground level passages leading out of the chamber. As he goes one of the scattered aides moves after him, a studious-looking, willowy young woman in more modest grey robes with blonde hair bound in a loose bun and a small pair of glass spectacles perched on her nose.

Yeah, highborns. Even when they need us, if they can help it they’ll still pretend we ain’t actually there rather’n proper acknowledge the presence o’ folk like me.. I manage to fight off the urge to spit on the floor.

“Lieutenant?” Sirsk says after a moment, standing by a little more demurely now, looking up at him through the floppy fringe of their mousey curls. Gods, their eyes are very green, and very sharp. “How may I be of assistance?”

For a moment Tormed seems almost taken aback, licking his lips as he seems to be working out what to say next in his head. Then he nods, growing certain again, and sighs. “Perhaps there’s somewhere more private we could speak?”

“Oh yes.” They nod, fumbling at their voluminous sleeves for a moment before finally folding their hands behind their back, then cock their head as they take a step away. “Of course. This way, please.”

As they lead us off in the opposite direction to where their boss headed, cutting right through the middle of the busily bustling hive of secretarial activity, I chance a look to Udre, who I find watching everything around her with open fascination. Not so much baffled by everything she’s seeing, I’m sure, gods know our bureaucracy’s not much different from theirs, but I still kinda get what has her a little thrown. It’s not the work itself, but the sheen on everything, the way it’s all so gussied up, so flashy and efficient while still dressed up to look so smart and formal all the time. These Rundao folk really can’t do anything without running it through four kinds o’ pomp and ceremony, can they?

“Game face, Private.” I mutter low while leaning close, and while she stiffens, looking to me right away, she don’t seem particularly startled. “Don’t get distracted.”

“Sorry, boss.” she breathes, a little urgent, while reaching a subconscious hand towards her brow even though her hair’s still all bound back and under control.

When Sirsk heads into another of the passageways cutting off through the other wall, I slow up just enough to move into the rear of the group, and Udre falls in with me, picking up on my mood right away. I don’t sense any danger, but I’d rather be ready for it anyway. I’m hoping this young official still being alive’s just a pure lucky coincidence, but I don’t like the possibility that it could be something more. It makes me itch.

We don’t go far in the end, Sirsk stopping at the second closed door down the corridor before knocking on it and clearing their throat, then leaning close and just waiting for a long beat. Nothing happens, and I’m about to open my mouth to make a pressing comment, unable to quite help myself, when they simply nod and turns the handle, pushing the door open. They’re slow and careful about stepping in, though, leaning in enough to poke their head through to look about inside before finally committing the rest of the way, but then they hold the door open once they’re in.

Tormed turns back for a moment, looking directly to me, and I don’t really know what he’s pondering. Then he turns back and steps through, and his colleagues follow, although Trick also pauses for a quick beat to look my way too. Her look’s a little clearer, a wary frown that I ain’t sure I like the look of. Like something might be going on after all. Again, that itch.

Waving Udre down, I step through first, my hand going to Wirnur’s hilt almost without me even thinking about it first. I suck a short breath in through my teeth as I enter the room, trying not to tense up too much as I prepare myself for an attack if there is one coming.

The room seems to be a fairly modest conference room, just a long table with eight padded leather chairs stood round it, and what looks like a small bar in the corner, although I doubt that’s what it actually is. There’s what looks more like a kettle on top, and a teapot too, along with various other accoutrements I recognise for making tea, along with what I realise is a small hotplate. The thing underneath that I thought was a strange metal cabinet must in fact be a tiny stove, just big enough to boil water. That’s just … weird. I never seen anything like that before.

Sirsk has already gone right to it, turning now to regard the rest of us as Udre follows me inside, looking round with nothing but her usual keen curiosity. “This should suffice, I should think. Can I get anyone some tea? Or perhaps coffee? We should have some pre-ground, I understand our friends from the North sometimes prefer it.”

That just makes me frown, while our cleric just gives me a surprised look. Meanwhile Erahadur just steps forward, passing his staff from one hand to the other, already smiling with enthusiasm. “Oh, yes, please. I’d certainly welcome a cup of –”

He must catch Tormed’s cool eyebrow quirk, no actual chiding in it that I can see but making a point all the same, I don’t doubt, while Trick just rolls her eyes. The wind goes out of him immediately, and he lets a heavy sigh go as he shakes his head. “No, sorry. Never mind. I apologise, I forgot myself.”

Sirsk looks at the Lieutenant for the shortest beat possible, then breaks out a beaming smile. “Of course. It’s perfectly fine, Master Erahadur. It’s a most urgent business, I entirely forgot. I suppose with everything that’s been going on I find stability in tradition and etiquette. But it’s entirely unnecessary.”

Now I see it again, that well-hidden wariness, and something more. Just the subtlest hint, the tiniest shake in their hands as they clasp them together across their midsection. Taking a deeper breath than really needed in the moment. They’re worried.

Trick closes the door now and what little sound might have been carrying to us from outside is cut out. There are hanging slatted wooden blinds covering the windows, mostly open but even so while they let plenty of light in they still cut off any view from without well enough. The room seems private now, I should think.

So I just say what’s on my mind, tired of waiting any longer. “So how come you ain’t dead, Master Sirsk?”

Erahadur just starts coughing on the spot, while Trick’s brows shoot right up. Tormed, meanwhile, lets a low, sharp hiss pass through his teeth as he gives me a surprisingly dark look. “Sergeant, surely –”

“It’s quite all right, Tor.” Sirsk laces their fingers together now, their smile already gone as they look down at the floor for a beat before turning their eyes to me. They seems a good deal more grave now, but there’s still that wariness, and now I don’t think they’re even trying to hide it. Making no effort at all to show they don’t trust me either, clearly. “I can understand the Sergeant’s reticence, at least, under the circumstances. Even if it is rather presumptuously asked, given that we haven’t yet been introduced.”

I try not to scowl as I shoot a look at Tormed, who just grits his teeth for a beat before letting a heavy sigh of his own go. “Yes, well … Cafi, this is Sergeant Vifri Staduva. She and her squad have been assigned to aid my team with the investigation, since there are … well, uncomfortable similarities with matters her people are familiar with.”

Again they look me over, those bright green eyes seeming to cut right into me, sharp as they are, and I wonder just how well they’re actually able to read me. I half expect ‘em to ask what he actually meant by that, and I’ll admit I’m curious to hear exactly how, given that could tell me a whole lot about what they already know without them really meaning to.

Instead they just nod too and free their hands, instead loosely folding their arms as they shift their footing, leaning their weight on their left foot now. I can’t tell if this means they’re getting more comfortable or just getting defensive. “I see. Well, I suppose I understand why she’s asking, then. And you’re right, in a way, Sergeant. I really should be dead. If Madame Daste hadn’t sent me off to make some arrangements here instead I might have been with her at the time, and I imagine I really would be dead as well as … the rest of them.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt it. It’s awful convenient, though.”

Sirsk’s eyes narrow as they consider me for a charged moment. “Convenient? I’m sorry, I really don’t think that’s the kind of word I would use to describe it. Fucking funny, maybe, a cruel irony perhaps. I just lost a friend, Sergeant. Someone I cared very deeply about, someone who thought the world of me, who cared a whole lot more about me than my own parents ever did. I definitely wouldn’t call it convenient at all.”

I don’t rise to the bait, instead just giving them a cold, flat look. “You gotta admit, it don’t look good, does it?”

They’re a long moment answering me, just watching me with those sharp eyes. “Yes, I will admit, I can see how that might be misread if someone were to look for something they actually wanted to find. But I can assure you, I did nothing that was not required of me by Madame Daste. And since then I have been forced to run around like a headless chicken trying to put out a fire that I fear may be growing too large to be contained. As I’m sure you can understand, I am under an extremely high amount of stress at this time. The last thing I need is to be reminded of what I have lost.”

Tormed opens his mouth to interject, but I don’t let him. “What was this task your Madame Daste required o’ you had you leave her side at what turned out to be her most vital hour?”

“Sergeant, could you please –”

This time it’s Sirsk cutting him off. “I’m afraid I can’t say. That is Authority business, which makes it confidential. I would remind you that your masters and mine have a mutually beneficial understanding which has gone a long way to keep the day-to-day business of this country running smoothly since the Occupation began. I’m sure someone of your rank lacks the wherewithal to change that.”

It's a little harder for me to resist rising to this bait, which I’m sure was intentional. Instead I just set my jaw and hold their stare. “You don’t think it might’ve had some bearing on this case?”

“No. I don’t think it would have. Or if it did I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to say anyway. My late superior had a lot of different things to keep an eye on over the course of her last week of life, as is always the case in a city this size, so while she was taking care of one item or another, I had still more work to attend to on her behalf. And I’m not the only assistant she trusts to handle her business. How many of them are you pestering about this?”

“None who are so senior as you, Junior Administrator. From what I been led to understand, you’re basically in charge now, ‘least until your lot work out who’s gonna take over.” I cock my head now, but try not to give ‘em too quizzical a look. “Which could also be considered convenient.”

They give me a flatter look this time, while Tormed lets an aggravated hiss go while I’m sure he wants to protest but decided to hold it in. Sirsk has made it abundantly clear that they intend to speak for themselves. “I won’t even grace that with an answer, Sergeant. I would have thought that beneath such a previously decorated soldier as yourself.”

I actually take a step towards them now before I remember myself, but they hold their ground. “Come again?”

“Honestly, when we met the other day I couldn’t be sure, but seeing you here now has made it clear to me that you are the trooper I thought you were. You’re the one who killed Beneva’s son, aren’t you? I remember that caused quite the stink. I understand the only reason you weren’t punished very severely was because your commanding officer went to bat for you with all he had. Even though technically I believe you were somewhat in the right on the matter. Somewhat.”

Now I finally look back at Tormed, who’s watching me a good deal more cautious now. Oh, that’s interesting … I really would’ve thought he’d have known about that already. Now I feel like I let him down some. I see Trick looking me over too, even more calculating, but I reckon she’s already working out angles I can’t even think about. She seems the type.

“That has nothing to do with this, Master Sirsk, and I would advise you to stick to the matter at hand.”

“Of course, Sergeant. That’s all I’m trying to do. Which is why I informed you that the subject of what business I had been sent on can’t be discussed in connection with this. Not only because it is still classified, but because it has no bearing at all on this case.”

Stepping back, I consider my words for a moment before deciding to plough on after all with the avenue they’ve unexpectedly opened for me. “And that business from the other day? When we met in the Transit House? Are you saying that that has no bearing either?”

Sirsk’s brows flicker just a little, eyes narrowing a touch, and I’m sure I can see just a hint of real confusion in ‘em. Proper surprise, maybe. “But … whyever would it? I mean surely, if I already said –”

“Sergeant, please.” Tormed’s face is starting to actually colour now, I see, as he clearly can’t contain his own indignity any more. “This line of questioning isn’t getting us anywhere –”

Giving him a careful look, I let a gentle but weighted sigh go. “Sorry, Lieutenant, I really don’t agree with you there. Cuz they was there to meet a whole bunch o’ real interesting individuals I couldn’t begin to come up with any reasonable reason for ‘em to be meeting with. But they made it clear enough they were there on official business, since they mentioned that their mistress was waiting for ‘em.” I turn back so Sirsk now. “I only bring this up cuz when I got to thinkin’ about what we found upstairs in the house, it sure jogged my memory.”

Tormed frowns now as he looks to the Administrator, then back to me. “I don’t understand … you mentioned Milvolm picked up some interesting scents, mentioned mercenaries, but beyond that …” His frown deepens as he looks back at Sirsk. “Cafi, I don’t –”

“Not to disparage our exotic friend here, but bakaneko are pretty hard to miss. ‘Specially in Guild gear, and in the company of a halfling in matching dress. Not to mention what I been informed was a Fir Bolg. I didn’t even know what one o’ them was. But the massive golem was definitely the real stumper.”

This time when they open their mouth to protest, nothing comes, and they instead turn to Tormed, maybe looking to beg for some help after all, but he’s just frowning up a storm at ‘em now. Gods, he looks almost betrayed.

“Cafi, tell me …” He falters, turning to me now, seeming genuinely at a loss for a long moment before finally getting his thoughts back into order. “No. I can’t believe that. I worked with Cafi Sisk for four years almost, on and off. There’s no way … I can’t believe they’re actually responsible for what happened to Madame Daste. That’s unthinkable.”

“Honestly, I’m inclined to agree with you, given the evidence we found it feels a whole lot more likely whoever they were, when they went there it was to save Lady Vezrim and her family. Looks like they prob’ly even managed it, ‘least most of ‘em.” I turn back to Sirsk now. “Couse I would love to confirm that. And these folk’d be real great to talk to about this, given they was clearly right in the thick o’ that shit.”

A very heavy silence falls on the room now, as Tormed turns back to Sirsk and gives ‘em another pleading look. They just glare back at me, starting to look like they’re clamming up, and it’s a look I got to know well when I first got here and somebody upstairs thought I might be a smart type to put to work doing stuff like my da used to do. Mithra … I really hope I don’t have to get rough now, I promised Vessof I’d go easy, and it’d look a whole lot worse in his back yard. But I gotta know.

“Junior Deputy Administrator Cafi Sirsk, I really don’t wanna make trouble, ‘specially not here. But you’re making it awful hard for me right now.” I take a few steps towards ‘em now, and as I approach and they gotta start looking up that defiance starts to slip. Just a little bit. “Make it easy for us, would you?”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 22 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 21

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: DRAMRATH

Gods, Hontiresk has become truly insufferable in the time since I been away, I realise now. Not by becoming more irritating, or more highly-strung, or more paranoid, but just by becoming even more frustratingly reasonable than ever before. After Kesla Shoon and her companions just vanished right in front of us outside the stage door entrance to the Playhouse, and I went back upstairs to have another crack at confronting him over his idiotic choice to actually give that monstrous witch Vandryss free reign in their little … enterprise, he just smiled as I railed away at him while his bodyguards just studiously looked away around us, letting me wear myself out. Then he just nodded and apologised for her behaviour, before simply waving it off as an unavoidable consequence of his current business, and even as I protested he acted as if I was entirely overreacting. It was as though she’d merely undercut a business rival in a deal in an underhanded way, not used some twisted, demonic magic to murder dozens, maybe hundreds of people over the course of a single night.

Honestly, I could’ve punched him on the spot, I was certainly tempted. Maybe in the hope that it might actually knock some sense into him, but realistically I doubt that would work. He’s always believed in his own surety above all others’, and it looks like that’s just grown more ingrained the greater the power he’s managed to amass for himself has grown. I can’t overlook the possibility that Vandryss might have played him in some way, maybe influenced him with the dark magics at her disposal, using them to control him like a puppet, but the more I look at this the less I believe that’s really the case. He’s too much like his old self for that to be the case, just as smug and self-important and convinced that he’s in the right. Which means whatever hold she does have on him, it’s a good deal more insidious.

In the end my protestations seemed to fall on deaf ears, and he sent me away, more brusquely than I’d like. Like always I had to hold my tongue, and I just shoved right past Gubal without a word, not even looking back even though I did feel a little bad, afraid I might say or do something that I really couldn’t take back with my blood so very up as it was. Instead I just stalked off with Trouble having to genuinely scuttle along to keep up, and at least she had the good sense to hold her tongue as I led the way round backstage again. Making for the back entrance into the cellars.

At least the two former pirates on the door had the good sense not to try and stop me when they saw my face, instead just stepping aside while one of them gave the lever-catch a good yank and slid the door aside for us both. I didn’t stop until we were both through and it was rolling closed again behind, then I hissed a long, angry curse under my breath that felt worryingly hot while smoke plumed in front of my face. Trouble just stood by with her head bowed and her jaw tight, hugging her sword tight to her chest as she stood by with her back right against the wall.

She gave me a minute or two to just gather myself again, working hard to get my rage under control along with the fire churning in my core, before finally pushing away from her wall and taking a few very careful steps towards me, holding her hands out in supplication. I held my breath and just let her come, maybe clenching my jaw tighter than was really helpful but I really didn’t want to lash out, and when she finally took hold of my wrists I let her start to talk me down the rest of the way, the way she does sometimes. At least she held short of actually hugging me this time, I’m not sure I was really ready for that under the circumstances, but then she was already looking to head off down the stairs anyway, mindful to lead the way this time. I followed without any argument.

It felt no better returning to this place than the first time we got down here, the stink of terror all around us as we started to navigate our way past the various cells working at my nerves as effectively as if someone had died down here. It took a little time to locate Jammund, we finally found him in the deepest part of the lowest cellar, at the end of a low, gloomy passage ending at a now open, heavy steel door leading into what looked like some kind of dim tunnel stretching into cold darkness. He was speaking with some of his people, while others were moving in and out of the tunnel, those venturing in carrying something I couldn’t identify, either bundled in ratty tarpaulins or packed in tightly nailed boxes.

When he looked up at our approach I cut back the question on my tongue, thinking better than to ask what he was up to. Clearly something had happened since we’d been away, but he seemed reluctant to divulge what that might be, and I decided against pressing him about it. Instead I just turned on the spot and headed back up a level, intent on paying another visit to young Foxtail.

So I walked right in on that vicious bitch as she was trying to kick the poor young wizard to death. I just lost it, I swear I saw red, and the next thing I knew I had Vandryss pinned to the wall while the fire was blazing hot inside me and I could feel it barely held back from my just breathing a whole lungful right up into her face. The fact that she was so cold and infuriatingly calm just made me even angrier, enough that I almost gave up trying to hold back after all. I don’t think she really knows how close she came to death right there. And then when I finally let her down she continued to push me further … it’s a miracle I didn’t kill her in the end.

