“What are we going to do?” Jynn asked as he tied a makeshift bandage around Laruna’s arm.
“