At least Gael Foxtail seemed to be in a little bit of a better mood with the pair of us than they were when I left them this morning, at least once Trouble had finished working her Holy magic to mend the worst of Vandryss’ latest atrocities. I suspect letting them know that the dwarf girl we thought had been killed turned out to be alive after all went a long way there, although I’m still glad my friend managed to hold her tongue enough even though I’m sure she wanted to just blurt out an apology for it. Honestly, I’m not sure if the half-elf really would have responded all that well to that, they’re too smart not to work out why.

In the end they thanked us for the effort, although I could still sense a certain cold aloofness in them, as though what had just happened had driven home for them what they were really going through here. I had a mind to apologise for it, but again held my tongue, less through shame than just acknowledging it’s not our place to make amends. This is all Vandryss’ doing, and I suppose Jammund and his own through her, all this blood is on her hands as much as the horror that was just committed on the Hill. So when the young wizard entirely ignored Trouble’s clumsy attempts to draw them into conversation I just stayed as I was, sat with my eyes on the door, my still itchy fingers laid on my belly so close to my sword. Ready just in case that bitch decided to come back to try again …

When Trouble was finally done I thought about just setting up camp in here so I could keep an eye on Gael and their father, but I think by this point I had just become too frustrated with the increasingly cold shoulder we were being shown. So I instead picked up the chair again and took it outside, finally planting it outside the door and then myself back in it before giving the young half-orc Vandryss left to guard the room a particularly sharp glare until they decided to back off. Once I was finally alone with my thoughts I started to go over our options, although when Trouble finally came out too I hadn’t made any real progress given how none of the options we do have look particularly appealing.

Honestly, it’s a pretty ugly mess all round, and I realise now that the best case scenario that’s actually left to us now is that we’re just forced to finally kill all of young Foxtail’s friends after all. Of course that would then result in Vandryss just murdering the wizard themselves and their father because they would now be pure liabilities, and there’d be nothing I could realistically do to stop her. This has gone far beyond the point where we could realistically just slip away in the night without doing the job hoping we could just outrun the consequences. It’s no longer just Hontiresk and his people who know about us, Kesla Shoon and her interesting crew are very aware of us now, and they’ve marked us as a threat, whether we really are or not. At this point killing them after all is just prudent.

Not that that sits very well with Trouble. Where before I was worried about her beating herself up over what she thought she had done mostly by accident, now I’m worried that she’s become too conflicted over what she hasn’t done yet. I tried to make it clear that we just don’t have a choice at this point, but it’s clear enough she’s not buying it. Perhaps I’d be offended if she did, anyway. She’s too bright, and still too good.

After that, I had half a mind to just send her on her way on the spot, at least under the cover of asking her to head back to the apartment to rejoin the others, then send Kuth over instead, and perhaps Ixen too. But in the end I didn’t have the heart to bench her after all, she may still have too strong a conscience but it’s a good thing, I know I can still trust her, and definitely rely on her if we were to run into any actual problems. It’s not like I’ve come to any actual decision yet.

Instead I simply sent her to collect something for the Foxtails to drink, perhaps some food too if she can actually scrounge anything up. Leaving me alone with my thoughts again …

Reaching inside my left boot now, I slip the dagger hidden there free and take a moment to flip it up into the air, letting it spin twice before catching it underhand before it can hit the floor. I give it another little toss, this one more gentle, simply letting it turn over before catching the blade between thumb and forefinger and then giving it a little twist, letting it twirl in the air before its heft starts to weigh it down again. By which point I’ve already given the pommel a little jerk and underhanded twist, flicking my wrist at the last in order to flip it back up and off to the right, only to catch it by the hilt long before it can whip off beyond my reach. Finally I give it two more much more modest little flick, just enough to let it turn over once before catching it again, and give it a last little flourish through my fingers before raising it in front of my face.

That makes me smile, rueful as it might be. I didn’t even intend to do half of that, mostly it just happened, instinct and muscle memory taking over. A youth full of hard training and natural talent bolstered by three more decades of putting it all to practice day after day. Sometimes in quite an ugly way, I remember, but still …

My smile starts to fade now, I watch it happen in the clean polished surface of the blade, my face bent and distorted but clear enough in the folded steel. It’s true, I’ve done things I’m none too proud of, that I really shouldn’t be proud of, in the time I served the elder Hontiresk I let my own survival twist me into something I really didn’t like. It took leaving Rundao behind when I was forced to run south from the Occupation to realise I could still allow myself to be good again. Or at least something a little less … I don’t know. Despicable, maybe.

But now that I’m back here, in the employ of the son and doing the very same kind of work I’d worked so hard to get away from, and steer my new friends away from too once I got used to more … well, “honest” money, I suppose … no, this city holds too many dark memories for me, and it’s a bad influence, I’m starting to realise. But now I know it I’m finally understanding that it’s a little too late to pull myself back from the brink.

Damn it … what the hell was I thinking answering that letter? Why did I bring them all here in the first place? I should have just ignored it the moment I saw that bloody seal, even before I tore it open. Just tossed the whole thing in the fire, unopened. Saved myself and my friends the pain.

Gripping the knife a little tighter, I lower it slowly, sucking a slow breath in through my nostrils while my mouth stays stubbornly clamped shut thanks to my tension. Meanwhile I flex my free hand the best I can, trying to work a little slack into my fingers now, worried I might be too tight right now. Getting too worked up right now probably isn’t the best thing.

It’s never really that quiet down here, I’ve noticed since I’ve started to become familiar with this place. The people trapped in the makeshift cells have largely learned to keep themselves as quiet as they can in order to escape the worst ire of their guards, but even so there’s still the odd sob and moan that manages to carry under the doors or through the keyholes. Then there are Jammund’s folk, who make no such efforts, happy being as loud as they want as they make their way through, more than a few, I think, even making an effort to be louder than they have to just to keep their prisoners suitably cowed. I’ve heard them jump on the tiniest peep when they’re close, some just battering on the doors and yelling for silence, while others will harangue them, or even worse if they feel inclined. I understand they’re under strict orders to keep them all alive, but that clearly doesn’t mean they have to be comfortable.

That being said, there’s quiet enough that I pick up on the approaching footsteps easily enough even before whoever’s coming turns the corner and makes their way towards me. I let my breath go slow, finally working on prying my jaws apart as I do it, and a little dark haze of smoke still manages to escape when I do it, letting me know the furnace is still churning even if I couldn’t already feel it hot in my chest. I don’t sheath my knife as I originally planned to now, instead just letting it hang between my knees as I finally look up.

Tavarrat starts to slow as she sees me watching her approach, the frown that was already on her face tightening even though her confidence immediately begins to fade. She’s not carrying her staff now, I notice, although she’s still wearing the sword I noticed her favouring earlier, her hands conspicuously empty now, fingers worrying at each other as she starts to wring them. Her eyes go straight to the knife, I notice.

She’s alone, too, which surprises me most. After what happened most recently between us I would have thought Vandryss would have been close behind her.

“Oh, um …” She starts to nibble on her lip as she stumbles a little to a half-hearted stop a significant stretch short of me. Definitely still well out of range, I see. “Mistress Mallys, I didn’t expect … um … I thought that –”

“Well it’s nice to hear you’re still capable of doing that, at least.” I don’t even try to keep the edge out of my words as I essentially growl them. “What do you want?”

Her eyes slowly shift from the knife up to my face, narrowing a little as that frown tightens again. She’s still startled but I think some of her former fire might be coming back now. “I have to … Vandryss asked me to … to finish restraining Foxtail. The younger one. She doesn’t want them to have any more –”

“No, I don’t think so.” I let a little more cold menace slip into my words now as I narrow my eyes. “I think you’ve done enough to that poor kid in there. You damn near killed them once already, I think they’ve earned an opportunity to recover. I definitely don’t approve of you hanging them off the wall like their father.”

Tavarrat purses her lips now, her fingers still twitching together, but something about the way they seem to move with a little more purpose now puts me on my guard. She’s a wizard after all, whether she’s a rogue from the Order or not. She’s dangerous, and even the possibility she might decide to try something to get her way after all makes my grip tighten almost without my asking it to first. “Mistress Mallys, I don’t think … I shouldn’t have to remind you that –”

“Don’t make me remind you, Tavarrat. Please.” I start to bunch up the muscles in my thighs now, sitting forward in the chair a little more so I can spring forward fast if I have to. She might be out of reach but the distance between us really isn’t so great I couldn’t still cover it in two swift, sprinting steps if I had to. It wouldn’t be the first time I had to use violence to stop a wizard before they could utter an incantation or prepare the components or a sigil for a spell. “Just fuck off before you do something stupid.”

She opens her mouth and I almost launch myself out of the chair right there, only for another voice to stop us both: “Luthan, y’all right there?”

Jammund steps close as she visibly stiffens, something I don’t quite catch sparking between her fingers as what might have been the start of a spell probably just fizzles out before it can be completed. He’s looking past her at me as he lets his grizzled, knotty old seafarer’s hand rest on the worn hilt of the sabre on his hip, a slightly quirking brow the only thing revealing some small consternation as she examines the broken standoff. I let myself settle back onto the seat now, lowering the knife but not loosening my fingers just yet, looking right back at him while keeping my face as stony as it was before.

“Oh … Orric, I …” Tavarrat splutters awkwardly as she stumbles on the spot, seeming to deflate even as she falters. “No … I mean yes … or … I don’t know, I was just … this isn’t what it looks like, really, it was just …”

His thick salt-and-pepper brow lifts a little higher as he turns back to her, not saying a word, just waiting for her to continue, and this seems to finish her off, really. Finally she just lets a heavy sigh go and lets her body slump back against the wall, sagging but still staying upright enough she doesn’t drop on the spot.

“I came to fetch you, for Pilehr.” He keeps his tone soothing, I notice, but maybe there’s a little steel in it even so, enough to exercise some authority over the situation now. “Back in the tunnels, she needs your help. They’ve finished setting up, but they still want your help with the final preparations. I don’t understand exactly what that means, but then she said it was more your kind of thing anyway, so …”

“No, that’s … quite right, yes.” She licks her lips as she pushes herself away from the wall again, straightening up now as she self-consciously smooths her robes down, and lets a more shallow breath go as she starts to move back the way she came before. “Perhaps I should come back –"

Before she can pass him Jammund shoots out his hand and takes hold of her arm, gripping tight enough to hold her but not enough to hurt. When she looks up in surprise he seems to falter, stuck for words for a beat, and he avoids her eyes for as long, too. “Just wait. For a moment.”

Something about the way she seems to soften when he finally looks at her again … I remember I saw something of this when I first met them, and again after they captured Gael, a deeper connection than mere professional association. He’s so gentle around her, it’s an interesting contrast. Now he reaches up to touch her face, but stops short, reluctant now, and his eyes flicker my way for just the split of a second. As if they’re deeply self-conscious about revealing any of this connection in the company of a relative stranger like me.

She starts to speak, but then checks herself, and he goes instead after clearing his throat, seeming more self-conscious now. “Just … I’m sorry. I am. I know it don’t feel … it was them. Not that young one, in there, they were already here. She’s right. Just let ‘em rest. Wait until … I dunno. Let things calm down a bit first. We got more pressing concerns.”

That makes her frown a little, and she regards him for a long beat, her lips pursed now, but finally she looks down, starting to nibble on her bottom lip again. “I … all right. Yes. It can wait. Just … can you handle Vandryss? I don’t know if … if I can …”

Reaching up again, he doesn’t hesitate this time, letting his hand rest on her cheek as he leans in close, letting his forehead rest against hers as she looks up again. “Yeah. You just go help Pilehr and the others. If Van finds you first just send her to talk to me.”

Nodding, she starts to pull away, but before she can leave he stops her again and gives her a quick kiss. It’s a light one, closed mouth, just on the lips, but this feels intimate enough, and when he does let her go she falters for a moment, her cheeks immediately colouring as her eyes flash to mine. Then she turns away quickly and scampers off, almost like she just wants to get away from any judgement now.

When I look up at him he’s just frowning after her, and it just seems to deepen when he turns to me, folding her arms immediately as he adjusts his footing. Not moving any closer, I see, but not backing away, either. He’s a long moment regarding me, his eyes finally lingering on the knife still in my hand that I finally, slowly slip away into its sheath again, mostly just by touch this time.

“You’re busy then, I take it.” I venture after a moment, finally sitting back as I fold my own arms close across my chest.

“Whole place is, looks like. Upstairs, the big boss is busy with his fancy theatre bollocks. Never seen much point in it all myself, but I’m told he rakes in a shitload o’ cash for it, all the rich folk in town go gaga for this stuff. So good on ‘im for it. Long as he makes sure he pays me for all the shit me an’ mine do for ‘im, we’re golden.”

Ah yes, the play. I remember when we came in, the whole backstage was absolutely bustling madly with the madcap activity of mounting this first matinee performance, following last night’s opening. I had a little bit of a start, just for a moment, on the way in, when I saw a half-naked, very bloody young man walk past me with nothing more than a pensive look as he excused himself for pushing through. It was only the fact that he smelled distractingly sweet that told me this wasn’t real blood, merely some false approximation made from what I could only guess is some kind of syrup. That and the fact that no-one else seemed remotely alarmed by this horrifying visage walking amongst them.

What kind of play opens with a bloody man, I cannot begin to fathom. Apparently this is from a Tektehran playwright, though, so it makes a certain twisted sense.

We can hear it now, periodically, even from all the way down here, three levels down. It’s not very clear, the music from the orchestra is little more than an occasional rising thrum of vaguely tuneful sounds, mostly when it swells, I imagine. The audience themselves are clearer, their occasional response to a particularly well-played or inspired moment announcing itself with their applause sounding like a sudden muffled rush of surf, only to fade and not return again. At least not immediately.

“And what about you stealing all their storage space?” I wonder now, looking up towards the ceiling now, just for a beat. “Has that not inconvenienced them at all? Given how important this must be to our employer, after all.”

“I dunno, Vandryss sorted it all out, the space was already available for us. If there were any complaints I never heard ‘em.”

“No, I suppose not. There are times I have to wonder who’s actually in charge in this.”

Jammund eyes me carefully for another beat before responding. “How d’you mean?”

“Well, I mean … I was called in by Hontiresk, because of what I used to do, even if he did put me and mine at your disposal for this. It’s his coin that’s bought our services. But your … pale friend seems to be the one calling the shots in this, and he’s going to startling lengths to pretend that her more … extreme actions are acceptable. Almost as if he’s trying to convince himself that it’s acceptable while he scrambles to cover for her. That feels an awful lot like being beholden to someone.”

“Aye, well that ain’t any o’ my business. Van’s working with me in this, not the big boss.” His tone doesn’t change in the slightest, still as guarded as ever, and his frown speaks volumes all on its own.

“With? Really?” I cock a brow at that. “So if you were to tell her that murdering half the Hill last night was going too far, she’d actually listen to you on it? Perhaps alter her behaviour moving forward accordingly?”

He doesn’t answer me this time, his eyes wandering towards the door behind me instead. His mouth works sourly as he does it.

“Who is she to you? Really? Why can’t you see she’s insane, or monstrous, or just plain wrong?”

Again, he just looks me over for a long beat, his frown deeper than ever. There’s a particular coldness to his eyes now that I realise I’ve seen a few times now, and I’m starting to get the feeling that despite the warmth he projects, he might be a deal flintier than I originally thought. I start to wonder how different he really is from Vandryss, and I’m not sure if I’d really like the answer. “Van’s … doing what she needs to. To keep things on track. This was all working smooth ‘til these folk turned up, now it’s gone to shit. An’ it keeps getting worse. I’d remind you that you got a job to do too in this.”

“That’s …” I have to pause, taking a deep breath to bite back the curse that wants to come, rising to a bait I’m not sure is actually being cast. I grit my teeth and order my thoughts the best I can before continuing, stopping just short of counting down too. “I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate. These people aren’t what we were told they were, this is a good deal more complicated than we were first led to believe. After what happened on the Heath we’ve had to step back and rethink our approach somewhat.”

Cocking a brow, he regards me for another beat. “I dunno, can’t help thinking it looks more like you’re half-arsing it to me. Like you maybe ain’t really committed to this, ‘spite taking the big boss’ money. Meanwhile our folk are dying, an’ they’re all still alive. So far you lot ain’t done shit.”

“Your colleague was an unfortunate loss, of course, but –”

“Gran weren’t just a colleague. He was a friend, to all of us. Damn loyal lad, he was. Luthan knew him best, they were damn close, reckon he would’ve done anything for her. Definitely would’ve died for her if he could. ‘Stead he got cut down for nothin’, it was just a waste.” He looks down at the floor, working his mouth again, still bitter, and I think he’s fighting the urge to spit now. “Y’know we were all he had left?”

“No.” I say it very quietly, careful s I barely breathe the word. I’m not sure where this is going, or if I like it at all. “I don’t … I didn’t know him, really.”

“Course you didn’t. We’re strangers to y’all, when it comes down to it. But then it’s mostly same with you for us too, I s’pose. Refik brought you in for this, didn’t really have much to do with me really, but …” He looks up again. “Gran got kicked out the Guild, maybe five years ago? Hard to keep track, I s’pose, ‘least in this line o’ work. Spot o’ bother with his old folk back at the Arrowhead. Not sure what would’ve happened to him if he hadn’t known Luthan from before. She brought him in, and I put him to work. We gave him somewhere to belong, and folk to belong with.”

“But … he really was with the Thieves Guild then? I thought that he’d just … I mean, I understand some of your other people were using –”

“No, he was the real deal. A prowler, in fact, if you can believe it. Big lad like him. ‘Course they mostly just used him for muscle.”

That makes me frown, genuinely surprised now. I remember he was very large, even for a full-blooded orc. I mean, of course, compared to Suret he would still have been somewhat small, but compared to most … I shake my head. “But … that doesn’t make a lot of sense, I thought the Guild was like … they’re not really something you just leave, and to actually be ejected, surely that’s unheard of. Wouldn’t they have just killed him?”

“Gran never really talked about it, not even with Luthan, although she worked out enough to have an idea. Looks like somebody pulled some strings, made sure he was allowed to just slip away. ‘Course he had to keep a low profile after, but it weren’t like that was too difficult for him. When he came to us, I put him to work doing more what he’d actually been trained for, an’ I reckon he was happier for it, too. Rest o’ the time he’d watch out for Luthan, and I was happy to let him do that to.” He shrugs. “He was more’n just a bodyguard to her, though. They got real close. She’s cut up something fierce about what happened, so you can understand she … ain’t exactly thinking things through right now.”

“Yes, I can understand that. But that doesn’t mean …” Again I stop myself, taking another sharper breath as I look down at my hands, working my fingers with cold frustration. “What happened … that can’t be allowed to dictate what happens in that room. I hope you can understand that I cannot allow her to make a foolish mistake based on anger or grief and do something which puts all of us in danger of the kind of retaliation we can’t walk away from. The cost of killing one of the Order in cold blood like that will dog our steps for the rest of our lives, no matter how hard we try to hide. I need you to understand that I cannot let her back in that room. Not now.” I fix him with my sharpest look now. “And definitely not Vandryss. Even before your friend was killed … after what she did on the Hill, she should never be allowed in that room again after that.”

“So you’re just gonna sit here forever, then? Kill anybody who tries to go in? That your plan?”

This time I’m the one to cock my brow, setting my jaw now as I let a growl into my voice. “I’d rather not, but under the circumstances …”

He falls silent again, just cocking his head as he regards me more critically, shrewd now, but his eyes have become colder than I’ve ever seen them before. There’s something genuinely dangerous in them now, I realise. Perhaps I’m making another enemy here, taking this stand in his place of work.

Then he lets out a heavy sigh and pushes himself away from the wall again, looking down at the floor now. “I’ll talk with Van, make sure she don’t mess with the young wizard, and goes easy on the elder. Luthan’ll do what I ask her to do, even if this, you don’t have to worry ‘bout her.” He looks up again, still frowning, but it seems less intense now, at least. “So if you could find the time to focus your efforts on the job at hand like you was hired for, reckon it’d be appreciated. Sure make things easier round here. ‘Specially for the Foxtails.”

I can’t help my eyes narrowing as I look him over now, too wary to just agree to his terms, but he starts to turn away instead, and then I see Trouble’s coming now. She’s balancing a tray carrying a heaped plate of sandwiches with a pitcher and a cup on it, taking care as she goes since she’s doing it one-handed while carrying her sword in her other. I’ve a mind to tell her to just strap it to her back like she does when we’re travelling but under the circumstances I’m not sure that’s really the smartest move. She might still need to draw it in a hurry.

“Appreciate you hearing me out, anyway.” He turns the rest of the way and starts heading off down the corridor now, barely slowing to give Trouble a quick look over before letting her pass. She stops once he has, looking back to watch him walk away, before finally turning back to me and giving me a quizzical look.

“Did I miss something?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” I push myself upright again, giving my back a little stretch as she walks up to me. “It’s just as likely we just made it worse. But he does have a point.”

“About what?”

Trying not to grimace, I turn to look back at the door, already regretting what this is probably going to mean for that poor kid trapped behind it. “That we have a job to do. Gods help us … we really don’t have much choice there.”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 21 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 20

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY: ART

“I wondered where you’d gotten to.” Shay takes me somewhat by surprise as she drops onto the step a noticeable distance from me, clearly wanting to respect my boundaries right now even though she’s still sitting close enough to be friendly. Prob’ly she knows me well enough to know I ain’t gonna turn her away no matter what kinda mood I’m in, we’re too good friends for that now. And I could use the company. Maybe I been beating myself up a little too much since we got back, and more so after that interrogation …

Fuck, that didn’t go well. I mean it did, I scared the hell outta that nasty bitch in there and she gave up everything she could, even went so far as to agree to draw us a map o’ the tunnels, ‘least as much as she knows about navigating ‘em. Including the route from the Late Bone to the Playhouse, which is helpful. Although it’s still up in the air exactly what the plan actually is there, so I ain’t had much of an idea what I gotta do for prep. So I’m just taking care of everything instead.

After I left the interrogation I saw Darwyn back to the infirmary, leaving her with the healers so they could try and get her back to fighting fitness again in case we really are gonna go tonight. I still ain’t comfortable about the idea of her coming, not so soon after she took that wound, but she’s insistent, downright indignant about it really, and even Kesla found it hard to really argue too hard about it, the way she got. Although she did insist Darwyn at least catch a few hours o’ sleep after, just to give her some peace of mind. Not that I’m too confident she’ll actually do that.

Meanwhile I went back to my own room, having heard the temple’s staff had gone to our hotel to collect the remainder of our gear alongside our horses to bring here since we’re making this place our base of operations moving forward. Finding my own admittedly spartan luggage waiting for me, I sorted through it for my duffle and, having collected my gear, went in search of somewhere good and quiet for me to set up for my prep-work. I thought about going into the library, finding a quiet corner in there to work, but in the end decided against it. Didn’t feel like a clever move setting up my full armoury on one o’ the big tables in there to give my blades a good polish and sharpen, reckon it would’ve sent the wrong message.

In the end I found this nifty little spot in the endlessly surprising environs of the temple’s uncannily oversized architecture, once again baffling me with the way it’s so much bigger than it has any right to be looking at the building from outside. Like the fact there’s a whole open, grassy space somewhere in the middle of it all. Granted, it ain’t really a garden, there ain’t flowerbeds or even any bushes or little trees, just an open cloister with a stretch o’ grass surrounded by raised white-stone paving, with a pool in the middle. It’s a glorified font really, maybe ten feet across with two foot walls round it, but when I had a look in it before I set up I saw weeds and lily-pads in it, with frogs and coy fish swimming about in the surprisingly clear water. Clearly it’s intended to be a calming, tranquil place, for folk to come and unwind when they get stressed. Seemed the right place for me, then.

So I settled on the edge of the clipped lawn and laid my oilcloth out in front of me, then set the entirety of my collection out on it so I could go over all of it, seeing what might need tending to, and what I might wanna give a courtesy clean anyway, for my own peace of mind. Including the my battle armour, now I finally got it to hand again. I’d made a decent amount of headway by the time Shay found me.

She sets her own more modest pack aside and stretches her legs in front of her, giving arching her back a little as she leans on her arms, shoulders back too. I can’t help watching her as she does it, she’s an incredibly beautiful woman and this seemingly casual, mostly unconscious act is a very sexy thing to watch. Then she catches me looking and I turn back to my own work, frowning in frustration as I try to get my mind off such thoughts again. Honestly I ain’t really in the mood for it right now.

Instead I pick up my rag again and the oil bottle, upending it into the cloth before setting it aside and taking up my sword again. I pause for a beat before starting to polish the freshly honed blade, looking down its length first one side, then the other, one last check for any nicks I might’ve missed. I don’t put the rag to it until I’m entirely satisfied. Not that it’s doing my mood any more favours …

“How are you finding my old sword, by the way?”

I give her a quick sidelong glance after a beat, sat forward again now, stripped down to her under-armour again, and it’s fitted good and snug, fashioned just as well as that miraculous mail she got from Hurrig Stormshield back in Bavat. She looks as striking out of it as in, the way it’s all been put together.

But it’s her face I’m reading now, I can’t help it. It might’ve sounded like a casual, friendly off-hand query, but I’m getting to know her well enough I can read her underlying mood. She’s worried about me now, I’d have to be an idiot not to pick up on it. After what I did in that backroom I ain’t surprised.

“It’s serving real nice, all things considered.” I manage to keep my voice light and level, not clenching my teeth any, at least. “Now I got used to the difference in heft and balance, I’m getting real comfortable with it. To be honest, it’s actually better than my old one, ‘least in terms o’ reach. It’s a real nice piece of smithing. Good as Guild work, even.”

“Yeah, da insisted I have a fine set of blades when I grew old enough for them. He had them made to order, in Hocknar, one of their best forges. A nice family place, they’ve been doing it for quite a few generations, he said.”

That has me grinning, even though I can’t vouch for there being much real humour in it, not right now. “Shit … wouldn’t happen to have been the Merphin shop, would it?”

Shay raises her brows at that. “Impressive guess, how did you –”

“We go there ourselves, they’re real good friends of ours.” I turn the sword over and start on the other side, watching what I’m doing now given how sharp I like to keep my steel. “Kesla’s known ‘em all for years. She says one o’ their ancestors trained under dwarves, in their own forges, so he handed some pretty serious knowledge down the generations.”

“I can see that.” Shay nods, reaching over and picking her pack up again so she can open it in her lap. “Most of my own blades came from there, I’d say. I take good care of them, but honestly a lot of the time I don’t really have to do that much work to keep them keen, this really is almost as good as real dwarven forged steel.”

Nodding along myself, I carefully test the edge with my thumb, giving the blade a gentle flick as I do and listening to the subtle, mildly tuneful little ring it produces. “Yeah, it is. Beautiful work. You’re sure you don’t want it back?”

She watches me for a beat before answering, and I can’t really tell what she’s thinking in that moment. “What, you want to swap it for Ashsong’s blade, maybe? I can’t say I’d be entirely adverse to the idea, this damn vampire steel still makes me a little uncomfortable.”

“Thorin no. No thank you. I handled it enough for one lifetime, I reckon.” I can’t keep the edge out my voice this time, the thought of what I did with it up there in the tavern gives me chills enough to shudder.

Again, she don’t answer right away, looking at me with an even more critical eye now, and I know full well she’s seeing right through whatever flimsy façade I managed to put up before now. She can tell how much on edge I am right now, how little the usual calming process of tending to my steel has managed to dull it. I manage not to crumple the rag in my fist, instead just setting it aside on the step while I pick up the scabbard instead and guide the point into the throat before sliding her former sword home again. Then I have to take a moment to flex my paw before I can draw the long knife again, trying to work the tension out my fingers now I’m suddenly so tight again.

“That’s all right. I suppose it’s like you with my old sword. I am still getting used to it, but … it does serve very well indeed, despite the quirks.” She’s concentrating on her own business right now, at least, although it’s clear enough she’s just going out of her way to make me feel better now, help me calm down some. She starts taking things out her own pack now, producing a cleaning kit and a bundle of rags which she lays out in front before reaching back in, finally coming out with her own tightly bundled oilcloth.

Finally drawing the knife, I look it over for a few moments, trying to use the job at hand to take my mind off what’s not being said right now. I did a decent enough job earlier wiping this clean, but there’s still odd traces of gore from those I killed in the tavern, and I’d be remiss to not give the edge a few courtesy strokes with the whetstone anyway, just to be safe. So I give the weapon a little flip, not really even thinking about it when I do so, letting it spin once in the air before catching it underhand, then again the other way to catch it the right way up again. All while retrieving the dry cloth without even looking for it with my left paw. I catch Shay watching me doing this through the corner of my eye, cocking her brow a little, but she don’t say anything more, leaving me to continue.

We sit as we are for maybe two or three minutes, just getting on with our own work here, me scrubbing at the blade with the rougher cloth after spitting on the stains, while she just starts sorting through her own gear. I sort of watch her do it as I work, mostly out of curiosity, seeing her own collection of blades is more modest but still very well made, and I’m reminded about where she got ‘em all from. Finally she selects one of her longest knives and takes up her own cloth to start cleaning. Meanwhile I can sense she wants to say something again, so I just concentrate on what I’m doing while I wait.

“So, you think the tunnels are the best bet, then?”

Looking up, I find her just scrubbing away at her blade, a subtle frown tightening her brows, almost like she never spoke at all. “Better’n you an’ Kesla going in the front door at the Playhouse. Sounds proper risky, y’ask me. Didn’t she already go there earlier today? I mean if they already know what she looks like –”

“I think Lady Naru’s going to try something, some kind of spell, maybe. To make her look different. Besides, she says they’re not that likely to be looking at her anyway. She says most of those highborn types don’t really look at the Help at these kinds of events, they only have eyes for their own peers.”

That has me chuckling a little, the idea that Kesla could be anyone’s servant. “So she actually agreed to the bodyguard idea, then?”

“She’s definitely big enough. And it means she’ll be able to explain away her weapons with ease at the door. If they do ask in the first place. I mean, they didn’t say anything about that being an actual rule, having to check your arms at the door, so …”

“But you have to leave your armour behind. Both of you. Kesla can’t be happy about that.”

“She’ll still have her jack on underneath everything else. I suspect it’s better than going in naked.” She frowns a little deeper now as she puts down her cloth and takes up her whetstone. “I’m the one who’s going in there with naught but the clothes on my back.”

“Yeah, but you’re the distraction. An’ I reckon you’re gonna be real effective.”

Cocking her brow again, she gives me a look as she ponders me for a long beat. “I’m not sure if that’s really a compliment, Art. Coming from you I can never really tell.”

Grinning back, I manage a decent amount of humour, at least. More than I really feel. “Enough o’ one, I reckon. You’re real easy on the eyes, Shay. You get scrubbed up and pandered and put on one o’ them fancy rich lady dresses and you’re definitely gonna turn a big bunch o’ heads when you go in there. Which is definitely the point.”

The look she gives me as she proper glares now is even colder. “Better get that mind of yours out of the gutter, Art of Shadows. I don’t think either your old flame or your new intended would appreciate this talk about someone you consider a friend.” She points at me with her knife in punctuation.

That has me frowning, mostly just because, now I’m finally working on getting it clear in my head how I feel, I’m a little frustrated she really can read me that well. I mean I suspected, but still … “I don’t mean it like that. Promise. I mean … hey, I got eyes, and you do wear your gear real tight, Shay. I mean I get it, if it fits well it can be real helpful, but … y’know …” I try not to scowl too much as I take up my own whetstone now and spit on it, wanting to just concentrate on sharpening this blade now.

She starts her own sharpening first, but I’m joining her within a few strokes, and soon enough we’re falling into a comfortable rhythm. And now, finally, the work starts to soothe me, ‘least a little. So I go with the steady beat of what we’re doing, letting my breathing settle in time with it, and soon enough the comfortable silence growing between us seems to finally start to do its intended work on my nerves too.

“Ah, there you are.”

When I look up Tulen’s already sweeping our way across the lawn, holding a large platter before her as she navigates round the pool. I can already smell what’s on it, the mouth-watering signature of bacon, sausages, chicken and roast beef immediately setting my stomach to gurgling. To be honest, I’d entirely forgotten about food in the time since we got back from the tavern. But then I had other, much darker things on my mind …

Trying to push that down into the back of my mind, I turn the knife over and look down the line to inspect the edges, checking for any lingering nicks. Nothing major, but then, like the sword it came with, this is uncannily well forged. Merphin steel … I’ll be damned.

“Good afternoon.” Shay has a slight quizzical tone to match her expression as she watches the young wizard approach. “I would’ve thought you’d be with Sessa again, instead of … whatever it is you’re doing.” She looks down at her own knife, frowning a touch as she inspects it close, then sets down the stone so she can pick up the sheath and slot it home again.

“Kesla came to find me a little while ago, to inform me that we have …” She frowns too as she stops a little short of us. “Um … well, at least the beginning of a plan. She wasn’t particularly clear, just said that she was sorry, but she would very much appreciate if I could be of assistance. She said she understood if I wasn’t up to it, but …”

“She had a tone, right?” I venture, trying not to his with subtle second-hand frustration. “Not exactly unfriendly, just …”

“I didn’t want to disappoint her. And Sessa’s awake again, properly so. She’s still not …” She takes a breath as she must try to order her thoughts, and this just makes her frown even more. “She’s still not out of the woods yet, but … she’s well enough, at least, that she knows her own mind again. And she insisted, after Kesla left. She told me that she understood too, that I’d made a commitment, to Gael at least if not the rest of you, and because I was in a position to help, that I really should. So …” She shrugs now, ‘least as much as she can still holding that big load. Sandwiches, looks like. Not exactly a bunch of ‘em, looking at it I suspect she’s been round some o’ the others before she got here, but there’s still enough for more’n just us two.

“Put that down, Tulen.” Shay finally sighs, pointing with another knife now, the twin of the other one. She indicates the open spot on the steps between us. “Sit. Please. I think you might want some of that yourself. I’m sure Art could.”

As if it’s been listening to her as well, my stomach chooses that moment to produce a particularly prominent gurgle. Not for the first time, I’m real thankful I got fur so they can’t see my face flush in response.

Even so, I catch Shay smiling just a little, a cocked half o’ one at least, as she inspects the blade, then simply shrugs before sticking it right back into its scabbard again. Tulen seems mostly oblivious to my embarrassment, at least, but then she’s taking her up on the offer, taking the last few steps before carefully setting the platter down close to me. Then she looks down at her robes for a beat, brushing them off before hitching ‘em a little as she turns round so she can sit down on the far side of the tray from me. Immediately looking over what’s left of the selection before picking one of the substantial rolls up before turning it round a few times between her fingers, frowning again as she just looks at it.

“Y’all right there, luv?” I give her a sidelong look even as I’m reaching out, mostly trusting touch and my sense of smell now to find what I’m after as I make my own selection from the platter. One o’ the roast beef ones, turns out. With mustard, smells like. Interesting.

“Kesla said you found something when you went out again. While we went to the Playhouse, on her little ruse. The distraction.”

Shooting a look at Shay, I see she’s already watching me, wary again. Like she’s being careful reading me, checking if I’m about to break after all. Great …

Again, I take great care with how I present myself as I take a breath, keeping my teeth apart so I don’t hiss when I do it, even if part o’ me want to. “We found a bunch o’ stuff, actually. Maybe a way into that Playhouse, a secret tunnel. And some more prisoners too. One of ‘em was real helpful.” I manage to keep the edge from my voice as I say that last part. Again reminded what I did in that room.

Krakka was on the ball there, at least, but then I had enough presence o’ mind I didn’t cut her too deep, even if I kinda wanted to. She was … she made me angry, sure, and I can’t say she didn’t deserve what I gave her, but … no, Shay was right, what I did was out of order. Krakka may have healed that cut right up in a relative blink, no reason for Shul to find out and start giving me the cold shoulder well as Kesla, but even so … it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I had Gael on my mind, and I was still smarting ‘bout what I did upstairs in the tavern. She got under my skin and I just lost it.

Wanting to distract myself, I take a big bite of the sandwich, hoping I ain’t really lost my appetite just as I found it again. Thankfully the taste alone’s enough to revive what might’ve died, like everything else I had here so far this is also damn fine food. It’s particularly good mustard, not too sharp, but a good accompaniment to the rich, well-done beef, and the rolls are still kinda warm, which just enhances the flavour. I start chewing with gusto now, almost willing this food to work its trick to get my mind back on track too.

“Yes. She also mentioned that there will be a performance tonight, at the Playhouse. That new play that Hontiresk is so pleased with acquiring. She said you were thinking of using it as cover to get inside.” When I look up I see she’s watching Shay now, and that she still ain’t taken a bite of her own sandwich yet. “Apparently the two of you might be going in the front door? I’m not sure I understood that right, she wasn’t really very clear –”

Shay frowns again as she looks up from what she was doing this time, now going over her armour, it looks like. Thinking about cleaning her own blood and the caked dust from the mail, I reckon. Even though she won’t be using it for this, if she really is gonna go with Kesla’s plan. “She thought it might be clever if I were to attend the performance as a patron, with her as my bodyguard. I understand Cafi Sirsk is setting us up with some tickets, good ones. For the fancy seats, she said. I don’t know what that actually means, I don’t know much about the theatre –”

“Oh, of course …” Tulen don’t exactly put the roll down, but she still lets it settle on her lap, still clutched in her hands, as she nods, sitting back a little now. She don’t seem much reassured, even if she does understand better now. More’n me, anyway. “She means some box seats, with the nobles, I think. That must mean … oh, but that would be foolish. I mean, why would she want to get closer to Hontiresk?”

“That’s not exactly the plan.” Shay finally gets up and starts to move round to the tray now, dusting her backside off as she goes. “While you all sneak your way in, we’re going to try and find a way backstage, once the play’s begun. But Kesla wants to be up there just in case there’s any sign that they might already be onto us, that way if we do have to do anything we’ll already be close to him.”

“But …” Tulen looks up at her with clear worry now while the half-orc just leans forward to inspect the selection, finally picking what looks like one of the chicken sandwiches. She takes a bite while she’s still straightening up. “I don’t think … we can’t cause a major incident in there, the Oceanic Playhouse, it’s … even if we don’t get caught, the Order could still –”

“We’re doing this for Gael, remember?” I speak up for Shay while she’s still chewing, looking down thoughtfully at the wizard. “We know they’re there, her an’ her da, that woman good as said it already. Means those bastards have already fucked with the Order twice now, so if we’re working for ‘em then we’re within our right to do this. Besides, Hontiresk already fucked with the Authority in a major way letting Vandryss pull her shit. This could almost be called payback.”

“Retribution, more like.” Shay offers up a kinda withering look.

“Yeah, well … colour me proper unbothered.” I just shrug back at her. “He asked for it.”

“Are you in?” Shay’s turned to Tulen now, and while she’s looking more stoic now, I can pick up a little hope hiding behind her expression all the same. “Lady Naru’s on board, but we could still do with another mage, just in case things get sporty in there. Which they probably will. Especially if those mercs are there.”

Frowning now, Tulen looks from her to me, then back again, before finally just staring off across the cloister for a long beat, seeming to consider. “Yes. Of course. For Gael, of course I am. I’m just … you know, I’m saying what everyone should at least be thinking. This could cause some serious problems if it goes wrong.”

Dropping onto the step right beside her, Shay just snakes her arm round her shoulder and gives her a little crush, smiling now. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. But as long as we get them back it’ll be worth any repercussions. And frankly, I really don’t care very much about that anyway. It’s not my city, I have no stakes here. All I care about are my friends.”

Tulen looks at her now, considering, then finally lets a sigh go and manages a tentative smile. “Yes. Me too.” She looks down at the roll in her hands, turning it over again, and while she frowns again, the smile stays. “Maybe I should accompany you both. I could –”

“No, Kesla would rather you hung back with the others. She already thought about it, and she knew you would ask. Hontiresk and his people already got a look at her, so while she will be in disguise she’d rather not run any more risks with you too. You do stand out, after all.”

“I do?” She turns to look my way now, a little beseeching now.

“Yeah.” I just nod as I offer up my own opinion. “You really do.”

Turning back, Tulen looks the half-orc over now. “So do you, though.”

Giving me a sharp side-eye now, Shay looks ready to hiss now but just lets it go in a heavy sigh instead. “That’s been mentioned too, but I didn’t go to the Playhouse, so they shouldn’t know me. And I’m going to look …” She works her mouth for a beat, like she don’t really like the words. “Different too.”

“A disguise? Like Kesla? Or …” Tulen gives her one more look over, then her brows rise as realisation dawns. “Oh, right. Because –”

“She’s hot.” I almost chuckle as the words just slip out, and as it is I can’t help a wicked grin.

Tulen’s cheeks darken immediately, while Shay just glares round at me now, looking ready to spit venom but holding back instead. “Oh …” the young wizard breathes, then she cocks her brow, more thoughtful now, even in her bashfulness. “I mean … it’s true. You are. Very attractive indeed. Did Kesla not already –”

“She was a little more … diplomatic with her words.” Shay growls through gritted teeth. “It’s not something I’m used to, but … Lady Naru says she can help me out with that.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure she can.” Tulen nods now. “I could as well, of course. I mean, it’s not really my area of expertise, I’m not really …” She falters again, her bashfulness persisting. “But I do understand the concept. Before the Academy, I was born and raised in a noble household. Long enough I learned some of the expectations that might otherwise have been placed on me if …”

“You’ll be welcome, of course.” Reckon Shay might agree as much just to save her from getting any more flustered. Finally she just gives her another little squeeze, more companionable now. “And it’ll be fun, yeah? Like … I don’t know. I suspect you’d have a better idea about it even so.”

Honestly, it’s all I can do to keep a straight enough face while she gives me a rather hot look now, clearly sensing my amusement. In the end I just take another bite of my sandwich, and after a beat she does the same.

“Does that mean the rest of us are all going to be going in through the tunnels then?” Tulen wonders after finally taking a bite of her own sandwich and giving it a more thoughtful chew. “While you and Kesla forge ahead by … I don’t know, hiding in plain sight?”

I carefully set what’s left of my roll on the very edge of the closest corner of my oilcloth and take a moment to give my paws a careful wipe across my thighs. “Some of us. We’re gonna head in in two groups. Me an’ a few others’ll take the tunnels, but Zul’s gonna try an’ find a way in from the back with the rest. Reckon since you are coming it’ll be a mage with either group, but we ain’t worked out who’s who just yet, beyond the leads. You’re welcome to make your own choice there, if you want.”

Chewing on her latest mouthful, Tulen watches me for a moment, considering now. Finally she quirks a brow. “If you’ll have me I’d be happy to come with you. I should imagine going in through the tunnels makes that the most likely route for us to find where they’re keeping the prisoners, so –”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I nod along. “That’ll be where they’re keeping Gael. Be good to have a friendly face coming along for that.”

That makes her frown, looking down now as she swallows a little more ponderously than I’d like. Making the same connection I already did, no doubt. By tonight, Gael will have been gone three days straight, in the clutches o’ some damn nasty folk, Vandryss especially. I don’t wanna think about the kinda hell they been through in that time, but I can’t help it, and I know her oldest, best friend can’t either. I remember what she said before, that Gael … they ain’t soft, but there’s a fragility there all the same, ‘least enough they might be broken when we find ‘em ...

Gods … I hope that ain’t true, but I know how little that kinda hope’s worth. I didn’t get a close up look at that evil bitch like Shay did, but what I heard from her and Kesla’s enough to let me know we’re dealing with a real monster. We don’t really know what she’s actually capable of, but it’s easy enough to guess. Even though I sure wouldn’t ever want to.

So I just pick the whetstone and knife back up, looking the blade over once more before spitting so I can start honing again. Taking a deep breath as I do it, working on centring myself to regain some calm from what I’m doing. Mindful now I can feel eyes on me again.

Even so, Tulen’s a few drawn-out moments speaking again, and when she does she’s hesitant enough. “Kesla said … when we talked, she told me you found more than just what we talked about there. In the tavern. She … um … she said that …”

Letting the breath go in a long hiss, I keep stroking away at that edge, listening to the sharp little scratch and watching the subtle sparking of rough stone over already keen steel. “I killed Gran.”

Again, I hear her gulp, more pronounced now. More worried. “Yeah … that’s … what she said. Um … are you –”

“Y’know I was actually a little older than him? Maybe a few months, ‘least that’s how they reckoned it, back in the Arrowhead. I mean, they couldn’t really be sure, me an’ him, we were both relative novelties among the foundlings. I mean, Zul weren’t exactly from a common breed himself, but an orc and a bakaneko? That was something else here in Untermer.”

Nobody answers that, and I keep my eyes on what I’m doing, but I can imagine the two of ‘em exchanging a look all the same. Concern writ large on Tulen’s face, subtle but still there in Shay if you’re actually looking for it.

“So there was a time, when we were still growing, when I was actually bigger than he was. I mean, not for long, but even so. Early days, I just shot up, while he was still growing, like, a regular amount. Bigger’n all of ‘em, for a while, the ones born round the same time as us, anyway. He got strong pretty fast, orcs got that proper ropey strength when they’re kids turns into solid hardwood when they grow up, but he was awkward with it back then, hadn’t learned how to use it yet. Would’ve been easy for me to win a fight back then. But I never wanted to.”

Turning the knife over in my hand once, then twice, I inspect it one more time before I’m sure it’s good and honed, so I just put the stone down and retrieve the scabbard, sheathing it again before putting it down and selecting the next in line. I don’t even realise it’s the one I used on Sal until I’ve drawn it, catching sight of a few lingering spots of her blood now, deep in the fuller, one just outside the guard. Can’t help a slight tightening of my jaw seeing that, but I pick up the rag all the same. Still oily enough, looks like.

“Art …” Shay whispers now, her tone wary.

“Didn’t last, of course. I mean, sure, orcs only grow fast as humans, but it’s relative, really. I mean, he started getting big while he was still young, even before puberty. An’ then he just shot up. But by then, we’d already been in training for a while, so he got dangerous along with it. I mean, we all did, but with him …” I suck a harsh breath in with a hiss as I bare my teeth. “So when Yevnik got his pick from our class for prowler training, I mean, of course he grabbed the full-blooded orc. He must’ve thought Winterheart came early.”

I’m bent on cleaning the blade now, working the spit-wet rag into the tough spots the best I can to try and remove those stubborn spots, but I can feel the mood all the same, the concern in the other two. I don’t need to look up to know they’re watching me with open worry now. “It was him getting his claws in, I’m sure of it. Cuz he weren’t born like that. When I knew him, in the early days, when we were kids, Gran was a good one. I could trust him, we all did. He had my back, watched out for me, much as I did for him. I loved him, much as I did the others. Zul did too. Darwyn … well, y’know what she’s like, reckon you spent enough time round her by now. I mean sure, he was her friend, but … I guess maybe he scared her a little bit, even so. She was always a bit wary round him, once he got big, but then she’s tiny, so it tracks. I mean she was just being smart. But after Yevnik?” Another hiss, I can’t help it.

In the end I just toss the rag aside and spit right on the blade, then start working my thumb over the toughest spot. Mindful of the edge as I do it, but my frustration’s getting to me now. It ain’t coming, I just can’t seem to get it …

“Sal … that woman, she said it was Glyn. Sparkheel. Now him … he ain’t stupid, I’ll give him that, but puffed-up prick or not, ain’t no way he’s in this alone. Uh-uh. No fucking chance o’ that. Besides, him an’ Gran, they were never close, ‘least not that I ever saw. They had no real business ever working together, even after what Gran got himself mixed up in. So I don’t buy him being the way they got in. Is he the contact? Sure. But there’s gonna be somebody else behind him. I’m sure of it.” Finally I just give up, instead picking up the whetstone as I take a closer look at the edge itself. Shouldn’t need more’n a pass or two, mostly I just need to oil it.

“No other way I can look at it, really. It’s gonna be Yevnik. When we get word to Cobb and he gets his sneaky little network on it, that’s the only possibility that makes any sense to me. Cuz Glyn’s his little bitch, one of his favourites. Little shit ain’t got the balls to do this without that old man’s say-so. Except it don’t make any sense, that’s the part I can’t let go of. I mean … I don’t get it. Yevnik … he’s a fucking snake, the man has no moral backbone at all, he’d sell his own kin out to get ahead, but the Guild’s his life. It’s the only thing he cares about, besides his own skin. So why? Why the fuck would he do this?”

The first I realise that Shay’s crouched down in front o’ me is when she reaches out with tentative hands, not taking hold of my own while I’m holding the knife, I realise, just showing her open palms to make it clear she’s trying to be gentle and very careful. She speaks in a low, cautious tone, like she’s still holding her breath as she does it, and when I finally look up at her I realise how tense she actually is. “Art? I need you to chill. Can you do that for me?”

Seeing that finally checks me mid-stroke, so the stone don’t quite spark the steel this time as I run it over the blade. I’m a beat answering her, slowly realising how tense I am too … then I just let a heavy sigh out as I breathe: “Oh … shit … yeah, I guess …”

When she reaches for the knife now, I just turn my paw over to let it rest inert in my open palm so she can pick it up without resistance. She’s careful about it all the same, and doesn’t really breathe again until she’s got it, passing it into her other hand before finally settling back onto her haunches. “Good. Art, I’m …” She falters again.

“We’re worried about you.” Tulen answers for her after a beat, and her cheeks darken immediately, letting me know she mostly just blurted it out without thinking first.

Sighing, Shay takes care as she folds her wrists so she can lean onto her knees while she’s holding the knife. She looks so solemn right now, and while she can hold my eye I get the impression she’s squirming a good deal on the inside right now, but she’s muddling through it all the same. “Look, I get it. That was an impossible situation. It was fucking chaos up there in the tavern, we were all going through it, and it was just shit luck that it had to be you that killed him. If I could have spared you from that, if I hadn’t gotten myself messed up, maybe it wouldn’t have –”

“Hey, no.” I give the whetstone a little squeeze as I draw in a deep breath, but it’s just so I can focus myself, just centre myself as I sit forward, reaching out to let my empty paw settle on her wrist now. “No, that ain’t on you either. That was all his fault, but even then not really. Maybe it wasn’t anybody’s fault, it was like you said, just shit luck. I mean he was already dying, you already started that when you took his hand off. I just put him out of his misery.” I look down for a long beat, letting that sigh go now. “Shit … ‘least I got to say goodbye. He was lucid enough for that in the end. Made it hurt more, but … wasn’t his intention. It just happened that way.”

“We just don’t want you beating yourself up over this, it does none of us any good, least of all yourself, and worse there’s no reason for you to do it.” Shay sighs, and when I finally look up again she’s just regretful. “At least you got to say goodbye.”

Yeah … honestly, I can see where she’s coming from now. When we all met, when she first became one of us after that mess with Ashsong and what she helped us prevent up in the mountains, she lost three friends, close ones, all in less than an hour of each other. Every death was a swift, sudden one, they were just gone almost before she had time to register it even happened, which just made the loss hurt so much more, because she never got to tell them how much they meant to her.

I remember on the road to Bavat after, while we were first getting to know her, there were times when she would just go somewhere, just shut down for a while, close herself off and suffer for a few hours, sometimes cry but more often just soak. Wallow in the fact that death could be a cruel, heartless bitch sometimes. I dunno how much control Corvina really has in how that all works, or maybe it was Thorin, or maybe neither of ‘em actually have any real say in these things, that it’s … yeah, it’s like she said, and I ran with before. Just shit luck. Which makes death even more cruel precisely because it’s just pointless.

Giving her wrist a little squeeze, I try my best to smile, but I know it comes out real sad and completely empty of humour right now. “They knew you loved ‘em, though.”

Managing something of a smile herself, a little wobbly but still there enough to serve, Shay just shrugs. “I’d like to think so. And you’ve all been there for me since, helped me get through to where I don’t feel like shit about it all the time anymore.” She unfolds her arms now and takes hold of my paw in her empty hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of her own. “So you can be damn sure we’re going to do the same for you while you have this to work through. Have you got me?”

Tulen must reach out then, cuz I feel a hand grip my shoulder before slipping over onto my back and start to rub gently, just under the base of my neck. I take another deep breath and nod, not for anything in particular, just going along with the general mood now. “Yeah. I got you.”

“All right.” Shay frowns for a beat, like she wants to say something more, but then thinks better of it, maybe. Finally she just raises her other hand again, still careful as she opens it up to offer my knife up to me now. “Just calm down, please. I don’t want you hurting yourself because you’re getting worked up.”

Nodding again, this time with more commitment, I reach out, a little more tentatively than I’d like, maybe, and just as carefully pick the knife up again. I frown as I raise it in front of me, taking a beat to examine it again more closely, and I realise now I don’t need to sharpen it anymore right now.

“I’ll be there tonight, anyway.” Tulen’s voice is soft, her tone reassuring now, and she keeps on with that gentle, soothing rubbing motion between my shoulder-blades. “In the tunnels, I’ll be with you. If you start to feel … I don’t know, if it gets too much for you down there, or after, when we’re inside, you know you can tell me, I can help you.”

“Thanks.” I set the whetstone back down on the oilcloth and pick the oily rag back up again, turning the knife over between my fingers for a moment before starting to polish. “I’ll try to remember that, when we get down there. But I hope … I dunno, I always been pretty good at focusing when shit gets crazy. Kesla calls it my game-face, I never really got what she meant by that. Must be some kinda soldier thing she learned from her da.”

“I don’t know,” Shay speaks with a half-chuckle now as she straightens up, stepping back as she takes a moment to give her back a little stretch. “My mother used to say something similar, when she was training me. Although I suspect she got it from my da.”

“Well I still mean what I said.” Tulen stops stroking my back now, giving my shoulder one last little squeeze before taking her hand back, and when I look to her she’s sitting up again, looking down at the sandwich she must’ve been holding this whole time. Still with only a few bites out of it. It only takes a short beat for her hunger to return, making her dig back in again.

“Shay?” A familiar voice breaks our reverie, and the half-orc in question turns quickly towards the other side of the cloister, starting to frown a little.

Lady Naru’s making her way over now, skirting the edge of the lawn as she approaches. She’s already homing in, I notice. “Are you ready?”

“Am I …” That makes her frown a little tighter. “I’m sorry, I don’t –”

“If you want to be ready for tonight, we should really get started.” She looks past her at the rest of us now, then everything else. “Ah, well … perhaps I should give you a little more time, if you –”

“Oh, no.” Shay takes a step back our way, then pauses, looking down at her stuff. “Although … yeah, I don’t know. I suppose I can’t really take my sword in with me, can I?”

“No, I don’t think that would quite work, under the circumstances. Kesla will be armed, but you …” Lady Naru turns to ponder Shay’s collection as well. “That’s not to say you shouldn’t still bring a few weapons with you all the same. Anything that you could easily conceal, I mean.”

“You wanna borrow any of mine?” I pipe up now. “I got a bunch that’d suit this kinda job.”

Cocking a brow my way, Shay start to smile again, a little more of a cocked, mischievous one now. “No, I think I’m good. I have a few of my own in mind, I think.” And she takes a few quick, easy strides over with her long legs to bend down and pore over her collection.

Mindful of the sorcerer’s eyes on me now, I make a conscious effort not to watch Shay’s backside as she does this, instead turning back to find Tulen’s getting to her feet again.

“Yes, of course … I thought I might help, is that all right, my Lady?”

Lady Naru blinks as she looks to her now, then starts to smile, warm but, I notice, a little mischievous like Shay, now. “I think so, yes. You’re most welcome.”

Tempting as it might be for me to enquire if I could tag along too, mostly just to satisfy my curiosity, I hold my tongue, instead turning back to my own work as I start oiling my blade. Much as I’d like to see Shay get all gussied up, ‘specially if they’re planning on dressing her up like one o’ them highborn ladies, I got my own part to play in tonight’s plans, and I wanna be ready for it.

For Gael …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 20 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 19

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER NINETEEN: SHAYLINE

Gods, I’m worried about Art. He’s not even remotely his old self right now, I almost don’t recognise the charming, easy-going young rogue I so quickly became fond of during our weeks on the road coming south from the Reaches. Who, for the most part at least, had remained upbeat enough to keep things from getting too grim once it all started to go wrong for us here in Untermer. Even after Gael was taken, I could still rely on him to be the bright centre of our group, even if there was a note of strain in him now that I could commiserate with, because that sweet young wizard’s my friend too, damn it.

That’s not the keen-edged, steel hard living blade that I found in the recovery room with Darwyn when I went to collect him. Somewhere between our return from the Late Bone and his going off to tell her what he just had to do, he went from being distractedly numb to … honestly, what I’m watching now is bloody scary. I remember last week, when Kesla was interrogating that poor dumb kid in this very same backroom behind the temple’s library, and the way she talked about torture scared the hell out of me, it was a side I couldn’t really imagine her being capable of. Even though I kind of believed it when she spoke about it, all the same. She’s so hard … but Art? I definitely never expected him to have such a dark side.

Even Darwyn seems a little taken aback by it now, watching her former lover, the father of her child, intimidate a tough, veteran pirate who’s physically much larger than him so effectively just with words and the mere sight of a small naked blade. Maybe she’s regretting tagging along with us now, even though she insisted even after he was so adamant that he’d prefer she sat this out, just finished recovering. I know she wanted to come so she could watch over him, it was clear enough she was as worried about him as I quickly became. The way she keeps shooting looks my way tells me we’re in the same boat right now.

The woman we brought back from the tavern along with the other two captives is sat in the very same chair the boy was last time we were here, I suspect it hasn’t moved since, left where it was in case it was needed again, I suspect. When we first arrived she was mostly just slouched in it, like she didn’t really give a shit, she was just annoyed with us all, and with the world for just being here. She was glaring daggers at the group as a whole, but Thel and Sonagh in particular, I noticed. It took us a few moments at the start to find out why.

Turns out the investigator knows her already, at least in passing. They’ve crossed paths a few times, and none of the encounters ever ended well. They never came to actual blows, at least, but the old orc definitely doesn’t like her, and the feeling is clearly mutual. He made it very clear we’re lucky we were able to take her quick like we did, without a real fight, because he says the fierce reputation she has is well deserved. Apparently she’s one of Jammund’s best fighters, definitely his most ruthless. She’s dropped a lot of bodies in the harbour with their throats cut over the years, he told us.

Salenda Murkan’s the name she was given, but everybody knows her as Nightwater Sal, or just Sal if they’re actual friends. Not sure I really want to know any of them. We’ve only been in the room with her for a span of minutes, and I already despise this woman.

In no small part because she was being particularly uncivil with Thel, and with some particularly nasty language, too. I get the impression she’s not a very tolerant person, she clearly hates some of the other races with a passion, and it seems dwarves are definitely not to her taste. Or maybe she just wanted a particular target to focus her ire on, and chose an easier target than the orc. Honestly, the thought amused me a little, because I’ve known Thel long enough now to know she definitely isn’t an easy target.

That being said, the words clearly still stung her some. Especially when she called her a “patch-bearded, pint-sized crotch-licker”. She said she didn’t have a problem with the insult on principle, since it’s not particularly inaccurate, it was just the way she said it. There was real venom in those words, actual biting hate.

I half expected Kesla to kick her in the face on the spot in a sign of pure solidarity to our diminutive friend. Instead she just gave her a particularly hard glare and set Art loose on her.

And so here we are. The first thing he did was collect the chair Kesla previously left to one side once we were done with the last interrogation and plant it barely six inches from Sal’s knees, but instead of sitting down on it he sprang right onto the seat itself and perched there. Staring across at her, wrists across his knees and paws dangling idly between, shoulders hunched so his eyes were on a level with hers. Narrowed but sharp as the rest of him is right now. Not a lick of humour in him anymore. Like killing his old friend just beat it right out of him …

For a whole minute the room was silent, neither of them said a word, she just slouched there watching him, her own eyes slowly narrowing in turn as she looked him over, slowly but surely discomfited by his unyielding regard. I don’t think he blinked more than twice the whole time, and didn’t move at all, and it was bloody unnerving. Which of course was the whole point.

Sal was the one to finally break the silence, but while her words were spat with more of that sullen venom I heard the slightest crack in it this time. “Fuck off, fleabag. I ain’t giving you shit. I already told you –”

Her words broke off when he reached across, almost casually, and slipped a knife out from the inside of his left boot. Quite a small one, I notice, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use one like it before, but in a way I’m glad, it just looks like absolute bad news, this one. The way the blade’s hooked like a particularly savage, razor-edged fang, while the handle’s curved back on itself before ending in a steel ring clearly fashioned especially to fit around the tip of any of his chubby paw-fingers … there’s no way this knife could be used for anything other than unpleasant slicing, gouging, debilitating wounds. And the way he immediately started to play with it so deftly just with one hand, without even looking at it while he was doing it … she started watching that blade moving immediately and hasn’t stopped since.

“So the tunnels, under the tavern.” he ventures now, keeping his tone light, conversational, but with none of the warmth I’ve grown so used to from him. “They lead anywhere in particular?”

Yet again, she hesitates before answering him, as she’s done with just about every question since he started this. Like she’s still thinking about starting to clam up even now, long after she’s wised up to the idea that he isn’t making an empty threat right now. But then she lets another bitter sigh go and growls her words in that same frustrated but deeply wary growl: “A whole bunch o’ places. The Cap’n got safehouses and stashes all over the lower city, ‘specially under the Drumhalt. But other places too. Anywhere we can move wares quick and easy to customers, or slip ‘em back under to the Bone, or to other places.”

“On the docks?” Kesla wonders. She’s been asking a fair share of the questions too once Art finally got her to start talking, after a due amount of threatening. But still letting him take the lead for the most part. “Or under, I guess.”

“The Hardway …” She grimaces, shooting her a glare now like she wants to spit another insult in keeping with the ones she was much freer with when we first came in. “Shit … there were others we closed down soon as that place got blown, an’ the Cap’n weren’t too happy ‘bout that. They ain’t cheap to run, keeping ‘em secret way we been doin’. Big boss man foots most o’ the bill there, but … snotty bastard still expects his markup back on what we move to make up for it. Means we’re burning money we can’t afford to right now.”

Kesla looks my way at that, and I have to nod back, knowing exactly what he means by that. Hontiresk, the man Jammund reports to. The man he owes money when this all goes to shit. Like right now.

Art’s just leaning forward again, like he’s been doing, on and off, since he started. Once again he stops playing the knife back and forth, this time giving it one last swing with the ring now around his index finger, finally tucking the blade underhand as he lets it hang between his knees again. Like he’s forgetting about it, almost. She hasn’t, though, her eyes still locked on it. “The Hardway … that was a real nasty little trick you an’ yours played on us there. Almost cost us, that. You can imagine, we’re still pretty sore ‘bout it. Ain’t you, boss?”

My eyes shoot back to Kesla, who pauses for a beat before answering, her jaw tightening just a little to show how uncomfortable she is with the way her friend’s acting right now. But she still stays close behind him, towering over the woman, arms folded over her chest in her intimidating way. “Little bit, aye. When I have to stretch.”

Sal’s eyes slip from the knife up to her for a moment, wary again as she catches the implication behind her words. I imagine to her eyes Kesla’s well hidden discomfort is actually due to her still not being entirely recovered from Tavarrat’s nasty little surprise on the First Point. She licks her lips, probably without even meaning to, and it gives away her nerves clear enough. “We didn’t … the Cap’n never said anything to any of us about that. Hardway went up, we didn’t know what the fuck that was, we thought the bloody Terrors were doing some crazy shit, like when they took the docks back in the Invasion. I dunno … chucking rocks at the navy again, or something? Didn’t make a lick o’ sense, it’s all their ships out there now, but –”

“Bullshit.” Art leans a little closer now, and he raises the his knife hand a little as he does it, curling it under his wrist as he just starts to reach out towards her, close enough now it makes her start to tense up more than she already has. “We saw the place, when we went in. Whole fucking warehouse, weren’t a scrap in the place. You had to have cleaned it out first, you might’ve had that traitor bitch spellcaster porting that stuff outta there or something, whatever, all the people, but … no, she won’t have been doing all the heavy lifting. Gael told me enough ‘bout how magic works, I know she couldn’t have done it all herself. So you lot did do that. So you knew that fucking trap was there.”

“We didn’t, I fucking swear we didn’t.” Sal’s cringing back as much as the chair will let her, her hands gripping the seat under her now while she’s starting to tip the whole thing back a little with her feet planted firm. Desperate to get away from him but scared to death of risking any retaliation by actually moving. She’s gone much more pale than she did when he first drew the knife. “I swear it, please, pick any fucking god you want and I’ll take an oath right here that I ain’f fucking lying about that …”

Art just stays as he is for a long beat, watching her close, eyes narrowed to cold green slits as he starts to fiddle with his knife again, a good deal less idly this time. She looks right back at him, but her own eyes are wide now, I suspect she’s maintaining contact purely because she’s terrified to look away in case it looks like she’s lying after all …

“Reckon she’s being truthful ‘bout that, Art.” Kesla strikes up at last, shifting her footing a little closer to him now. Keeping her voice level, but a little more insistent now all the same. He doesn’t seem to respond, but I see a little flicker from his ears to suggest he’s caught her words after all. Just considering, then.

Finally Darwyn steps closer too, stealing round Kesla’s hip while keeping her feet light, her movements as impressively quiet as they’ve always been, even now. Even though she’s still a long way from properly healed she’s still so uncannily graceful. She’s frowning deep now, but seems more cautious than anything else when I look down at her, a cool wariness as she looks the woman over.

All things considered, she’s actually looking pretty good. I’ve not seen her dressed down so completely before, in fact I have no idea where the clothes even came from, I’ve only known her in black Guild leather so I’ll admit I half expected that to be all she wears. But these new clothes she’s dressed in, a simple pair of grey wool britches and a soft linen shirt with a loose, open collar and rolled up sleeves, suit her so surprisingly well that they must be her own. I have no idea where anyone found the time to actually collect any of her things but I suppose it makes a certain amount of sense since she’s been here since we started this.

More so, though, the fact she’s up and about again is heartening enough to see, but she’s still been subdued, which wasn’t unexpected. She’s still paler than usual, with dark smudges around her eyes that show she’s still not fully recovered yet. But she doesn’t seem to be in pain now, mostly it’s just her mood that’s effected now. And I know full well why.

She clears her throat before she speaks, but it’s a subtle little thing so it doesn’t grab a whole lot of attention when she makes it. Not until she actually starts to speak. “Who’d you get the weapons from?”

Sal’s eyes shoot to her now, and a frown of deeper confusion spreads across her face now as she just watches her for a long beat. “What weapons … I dunno what you mean, it’s all our gear we been using –”

“The Guild equipment. The weapons, the armour, the picks. How the fuck did you get hold of that shit?”

Oh hell … I’d entirely forgotten about that. That was such a major sticking point last week, after we first rescued Thel and her friends and discovered that Vik’s people were using equipment that was only available to members of the Thieves Guild, like Art and Darwyn and Zuldrad … and then we kind of overlooked it once other more pressing revelations started to crowd us. But Darwyn’s raised an important point that I realise now we’ve been foolish to forget … I look at Kesla now and she’s caught it too, cocking her brow quizzically as she acknowledges what I just picked up on.

Art shifts on the chair now, not withdrawing, I notice, instead just moving his empty hand so it grips the seat under him, and now he leans forward instead, turning the knife over in his hand so it’s primed low. Watching her close now.

She doesn’t answer. She’s looking from Darwyn to Art and back again, very cautious now as her face becomes much more closed off. Being really careful about what she says now, looks like. She’s thinking hard. “No, I don’t … I really don’t know what that is … we don’t have –”

“Now you’re lying.” Kesla says, matter-of-fact now, unfolding her arms at last while she lays her left hand on the hilt of her impressive sword in that gesture I’m coming to know so well. “Not smart.”

Her eyes flickering up to Kesla for just a moment, Sal’s frown deepens as she bares her teeth, some of that old grit returning now. I think up until now she’s been giving us answers she feels she can get away with giving up because they won’t do any direct harm to Jammund’s operation, but now Darwyn’s caught her with something serious. Something she can’t just give an answer up on without real compromise. She might just clam up now. Sonagh said she’s a hard bitch, a genuinely nasty piece of work. She’s scared of Art right now, but that’s perfectly healthy – likely she saw what he’s capable of before, and I know what that is.

“Come on.” He purrs at her now, but it’s not a pleasant sound, closer to a growl, really. “Don’t make it harder on yourself now.”

Looking back, her eyes return to the knife and linger. She keeps her teeth bared as her face tightens, and finally hisses under her breath: “Shit … the big boss set that shit up. Sent the first shipment over to us day after we started setting up for this. Cap’n said Vandryss asked for it herself, wanted Vik’s boys to have the best stuff they could, make sure the operation ran smooth like. Gran supervised that part, cuz he knew the people. From before.”

Now Art finally settles back, palming the knife as he looks up at Kesla, then down at Darwyn. “It did come from the Guild.”

“Fuck.” the halfling breathes, reaching up now to shove her hands more forcefully back through her hair. “But Cobb … how the hell did they … he don’t know. He couldn’t have missed it, how the fuck did they –"

“Who’s the contact?” Again I speak without thinking much about it first, and all eyes turn to me now. I almost falter this time, but just take a breath and plough on. “In the Guild. Do you know who they are?”

Once more Sal seems to be weighing the options, but when Art turns back to her she catches it and this time just grimaces. “Damn it … some half-elf, puffed up little prick. Clearly fancies himself some, way he dresses, and how he talks. Sounds common as the rest of us, but still talks down to everybody he’s dealing with.”

That stirs a memory, from last week, the day after we first got here. When we were first starting. When we went to the Guild themselves, Art took us to one of their safehouses and then into the Arrowhead itself. And there was that other prowler, Art definitely knew him, and definitely didn’t like him. He seemed all kinds of stuck up. When I look to her I see Kesla’s clearly thinking along the same lines.

“Glynven?” Darwyn’s just looking to Art, then Zuldrad, who’s moved forward from where up until now he’s mostly just been loitering at the back of the room. He’s curious too, now. “Sparkheel? That his name?”

“I dunno, prick didn’t give us a name, but he was proper Guild, peacock that he was. Came every time, four shipments in all. Damn nice gear, I noticed, but the Cap’n was real adamant he didn’t want any of us lot using any of it. Said it was … some fancy word, I dunno where he heard it … conspicuous? Reckon that was it.” She shrugs, and then her eyes shoot right back to Art, widening just a little, as if she’s suddenly realised that could’ve been misread too. “Um … said if we needed any more … we should contact our boss not his. Cuz it weren’t safe. Dunno exactly what he meant by that. Then all this shit kicked off and … well, that was it. We ain’t had any contact with ‘em since. Or ‘least, not any direct.”

“Cobb?” Kesla wonders, frowning deep now as she looks down at Darwyn. “That can’t –”

“No, Glyn don’t work for Cobb. He’s one o’ Yevnik’s pet killers.” Darwyn looks to Zuldrad again, and he just frowns back. “Course, he didn’t come right out and say it.”

“Should still talk to Cobb about it.” The hob growls back, stroking the bristly hair on his chin ponderously. “Just in case.”

“Be bloody tricky to pursue, no matter how it actually turns out. Ain’t no love lost between him an’ Kur, but he’s damn careful not to rub him up the wrong way all the same. Something like this … it’s a whole lot o’ trouble, just waiting to blow up, like.”

“Might be best to keep that little titbit in reserve for now.” Kesla mutters, rubbing her own chin now while she keeps the other hand where it is on her sword. “Can’t imagine anything we need to know about right now would lead back to the Arrowhead, or anything peripheral to it.”

Nodding along, I let a little sigh go. That sounded promising, but … “You’re right, the tunnels sound like the smarter move. Except we don’t know where we’re going yet. And Big Man said it was a maze down there, even with a destination, probably.”

“True.” She nods, looking back at Sal, more thoughtful now. “What about the wizard?”

This just gets another confused look from our prisoner. “I don’t … Tavarrat didn’t have anything to do with that shit, that was all Gran’s thing. She –”

“No, the other one. The prisoner. Darion Foxtail.”

It takes a few moments for that to dawn on her, then her eyes start to widen as realisation sinks in. “Wait, what … no. No, I didn’t have anything to do with that shit. I told the Cap’n right to his face, that shit was way outta line, we were playing with fire messing round with that. That was all on Vandryss. I gave that shit a proper wide berth, same as I left that creepy bitch alone.”

“But you know where he went, same as the cargo. And our friend.” Kesla steps forward when she’s met with another blank stare. “Young un, half-elf. The other wizard. Another Foxtail.”

“Oh … oh no. No chance. Fuck you. That’s one too many, I ain’t giving you that –”

Art’s on her so quickly none of us have a chance to react, his chair doesn’t even shift as he just launches himself off it and knocks her all the way backwards so her own just crashes to the floor with both of them tangling together. She doesn’t make a single sound until they land, as surprised as the rest of us, finally letting out a winded gasp as the air’s driven out of her, and then she goes dead silent all over again as he bears down on her hard. By the time I’ve got myself moving in order to react, rushing forward along with Kesla, he’s got the blade to her throat, and I see it’s already dug in tight enough for a little blood to start flowing, but then the edge really is as keen as it looked.

Kesla stops me quick, shooting her arm out to press against my chest and hold me back, but I’m already freezing as it is, seeing Art leaning in so close his nose is almost touching hers now. It’s a more oblique angle now, but I can just about make out enough of his face to see he looks … honestly, after that leap I expected fierce, but while he’s intense there’s still that coldness to him that worries me a whole lot more. It’s enough to give me my own chills as I stand by, only able to watch.

“Now you wanna think real fucking careful before you say anything more.” He growls, low enough it’s entirely for her, but still loud enough that we can all catch it. “I am not fucking around with you here. That half-elf they’re talking about? The one your friends got? The other Foxtail? They’re my friend. Somebody I care a hell of a lot about. We asked you where they are, where their da is, where the people you been stealing, taking out their homes like fucking monsters, where they all are now. And we won’t ask again. I promise you, this is the very fucking end of my patience. This is where I start cutting, and I won’t stop until I hit bone. With this knife it’s gonna be surprisingly easy, cuz it’s so sharp, but it’ll still take a little while, cuz the blade’s so short. Granted, you’ll prob’ly bleed out a ways before I’m done, but I really don’t care. I still want you to feel as much as you do before you’re gone, so I won’t go easy on you. It’s gonna fucking hurt.”

Sal keeps dead quiet the whole time, but her eyes get wider too, and I see tears starting to flow freely from the corners of her eyes now listening to him talk like that … it’s enough to make me want to to start weeping too, this is some ugly treatment, right here. From what I can tell she’s trying hard enough not to breathe any more than she absolutely has to in case this starts cutting into her at all in itself.

“So you’re gonna tell us what we wanna know. You really are. You have no way to talk yourself out of this. The moment you say anything that sounds even a little like you’re telling us to fuck off, even polite like, I start cutting, and I don’t stop. That is a promise.” He pauses for a beat, just staring hard into her eyes, then finally pulls back, sitting up as much as he can while keeping his free hand gripped tight into her collar while the knife’s planted firm. “So talk. Please. Tell us where they are.”

Even after all that, she stays silent, even though she’s bleeding already and he’s got her stuck good and fast despite the fact he’s so much smaller than her. She’s still thinking about clamming up after all, even now. Her eyes are the only things she can move right now, and they’re searching every one of us for any signs of help, but even if Art wasn’t doing this I know there wouldn’t be any forthcoming. Not even from me, sick and scared as this is making me.

So finally she just whimpers, and even this is as restrained as she can make it as she’s keenly aware of the blade cutting into her just a little. “I … I … oh fuck …” She takes a deep breath, very slowly, and looks up at him once more, her eyes pleading now. Then they finally roll up to look at the ceiling as she lets it go, slow and hesitant. “Shit … the Oceanic.”

“Where?” I look at Kesla now, not getting it at all, but I see quick recognition already dawning in her, and in Sonagh too when I start to search the others. Thel too, and then I start to twig. “Wait, what … does she mean –”

“The Playhouse?” Kesla lowers her arm now as she just steps away from me, taking two very careful steps towards her before planting her hands on her knees and leaning a little closer. “Hontiresk’s place? Please tell me you’re fucking joking. I’ll actually let him cut your throat if you are.”

“It’s fucking true, I swear. They’re under the Playhouse. The fucking Oceanic. In the basement. There’s like three fucking levels down there, they used to use it for storage of old props and scenery and costumes and shit from the plays but when you lot first turned up Vandryss had some of our folk clean all the rooms out, just in case. Put in locks on all the doors, serious ones. Then word came down, a few nights ago, that we were moving everything. So we did. Including Foxtail. The old one, I mean. The one they caught, like … I dunno, more’n a month back now. But the other one’s there too, your friend …” Her voice is starting to break now, the tears coming harder now, I can see, and I can tell she’s getting ready to break too. “Please … please just let me up now …”

Kesla takes one more step and leans in close enough she doesn’t really need to actually reach up to touch his shoulder, but she does it all the same. “Art, you wanna give me the knife now? She ain’t lying. That’s it. I’d bet my life on that. Just give me the knife. Please?”

Art doesn’t respond right away, he’s still pressing the blade close as Sal just breathes shallow, and I start to wonder if maybe he’s too focused to hear her. But then he starts to sag, letting his head drop while he finally takes the knife away from her throat, and his paw’s shaking so badly when he raises it I worry he might just drop it and kill her after all. But Kesla reaches in as soon as it seems safe and very carefully takes hold of the weapon, which he yields to her without a fight now.

While she’s still stepping back I start moving too, rushing in and grabbing hold of his arm now while my other hand gets a good grip of the back of his collar before I start to pull. Nobody else reacts as I drag him up, largely limp now, not quite a dead weight but not making any effort to resist, and I take an uncomfortably shaky breath as I turn and march him straight for the door.

Lady Naru’s snapping to now, at least, ahead of me now as she gets to the door first and pulls it open, then steps aside quick to let us both through. Now he’s starting to respond again, not struggling yet but at least making more of an effort to control his own path, so I just tighten my grip and put a little more force into my guidance as I shove him hard through the doorway and then step out after too. He stumbles for a few steps now he’s free before finally finding his feet again, and as he turns round I’m already squaring up, rolling my shoulders while I shake my arms loose in case I have to grapple him in earnest.

“Shay, I’m sorry, just –”

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid little bastard.” I spit with a lot more venom than I really planned, but now the shock’s faded I’m just angry with him. “What the fuck was that in there? That was not cool. I mean okay, we needed answers and she wasn’t playing along but that was entirely out of order, you went way too bloody far. What the hell even was that?”

He doesn’t answer me, but his face is falling fast, growing more stricken by the second as I watch him go over it in his mind. He looks down quickly, unable to meet my eyes now, and as he takes a few worryingly unbalanced steps back he reaches up, putting his paws to his head to curl his fingers tight into his mane. His breath’s coming fast now, and after another moment I realise he’s starting to panic.

“Oh shit …” I start towards him, opening my rms and reaching for him, but he backs away quick, holding his paws out immediately to ward me off, eyes wide.

“No … no, don’t … shit, I can’t … oh fuck …”

“Art, come on, just …” Gods, I feel so bad, I’m too late realising I’ve overreacted just as much as he just did back in that room, and it’s enough to spur me forward now, forcing myself forward and swatting his warding hands aside before grabbing hold of him anyway. He tries to push me away again as I pull him close, but once I’ve got my arms wrapped around him he gives up, just melting now as he returns the hug at last. He’s not weeping, not yet, at least, but I can feel his unsteady breath, hot against my armpit, and squeeze a little tighter. Mindful of my strength, maybe, but I don’t think I’ll break him, fragile as he might be right now.

After a few moments I lift my head enough to look back towards the room, and find the door’s closed again, Lady Naru and Kesla standing by, the latter looking very uncomfortable with the whole business right now. She’s still holding the slightly bloody knife, clutched awkwardly at her side between two fingers and the tip of her thumb, like she’s reluctant to actually have it right now. After a beat she notices me looking at it and grimaces, turning aside now while she starts to fish about in her pocket.

Darwyn’s stood much closer, I realise now, looking up at me with a very worried look on her face. I haven’t got a clue what to say to her right now, I feel like I’ve let her down. I never actually came right out and said I’d try and watch out for him in there, but I know that was what she expected as soon as I came and got him. Now look what’s happened.

A few moments later Art finally starts to push against me, and I take a moment to respond, having to snatch a breath of my own before finally letting go. He stumbles away, still a little unsteady on his feet, but at least his breathing’s levelled out again. He still looks so guilty though, his eyes darting around the group before finally settling on Darwyn, and he grimaces again when he sees her. “Shit … oh, I’m … I’m so …”

She walks up to him, not reaching for him until she’s close, and takes hold of his hand without any resistance. She looks up at him for a long beat, then lets out a heavy sigh, her face serious now. “You daft idiot. What are you thinking right now?”

“That I … that I fucked up real bad in there.” He looks down at his free hand, which is still shaking, and lets out a slow sigh that’s a little bit of a moan too. “Fuck … I just fucking lost it. She wasn’t gonna answer and I just … it got to me. I was thinking ‘bout Gael, and about Gran and all the shit we been through this past week and everything else, all the people they been … what that monster bitch did up on the Hill … it was all I could do not to just kill her soon as I was on her. Fuck … did I … is she –”

“Krakka’s seeing to her.” Kesla finally steps closer, although she’s being wary about it. “To be honest, reckon it prob’ly looks worse’n it actually is. She was more scared than anything else, but that was the point. You got the information we asked for. So at least it actually worked.”

Now I realise she must’ve been looking for a cloth or something, having produced a scrap of rag to idly wipe the blade clean with cautious fingers. Watching what she’s doing, in part so she has a reason not to make eye contact now, probably, but mindful even so just how sharp the knife actually is.

“No, I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t even have been in there. I’m all outta sorts after … fuck, I’m just tired. Angry and worn out and done with all this shit.” Art takes hold of Darwyn’s hand with his other paw now and takes one more step to the side before just letting his body collapse against the wall. “That never should’ve happened. You should’ve let Shay talk to her instead o’ me.”

Frowning deep, Kesla crushes the now somewhat bloody rag in her hand and stuff it back into her pocket, carefully palming the knife as she does it. “Maybe. But we got a lead now, and it’s a bloody good one. We know where they’re at. She was way too scared to be lying in there, you definitely shook the truth out of ‘er.”

“The Playhouse, though?” Lady Naru sucks a hard breath in between tight lips, looking very skeptical. “I don’t know … I can’t believe Hontiresk would actually do something so reckless as to use somewhere so … particular for something so unsavoury.”

“Might be Vandryss talked him round to it.” I venture, voicing my own conviction that Kesla’s reading it right. “It sounds exactly like something she might think up. She’s definitely crazy enough. And it’s kind of brilliant really, if you think about it. I never would’ve thought of it.”

“Neither would I.” Kesla nods. “Makes it even more likely.”

For a long moment nobody speaks, the implication sinking in. Meanwhile Darwyn yanks on both of Art’s arms and I guess that must be an old signal between them because he gets the hint quickly enough, dropping to his haunches in front of her with a very sheepish look on his face. She lets go once he’s down, instead reaching up to put her hands on either side of his face, and he lets her pull him forward until their foreheads touch and they both close their eyes. His breathing smooths out almost immediately.

Finally Lady Naru lets a deep sigh go as she leans into her staff, ponderous now. “But … I mean, what could we even do? He’s an Administrator, one of the most senior and influential in this Authority. More than that, he’s probably the Provisionals’ top ally in the local government. If we were to actually accuse him of this …”

“Who said anything about accusing him?” Kesla just frowns back at her, arms folded across her chest now, idly twiddling the knife between her fingers. “I don’t give a shit if anyone in the Authority approves of what we have to do or not. I just wanna go get my friend back, and stomp that evil bitch and her nasty little enterprise once and for all.”

The sorcerer blinks at her in clear, wide-eyed shock. “But you can’t possibly mean … no, that would be … you would be declaring open war on an entitled noble of one of the most powerful families in Untermer. Whether you free Gael and Darion or not, even if you manage to rescue everyone they’re holding prisoner there …” She hesitates for a beat as she searches for the right words. “No, it’s folly. You’d be lucky to just be branded as criminals. The Provisionals could declare you all traitors. Insurrectionists, inciting rebellion.”

Kesla just cocks a brow with a rueful half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Frowning again, Lady Naru turns to me. “Shay, what do you say to this? Surely you wouldn’t stand for this, it’s folly. I want to get Gael back as much as any of you, but this is not the way. You’ll get yourselves killed. Even if you succeed, the Tektehrans would hunt you for the rest of your lives. If they catch you, they’ll take your heads.”

Damn it … that’s a hairy prospect to put to me right now. I’ve never had any direct dealings with the Terrors myself, back in the Reaches we always went out of our way to avoid the Occupational forces, and so long as we left them alone they seemed happy enough to show us the same courtesy. But ma told me plenty of stories about them, and I heard a good deal more whenever we’d go to Hocknar for trade, enough to put a healthy fear of them into me. Lady Naru has a strong point, this kind of thinking is extremely dangerous.

Except that I can’t turn my back on my friend, not when we’ve finally got an opportunity to get them back, no matter how crazy or foolish it might be. I look at Kesla now and she’s watching me close, warily trying to read me in the same way I’m doing with her. Then I turn to regard Art, finding him looking up at me too, while Darwyn’s just resting her forehead against his cheek now as she seems lost in thought. I feel a particular weight of expectation in his gaze, because I already know exactly which way he’d prefer to go.

“They can come, I don’t care.” I turn back to the sorcerer now, seeing her eyes widen again as soon as I speak. “You can do what you want, but I’m sure we’d stand a much better chance of succeeding if you actually helped.”

For a moment it seems she might protest, but she doesn’t seem rattled now, or even particularly frustrated with my response. Finally she looks down and gives her staff a tighter twist as she seems to consider, before hissing: “Damn it.” Her shoulders slump, but when she looks up again she seems strangely calm. “Oh hell … I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time I did something supremely foolish for a good reason. You’re right, it’s for Gael, and Darion. It might be incredibly stupid, but …” She shrugs, starting to smile. “I suppose I should at least warn Cafi first. I doubt they’ll approve, but they won’t try to stop us.”

Nodding, Kesla loosens her arms again and starts to walk towards Art. “Yeah, might be best. Might be they could even cover for us a little, maybe.” She stops a step or two short of him and holds the knife out, giving him a careful look. “You all right now, then?”

Art’s a long time answering, but he reaches out to accept his weapon back after a moment, looking up at her with somewhat guilty eyes. “I dunno, boss. That was … I made a mistake, even if it did pay off. But I’m on board with the rest o’ you, if it means we can get ‘em back.”

Kesla holds onto the knife for a beat longer before finally letting it go. “Yeah, well I want you to take some time, get your head straight again. Maybe get a little sleep. I’ll come get you when we need you.”

“We’re not going now, then?” I wonder aloud, frowning a little.

“No, reckon we should come up with a smart plan for this. Sulin’s right, this is a pretty stupid idea. Even if we do pull this off, we’re gonna be marked for it, no matter what Sirsk might be able to do for us in the Authority. Daste’s gone, so’s Wralin. We ain’t got any friends left here now, ‘least nobody with any actual weight.” She shrugs. “Very least, be smart to wait until after dark.”

Yeah … that sounds right. Maybe … I turn to Lady Naru again. “The Playhouse … they had a play on, right? Is there going to be another performance tonight?”

Blinking, she considers for a moment. “Yes, there will be. Two performances a day for the first week, a matinee before an evening performance.” She cocks a brow. “What are you thinking?”

I turn back to Kesla, unable to keep the smile from my face. “You feel like going to a show?”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 19 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction

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NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM, BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 18

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT: Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: VIFRI

This is a whole lot different to what we found at the last house, now we’re poking round under the surface, ‘least in a manner of speaking. The first real surprise came when we found the remains of what must have been the incident which led to the baffling remains we found outside getting ejected through the window. Granted, thanks to the fire it was hard to really make sense of it right away, we found ourselves having to look close and dig about in the waterlogged, charred environs to make real sense of what was there, but after some work we pieced an idea together. This was something a little different from the wreckage we’d been finding before, and in the last house. Eventually we worked out this was more like a battle.

It was the condition of the remains that really drove that home, and I don’t know why I was surprised it was Faldabri who worked it out. Sure, the twisted, dishevelled mismatches of body parts and pieces of armour and broken weaponry were burned to a crisp and had curled up significantly in the heat, but once he pointed out the marks of blades I couldn’t miss ‘em. Somebody carved these things up good. Somebody who didn’t die in the attempt …

More than that, though, we found a trail too, leading deeper into the house from there, and it definitely looked worth following, so I set the tanuki to lead the way with his uncannily keen eyes and impressive sense of smell. ‘Course I stayed close behind him the whole way, still not trusting the seeming safety of this place given what we’d already seen, and my hand was on Wirnur’s hilt the whole time. On the surface, I s’pose, it was just in case I needed to draw in a hurry, but really it just made me feel better as we went deeper. Certainly it calmed my nerves a little whenever the floor under our feet would creak and warp in a particularly alarming manner due to the boards weakening after the fire. Every time I expected it to just break open and swallow us all before we could do anything to stop it.

After a time, the signs of fire faded and the corridors became cleaner, at least to an extent. We still found remains here and there, less frequent and more scattered now, as if these were the bodies of those who’d been cut down at a full run while fleeing, but there were other more interesting signs too. Most of all there was a strange scattering of blood drops soaked into the carpet underfoot, a trail clear enough to mark the way forward once Starkheart lit her flare and took over the lead. I still ain’t been able to work out exactly what that’s about yet.

That led us to a second major battle scene, but this one ain’t been swallowed up by fire like the last, so it was a lot easier to get a good idea what happened here.

Most of the remains scattered about here are just the same kinds of torn, widely strewn corpses we been finding before now, but also other pieces which looked a whole lot more like more intact versions of the flattened, mangled thing we found outside. More intact in a relative way, that is, since they’d still all been cleaved and severed with what, to an educated eye like mine, soon became clear was the work of more than one particularly skilled warrior.

“It’s interesting.” Faldabri muses now as he leans down so low into his crouch his nose is almost close enough to touch the gruesome torn meat he’s inspecting. It’s a wonder the stench ain’t repelled him already given how much more sensitive he is. I suspect his characteristic obsessive fascination is tempering any revulsion he might feel.

“What is?” I move back to him now, taking care as I step over the scattered gore. There’s a lot of particularly nasty viscera in the mix here, a lot of guts and shredded organs or whatever else we have inside us that should never see the light of the world outside our skin. I seen some horrible stuff in my time, I should be hardened to it by now, but there’s just something … I dunno, significantly worse about this than anything I seen before.

“The way these wounds, if we could really call them that, were made …” He carefully shifts the rod in his hand, prodding the piece he’s examining into a different position before moving even closer. “They were cut with steel, I’m sure of that, but … it’s strange. There are no obvious signs of fire here, but there’s searing and charring to the meat, as if the edges of whatever weapons were used were white hot.”

I stop in my tracks when he says that, and turn to search the rest of the group for a moment as they perform their own inspection of the remains … or just try not to let the mess get to them. For the most part Udre’s just spent the whole time leaning against the wall gripping her spear close to her chest with her head bowed and eyes closed, muttering under her breath the whole time. Praying to Thorin. Likely asking for strength but, more than that, for a stronger stomach. It’s enough of a miracle she ain’t puked already.

But she’s opened her eyes now and is looking my way, frowning as she meets my eye. Clearly she heard that, and she’s thinking along similar lines to me, but with a more educated mind. She starts to speak now, but mostly all that comes out is a dry rasp, forcing her to cough hard to clear her throat before she can try and repeat herself. “Holy Fire? That would mean there was a cleric here.”

Turning back to Faldabri, I take the last few steps and plant myself as close as I can get at his side before dropping into my own crouch. It takes me a few moments to get comfortable, and I have to shift my feet a bit to make it work, but I finally lean over to take my own look, and regret it immediately. Fuck that is rank. “You’re sure about that?” I speak through gritted teeth, trying real hard not to breath in through my wrinkled nose.

“It’s unmistakable.” He looks up at me now, and his eyes are big and bright, a subtle half-smile already tickling the corners of his mouth. “I believe your friend is correct. I’ve seen this kind of wound before. Only once, but I am not likely to forget it, the circumstances were very special. It was …” He pauses for a beat, cocking his head as he considers. “Perhaps five years ago? I would have to ask Tormed for the particulars to be sure. We were investigating the death of a particularly notorious confidence trickster in the Drumhalt, and –”

“Can I stop you there?” I hold my hand up as I keep my voice light and even, hiding my frustration well. “Intrigued as I might be to hear that story, we got stuff we gotta look into right now, so brevity might be best.”

Blinking for a moment, Faldabri’s brow creases just a little with the beginning of a frown, but then he just shakes it off with a clipped nod. “Ah, yes. Of course, my apologies. It’s a singular talent of clerics, I’m told, they can imbue a weapon with the Holy Light of their patron, and it makes the blade hot. Dangerously so.”

“Well no, that’s not exactly how it works.” Udre’s making her way to us now, carefully picking her footing as I did while using the butt of her partisan to steady herself as she concentrates on where she’s stepping. “It’s a blessing. It does imbue the weapon, but with the Holy Fire of the god or goddess in question. I’ve only done it once myself, but not in a combat situation, it can be quite taxing.”

“Makes sense, though.” I muse now as I look down at the mess in front of us. Reckon I’m starting to see what he means, the way the cleaner edges where the rendered meat’s been cleaved here all seem like they been effectively cooked by whatever cut through ‘em. “Generally, back in Barricade fire was the most effective weapon we had at our disposal. Given the similarities, using something like it would be the smart move, but just starting a fire in these confines –”

“Would be suicide.” Sardin finishes for me as he steps close on the other side of what could only very loosely be called a corpse. “So they did this instead.”

“It’s unusual, though.” Udre‘s frowning now as she looks around the remains, taking in the other pieces of whatever these things once were before they were so effectively dispatched. “Generally a cleric only blesses the weapons of one individual. It can affect all their blades, but only for the intended recipient. It is possible to bless the weapons of an entire group, but it’s not recommended. Even a particularly powerful cleric would find themselves put out of commission for a good while afterwards. And it wouldn’t last anywhere near as long, either.”

“No?” Faldabri’s watching her with unrestrained fascination now. “Do tell.”

“Well, normally it’s good for an hour or so, but if a cleric were to try and extend its range, they’d be lucky for it to last half as long.”

I just settle my hands on my knees and push myself back up to standing again. “Oof �� well that’s interesting. Clerics ain’t exactly your standard addition to a noble’s household security staff, are they?”

“Not at all, no.” Udre shakes her head. “I don’t understand –”

“Somebody else was here, fighting whatever this shit was. Reckon they must’ve come in from outside, likely after.” I find myself idly twiddling the rod between my fingers, low at my side, as I ponder. “Who’s the noble? The one lives here. Used to. Whatever.”

“Well, it’s … um … the Lady Thura Vezrim.” Sardin’s blushing a little now, seeming a little taken aback by the very revelation he’s delivering.

Bloody hell. Udre just frowns, but I see that Faldabri’s similarly affected by the news, his brows rising even higher than they already were. “Fuck … the Hellcat? This is her place?”

“Really?” There’s a note of particularly enthusiastic hope in the tanuki’s voice now which don’t surprise me in the slightest.

“Yeah, it is.” Sardin nods, looking sheepish now as his eyes dart from me to him to Udre. “Least, that’s what the boss said. Um …”

“For all we know, some o’ this could be her work then.” I cast about again for a beat, then shake my head. “Still don’t explain the rest, though. No way it’s all the work o’ just one fighter, this is definitely a squad, and they’re good. Real good, proper talent. Maybe veterans.” That’s already starting to make real sense to me even as I voice the idea. I snap my fingers. “Sellswords. Not her own household guards, somebody separate, but that she’s friendly with. Maybe they fought with her, back in the day.”

“Didn’t we hear something about a group of mercenaries causing trouble last week?” Udre offers up “More than one incident, there was a skirmish in the Gods’ Round, then another in an old stable? Both times they were gone before anyone actually arrived to check, but …”

That just makes me frown. “No way to tell if that actually means anything. Could be totally unrelated. Right now it’s barely even a theory.”

“It would explain the cleric, though.” she counters “You know how they like to have divine help on hand if it’s needed. They’re a lot like professional troops, if you think about it.”

Cocking a brow, I give her a crooked half-smile. “Speak for yourself.”

“Boss? Might wanna take a look at this.”

Vid’s tone alone is enough to grab my attention. He just sounds so urgent, given how calm he always is catching even a hint of fluster is enough to give me warning. I step back quick, not really watching my footing now but just trusting I’ll be all right as I search for him, finally finding him a little way down the corridor. Stood in the open doorway of one of the rooms, looking out at us all. He looks perfectly collected, but I can pick up the subtle tension in him all the same cuz I know him.

“What is it?”

“Found where that blood came from. Thought you might wanna check it out, reckon there’s clues in here.”

Frowning, I don’t ask what he means by that, instead just stepping that way now as I start to concentrate on where I’m putting my feet again, just in case. Udre’s already falling into step behind me, going even more careful than I am, and I can sense the two investigators mustering too, but I just concentrate on my own progress now.

Ducking back inside, Vidram shoves the door the rest of the way open and just vanishes from sight, and I hustle to get after him now. At least the floor seems to be cleaner in here than outside, but as I look down I can see from the light of the flare he’s holding high that the trail of blood we followed to this stretch of corridor does indeed lead inside. I follow it the rest of the way now, and it seems a whole lot more substantial than the few solitary drops we been tracking up until now, having long since soaked right into this particularly pale and very deep carpet. Rich people, I don’t understand ‘em sometimes.

When I finally look up I realise I’m already in the middle of the room, and that it clearly belongs to one of the family. Every piece of décor suggests a young noble girl, but there’s also suggestions that she’s of a particularly martial bent which immediately tells me she’s very much the daughter of the Hellcat herself. Even if that bed is ridiculous …

Starkheart’s just frowning down at the floor on the far side of the immense four-poster lace-satin-and-velvet monstrosity that sets every sinew of my being on edge just looking at it. I can’t decide if it’s just having been brought up in a single-parent working-class household in Neveht, or just that no female child I ever knew, myself very much included, would ever allow anything like this within a hundred miles of their own bedroom. It’s completely ridiculous and thoroughly unnecessary. This bed alone is as massive as the largest room in the modest apartment I grew up in.

“Oh! Thorin … I’ve never seen a room like this before.” Udre breathes behind me as she must be taking it in too.

“No shit.” I breathe through my teeth “What the hell is –”

“It’s beautiful.”

Trying really hard not to roll my eyes, I turn to her. “Really?”

She don’t quite cringe back, but I get the distinct impression she wishes I wasn’t looking at her so close right now. Turning immensely sheepish, she quickly avoids my eyes as she breathes through very tight lips: “Sorry boss …”

Regretting being quite so brusque with her, I just let a frustrated hiss out through my teeth and grimace as I turn away. “Chill. I guess it ain’t that bad.”

“There’s a good deal more blood in here than even that would suggest.” I turn back to find Faldabri stood a little closer to the door, frowning down at a spot on the floor off to the side where there’s a haphazard scattering of blood, almost a pint’s worth, it looks like. Not so much like someone was actually wounded on the spot, it’s more like … actually, as I step close, I can’t tell quite what I’m looking at. Now I spot other signs of … something, specifically scattered pieces of what I slowly realise are broken leather armour. Black, but even so I can see they’re heavily soaked in blood, particularly where they’ve been torn.

“That’s … weird. What d’you reckon –”

“Someone was wounded, critically, and they were tended to here.” He looks up at me with a much more reserved frown now, telling me he’s stating a simple fact instead of offering up something he finds particularly fascinating. “No, I was actually referring to whatever’s on the other side of the bed.”

“He’s right, boss.” Vid mutters, frowning too, albeit with a good deal more wariness. “it’s pretty nasty.”

As my own brow furrows more, I step past him again and head over to where the dwarf is, still looking down past the bed. She finally turns as I draw close, and she gives me a strangely pensive look as she steps back to make room. Damn, she almost seems rattled. That can’t be a good sign …

Oh hell …that is a lot of blood. So much I’m a little surprised to not find an actual body, but even so it’s clear that there was one here before. Definitely an actual corpse, there’s no way someone could bleed this much and actually survive. Suddenly all this blood we been tracking makes a lot more sense … “Whoever died here, whoever fought their way out must have taken the body with ‘em.”

Starkheart cocks a brow as she watches me for a long beat. “You’re sure about that?”

“Reckon that makes the most sense for this. Whoever it was, they were prob’ly killed in the initial attack, or ‘least wounded so bad they died here. Then when whoever these mercs are came in, they must’ve taken the body with ‘em when they disappeared.”

“She’s right.” Faldabri surprises me as he slips past me and circles round the great soaked patch of blood that’s entirely saturated the carpet here. It’s thick and still wet enough I can actually smell it, the coppery stink acridly musty in the back o’ my nose. The tanuki stops at the bottom end of the puddle, where the head must’ve been, and drops into a crouch, stroking his chin now. Some of his fervent fascination seems to have returned now, looks like. “It’s interesting … there are a good deal more scents than I would have expected in here.”

That makes me frown, and I turn to Starkheart now, opening my mouth to ask what he must mean by that. But she beats me to it.

“Means he’s picked up on whoever else’s been in here, likely pretty recent. Must be the folk you’re on about. You mentioned mercs?”

I’m a beat realising she prob’ly didn’t catch the conversation we just had outside, she must’ve already been in here, checking this out with Vid. “Oh … yeah. Sellswords. Somebody besides the estate’s security. Figure it was some kinda rescue.”

“But how would they even know?” Udre wonders, taking me a little by surprise since I didn’t hear her creep up beside me. She’s looking down at the great bloody mess soaked into the carpet now, and in the flare-light she looks pale as candle wax, squeamish even. “I mean … really, how would they even be able to get word out with something like … whatever this was happening?”

Nobody answers that one, Starkheart just shrugs while Faldabri frowns ponderously. Finally I shake my head. “Couldn’t say. Ain’t like we actually know any o’ the particulars.” I turn back to the tanuki. “What can you smell? Can you identify specific folk? Anybody smell familiar, maybe?”

Faldabri cocks a brow as he stands up again, backing up now to get away from the puddle, and takes a particularly big sniff of the air. “Honestly, it’s hard to really judge particulars. There are many competing scents, and the pervading odour from the battle outside is permeating somewhat. More so the blood in here, which is the more pressing concern. And then there’s the unavoidable fact that this was someone’s bedroom, so there is a particularly strong, dominant scent throughout this entire space. A human girl, a teenager. Not yet quite of age.”

“Anything at all.” I’m willing to cling at straws right now, I just want a lead, however tenuous. “Whatever you can pick outta the mess.”

Nodding, he moves out again from behind the bed and moves past me, sniffing again, repeating the process a few times as he starts to circle the room. I watch him as he goes, holding my breath a little now, and I can see Udre and Vid are both intrigued by his process too. Sardin, meanwhile, is just stood in the doorway, watching with more solemnity since he’s clearly seen this all before.

“A reasonably substantial handful of humans, I think … more than a few of them related, the girl included. I would surmise they would be Lady Thura and her children. At least two others who are not related, though … one of them smells … somewhat unusual, there’s a strange scent to her I’ve never encountered before. I can’t work it out …”

Again I turn to Starkheart, but when she sees me looking she just shrugs again. I wonder what he could even mean by that.

Stopping by the pieces of ruined armour and those strange bloody marks, he takes a particularly big sniff, then two more. His frown deepens. “There are some other, much more interesting scents here too. There’s … a think one of them is a tengu, and there’s a bakaneko too. A halfling, and …” His brows shoot right up now as he looks right at me. “One of them was a goblin. I would bet my life on it.”

Bloody hell … that’s an interesting idea. I mean it’s not exactly impossible, if they really were a bunch o’ sellswords I wouldn’t be too surprised to find an interesting, exotic mix in there, the profession does tend to attract all different types, but … I dunno, it’s still pretty unusual. Goblins are real unusual in civilised climes, cuz folk just don’t like ‘em. Even full-blood orcs are better received in places like this.

“There’s one more, too …” He’s taking much slower steps towards the door now, sniffing the air more sparingly now, like he’s being cautious about it. “It’s very odd, somewhat like the human I couldn’t place … but also very much not. I’ve definitely never encountered a scent like this one before. It’s … it smells wild. Bestial, but also very much not. Perhaps there’s something of an elf about it, but … not really.” He finally shrugs, sighing deep as he starts to come back again. “I’m sorry, that one’s quite baffled me.”

I just ponder for a long beat, going over what he’s said now as I try to picture the kind of group he’s described, ‘least in a roundabout kind of way. It’s weird, something about it’s niggling at the back o’ my mind, like it reminds me o’ something, but I can’t think what now. It’s gonna bug me, I can tell, but it’s like one o’ those problems where I’m too close to it to see. More likely it’ll hit me when I stop thinking about it.

Then I hear something poof outside, beyond the open door, and almost in the same instant there’s a heavy thump against the wall in the corridor. I ain’t the only one who jumps at that, both my hands immediately going to my sword but I don’t draw, not yet, and I’m already turning back to the doorway. But Sardin’s already on it, looking out into the corridor as I hear someone else cursing in low, angry tones out there. A voice I don’t recognise at all. “Fuck’s sake, Prem! What are you –”

“Damn it … I’m sorry, that was not what was intended.” There are sounds of a struggle out there now, but given the words being spoken it don’t feel like a fight, so I’m slowly starting to relax. Others are slower, but Sardin turns out to be one o’ the ones who’s already shaking it off as he steps out.

“Gods, you two okay? That sounded –”

“Now look what you … this is rank! Look at the state o’ this place, what the fuck …”

The more offended voice sounds female, with a strong local accent, common Untermer born and bred. The second, on the other hand, seems a deal more highborn, male, and somewhat gruff despite his tone. They both start talking at once now, and in the mess I can’t really tell if it’s apologies or a blooming argument instead, but the fact that Starkheart’s just rolling her eyes hearing it tells me this is nothing unusual.

“What’s all that about?” I find myself wondering, mostly under my own breath.

“Two people who really should know better, really.” Faldabri’s picking over the abandoned leather armour now, and something about the way he’s regarding it gives me pause, so I step over instead.

“You spotted something?”

“This is high quality work, despite its condition. I’ve seen it before, or at least its ilk. This was Thieves Guild leather armour, I’d swear to it.”

“Yeah? That’s interesting. Whose is it? If you can tell, I mean …”

“The halfling’s. Even without the bloodstains, I smell them on this.” He looks up at me now, cocking a brow. “I might actually know who this is. It rings a bell, at least.”

“Oh, that’s good.” I cast an eye to Starkheart again, finding her frowning down at the tanuki now, although she seems thoughtful too. “You think maybe –”

“Sergeant Staduva, right?” It’s the woman speaking, I realise, approaching my back already, and as I wheel about I’m immediately taken aback.

This is an interesting turn. Bakaneko ain’t exact unknown in Rundao, or even in Tektehr, although they’re a good deal rarer up there, but I ain’t met many in my time, an’ most o’ them were mercs. There’s just something about the life that seems to sit well with a lot of ‘em, maybe it’s the freedom, that they don’t have to be beholden to anybody. But I never met one who actually worked for a city townsguard before, it’s a proper surprise.

She’s a tall one, too, but still typically lean and lithe, the way she’s stepping seeming more like a dance. Her dappled fur, picked out in shades of sandy tan and much darker brown, is silky fine, somewhat shaggy but it still looks very soft, with white highlights to her chin and a few other points here and there, including the tip of her lazily swishing tail. Her darker, surprisingly straight mane, meanwhile, has been brushed back and tucked behind her broad triangular ears. She’s got a particularly sly look to her, even more so than I ever encountered before in a yokai cat-person, a shrewd intelligence writ clear on her features, particularly pronounced in her eyes. They’re a rich amber-gold, incredibly beautiful, but there’s a sharp wariness in ‘em as she looks me over.

Her uniform’s a good deal more standardised than her colleagues’, the same laminar armour and bottle green surcoat I seen on the streets, complete with the round shield strapped across her back, although it’s all in exceptional condition. The copper-and-brass accents in particular gleam in the flare-light, and the only dirt I see on her is scattered splotches of gory mess from their arrival outside, looks like. Even her leather’s polished up particular shiny, I notice.

The sword at her side is her main glaring departure from the standard issue, a long sword with a narrower blade and banded ring-guard instead of the usual cross on its hilt. It’s built for a two-handed grip, but this is clearly a weapon designed for swift, precise work wielded in one hand, more cut-and thrust than regular hack-and-slash. Honestly, it suits her much better, although it would surely be a good deal more incongruous alongside that shield, which makes me wonder how often she actually uses that thing in the first place.

I’m a beat responding to her query, so she’s already extending her right paw as I remember myself. “Corporal Trick, at your service. Gil … the lieutenant told me you’re in charge, kind of?”

Through the corner of my eye I notice Starkheart frown a little at her slip into familiarity, but I’m stepping up to close that last foot of distances as I clasp her paw with my own hand and give it a healthy pump. “In a roundabout way, ‘least as much on my end as he is. It’s complicated, really.”

“Yeah, I get that.” She cocks a brow as she looks down at my hand for a beat before I let go, like she’s a little surprised by how firm I shook. “Well I won’t begrudge you, this is a shitshow. We could sure use the help.”

“Mostly we’re just here at the request of our own superiors, but they want the same thing yours do, so it amounts to the same thing.” I clear my throat now, working my mouth a little as I try to work out how to broach the subject. “You’re … well, reckon you’re right to call it a shitshow. It’s proper ugly all right. An’ we got some experience.”

She frowns at that, her face growing a bit more sombre. “So it’s like we heard, then?”

Trying not to scowl, I just shrug. “Maybe. There’s too much similarity to discount, although it ain’t … exactly what we used to deal with. That’s worrying enough.”

“Well it’s certainly unpleasant.” the other new arrival mutters, huffy now as he blusters in, pausing a few steps into the room to give each of his feet a little shake now to try and get rid of the slop his boots have managed to pick up from the corridor. Hitching up robes while he’s doing it, I notice … honestly, I wasn’t expecting a wizard, but I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised. This team’s tossed a good selection of interesting twists my way already.

As dragonhalves go, he definitely leans more toward a human appearance than some, so while his striking sky blue skin is the same kind of scaled, leathern hide as many of his kin, his features are far less reptilian than some. He’s got actual eyebrows, for a start, and they’re the same pale ivory colour as his hair, which had been bound back in a tight ponytail, while his eyes are a striking shade of warm amber. His impressive, elaborately curling backswept horns are as black as his talons, and just as shiny, although I suspect it’s natural rather than purposely polished, he don’t seem a particularly vain or flamboyant type now I’m getting a read on him.

Indeed, despite his clear distaste for the detritus he’s had to navigate since they arrived, the condition of his working robes suggests a particular lack of fastidiousness I find quite refreshing in a mage. I’ve encountered a handful of Silver Order wizards in my career, most just since I arrived in my posting here, and they all got proper airs about ‘em. This one too, but ‘least he seems less stuffy than most others, or maybe it’s just his current colleagues have rubbed off on him some.

His robes are a mixture of his Order’s characteristic white with distinctive silver highlighting, but they’re also thick, somewhat worn wool rather than the usual silk or rich linen, and they’re starting to fray at the edges from regular use. He’s also made a clear effort to demonstrate his professional alignment, mixing the same bottle green into his ensemble to show deference to his post, most notably a well-wound wide sash tied around his waist instead of a surcoat. It’s kind of admirable, really.

He jumbles his staff from one hand to the other as he makes his way in and does his unconsciously endearing little dance, frowning down at the dark, somewhat grimy bloodstains he’s also managed to pick up on his classy, well-made boots. It’s a typically impressive piece, a burnished metal stave a foot taller than he is which bears the same spiralling corkscrew motif I seen others carry near its top, which opens out into a simple diamond-shaped tip with a hollow centre. He don’t seem to carry any other weapons, but given what I learned about Order mages in my time he likely don’t need anything else.

After a beat he just gives up and straightens, looking round the room now so he can take us all in, and seems surprised to find all eyes on him now, his cheeks darkening almost immediately. “Ah … yes. Um …” He focuses on me now, fumbling his staff into his left hand as he steps forward again, smoothing his robes more absent-mindedly now. “You would be Sergeant Staduva, I take it?”

Cocking a brow at Corporal Trick for a beat, I offer my hand as I close the gap to him with a single step. “Well informed, ain’t you?”

“Oh, I … hmm …” He frowns down at my hand as I extend it, starting to reach up too but seeming to check himself. I’d almost read it as a slight but his reaction seems more startled than offended. “I’m sorry, I … um …” Then he just lets out a sigh and takes my hand after all, and I immediately realise the reason for his reluctance.

The moment his hand grips mine it gives me a jolt, a static shock running up my arm as he gives a single shake and then quickly lets go. I wince, I can’t help it, having to give my arm a good shake to work some feeling back into it. It don’t exactly hurt, but the prickling numbness is a long way from pleasant. “Oof … that was –”

“My apologies, Sergeant.” He’s avoiding my eyes now, sheepish as he looks down at the floor with his shoulders slumped. “I’m afraid it’s not something I can really control …”

Giving my hand a last little shake, I work my fingers as sensation starts to return to them. “No, I get it. You got blue dragon blood in you. Should’ve expected a jolt.”

“Nonetheless, it was … unfortunate.” He looks down at his hand for a flustered moment, licking his lips with a dark, forked tongue as he works on regaining his composure, then clears his throat. “I am Prembed Erahadur, of the Silver Order. Care of the Untermer Townsguard’s Special Investigation Division, of course.”

“Clearly.” I offer another quirked brow. “The robes are a dead giveaway.”

Blinking, he looks down to inspect his costume, frowning deeper as his cheeks darken even more. “Oh … oh yes, of course. I’m sorry, I –”

“Chill out, Prem.” The bakaneko reveals a particularly tuneful chuckle as she gives him a gentle shove on the shoulder, simply meant to be reassuring since he really don’t need to adjust his footing to recover from it. “Reckon she’s just joshin’.” She gives me a somewhat knowing look as she says it, and I might detect a little more hidden in her expression now, not so much a warning as simple acknowledgment. Reckon I might like her already.

“Meanwhile, you’re … I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.”

That has her frowning a little, her smile fading some, and she looks round her colleagues before answering me, her ears going flat back across her head now, which I heard means she’s getting uncomfortable, maybe defensive. “Oh, well …” She sucks in a sharp breath and lets a somewhat frustrated sigh go before continuing. “Hell … Corporal Trick. Cheap Trick, if you must. But I’d rather you didn’t. Just Trick’s fine.”

When I look at the rest of her squad this time I find Starkheart’s eyes locked on me, and there’s almost a challenge in her stare now, like she’s daring me to make a joke of it. Standing up for her friend, looks like.

I think I understand her reticence over her name, given what I do know about her kind their names are a strange, sometimes unfathomable thing all on their own, and she clearly wound up with the short end of the stick when she got hers. I don’t know if it was a joke or a cruel twist o’ fate, but I really can’t imagine any loving parent giving this one to their own child. So I just set my jaw and nod, keeping my voice even and my tone light as I reply: “Sure it is. Heard you two got delayed getting here, some other business held you up?”

Her expression smooths out quick when she gets I ain’t making a big deal out of it, and she’s already breathing easier. “Yeah, Gil sent us off to do a little digging while you lot got started with this end o’ things. Further down the Hill, I mean. Since this is all highborn business he wanted to know what the connection might be. If there was one.”

Oh, that’s interesting. I can’t help a little hope slipping into my tone now as I lean a little closer. “So you found something then? I mean you’re back, so –”

“Maybe.” She turns a bit shrewd now as she looks me over a little more cautious now, but still not defensive, ‘least not yet. “Not that I know how much you actually know, about who’s actually been dying, I mean.”

“Well the last house we were at was that big fancy general from the war, Wralin, the dragonhalf one. Proper big deal, we heard plenty ‘bout him growing up back in Neveht. An’ the Hellcat lived here, or still does, I dunno. I get the impression she’s still alive, so –”

“Really?” That seems to genuinely surprise her as she looks right to Faldabri.

“It would certainly appear that way.” He simply nods. “Given the indicators.”

“We already heard about some o’ the others, too, seems like they’re all either old War vets or ‘least sympathetic.” Again I try to keep my tone as cool and neutral as I can, not sure exactly how this lot actually feel in that particular arena. “There was somebody called Daste too, heard her name once or twice in the past …”

Trick don’t say anything this time, but she shoots a look at Erahadur, whose own brows go right up when I drop the name. Now that’s interesting.

“That mean something to you two, then?”

Again the wizard just looks down, a good deal more wary than awkward this time, but still … Trick, meanwhile, just looks straight at Starkheart, frowning again, and I can tell she’s genuinely wondering if she should just keep quiet on this particular detail. Whatever it is. I don’t look at the dwarf this time, concentrating on the newcomer instead, but then the older woman must give her a nod or something cuz quick enough she just sighs through gritted teeth, looking at the floor for a beat before speaking again. “Yeah, reckon so. The Lieutenant sent us up to fetch you. Turns out there’s somebody else alive who really should be dead right now, he wants to go talk to ‘em and reckons you might wanna tag along. Since we’re working together an’ all that.”

I look her over for a beat before saying anything, trying to get a read on her. For a minute there I was starting to like her, but the way she’s being so cautious has checked me some, ramming it home that, regardless of our common goals right now, these folk are still Rundao first and foremost, and we definitely ain’t. It’s a convenient arrangement right now, but deep down we still ain’t really on the same side, even in this. Tormed’s being deferential right now cuz it’s what the Provisionals want, but even he prob’ly ain’t that happy about this, and he’ll only go along with this arrangement much as he absolutely has to. Much as they’re all smiles and friendliness, these folk ain’t actual friends.

But it won’t do any good for me to call ‘em on it, so I just suck in another breath and put on my calmest face as I nod. “Reckon he’s right there. He wants us to go now? Don’t reckon we’re done here yet.”

“He just wants you to come along, maybe one o’ your friends too. Don’t matter who. It’ll just be me an’ Prem coming with you three anyway. This stuff ain’t really my specialty, I’m more the street smarts for this crew most o’ the time.” She looks past me now. “Rag’s more’n capable of leading up here anyway, she does well enough most o’ the time when we separate.”

Again, I look at the rest o’ their group here, particularly focusing on Faldabri. He seems fine with it, watching me with a calm, open face, maybe the subtlest hint of something getting him down but if I’m honest reckon it’s more likely just cuz he wasn’t invited along as well. Given he’ll be staying here to finish off instead, he’s otherwise largely fine with this new turn of events. But the fact he otherwise ain’t visibly perturbed convinces me she’s on the level, and this ain’t some kinda play to distract us from anything they wanna keep us away from. To be honest I doubt he can bluff at all, prob’ly can’t lie to save his life.

So I just turn to my own people, considering Udre and Vidram both as they’re already watching me too. Wondering how I’m gonna go with this new development. It don’t take me long to work out which one to choose here. “You good holding things down here while I’m gone, Vid?”

Our Corporal blinks, the only show of surprise I ever would’ve expected from him, and shoots a quick look at our cleric before sucking in a little breath as he nods, shifting his feet now. “Sure thing, boss. You want me to just carry on as I am, or step up a bit more?”

Looking at Starkheart as I consider what he’s asking, I try my best to read her reaction. Her eyes narrow a little, but her expression don’t change much beside that. She’s still watching me, not seeming overly defensive but still starting to puff up a little all the same as wonders if I’m gonna make him try and go over her head while I’m gone. But I’m confident enough they’re on the level right now, I don’t see her doing anything different in my absence to what I would’ve expected otherwise, so I throw her a bone instead.

“No, carry on for now. The Sergeant’s in charge, she knows what she’s doing. Just back her up if …” I pause for a beat, working my mouth a little as I consider my words. “Well, y’know. I don’t reckon anything’ll actually happen like we’re used to, but, y’know … just in case.”

That just makes him frown, his knuckles whitening a little as catches what I’m implying. Finally he nods back. “Gotcha boss. I’ll keep my eyes peeled. But I really hope you’re right.”

“Me too.” I nod again, letting a heavier sigh go now as I step towards Udre now. “You’re with me. You good with that?”

She just grips the shaft of her spear a little tighter as she lets a somewhat relieved breath go, not meeting my eye now as she replies: “Of course, boss. Just fine.” She don’t say what I know she’s feeling, but it’s clear enough to me. She don’t wanna be here anymore anyway, happy enough with the chance to get out so her skin can stop crawling for a while.

Turning back to Trick, I give her a nod, and shoot a look at the wizard. “We heading back downstairs to meet the lieutenant or –”

“He’s already making his own way, just wanted us to fetch you. He’ll meet us outside.” She turns to her colleague, and I see real hesitation in her now, a reluctance that seems almost squeamish. “Um … you … I don’t know if you … ever had any dealings with wizards before now, or –”

“Not a whole lot, but enough to learn a few things o’ my own.” I almost ask what she’s trying to get at, but then I work it out for myself. Maybe it’s her reticence, coupled with the manner o’ their arrival. “Oh hell … you wanna jump us out?”

Udre’s eyes go wide, and I swear her knuckles whiten the same time her face pales. “Oh please no, not again. I hate that.”

“It’s the quickest way, unfortunately.” Erahadur lets a weary sigh go as he steps forward now, gripping his own staff with similar fretful tightness to our cleric’s, and he’s having his own trouble maintaining eye contact now. “It’s either that or we’d have to navigate our way back outside through … well, to be perfectly frank I don’t actually know how much more of that there is.” He tries to look up at me at last, clearly making a real concerted effort now. “I will attempt to make the transition as smooth as I can. And they do say that the more you do it, the easier it gets. Or at the very least, you do get used to it.”

Trick just grimaces, not even trying to hide it. “No you don’t.”

Resisting the powerful urge to curse under my breath, even though I know I’d do it in my own tongue anyway, I just clench my teeth and look back at Starkheart. She catches me watching her again and her own jaw tightens some, but finally she just gives me a curt little nod, and I guess that’s indicator enough she’s gonna handle her end. “Shit … all right, guess we’ll have to go along with it. Suck it up, Private. We’re on the job.”

For a beat, Udre looks like she might try and protest, but in the end she looks down and lets out a little sigh instead. She takes a step up to join us now, still gripping her partisan good and tight, and final reaches out to offer up the shaft for me to take hold of. She gives me a look while she does it, regretful and a little pleading, but still holds her tongue.

Letting my own breath go in a frustrated hiss, I take hold of the offered spear with my left hand, holding my right out now for Trick. She looks at it for a beat but takes hold of it quick enough, giving it a little squeeze as she offers her own look of commiseration. Still not too enthusiastic about this plan herself, looks like.

Finally the wizard closes our little circle, grabbing the bakaneko’s other hand while as he clears his throat, looking at me now as he starts to speak, then falters when he sees the look on my face. I ain’t even trying to hide how I feel about this either.

Then he finally speaks, and instead of really hearing what he says it’s something that has actual substance instead of a sound, a strange empty weight in the open air between us as he breathes it. In the same instance things seem to turn on their head, and I just cram my eyes shut as I feel my stomach lurch right up inside me, like it just wants to jump right out my mouth, and it’s like I’m falling even though I know we ain’t really dropping. I already know there’s no way I’ll be able to keep from puking right on the paving when we land outside …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

#never split the party #The Creeping Bam #the adventures of the creeping bam #book 4 chapter 18 #original fiction #fantasy fiction #original fantasy fiction #to be continued

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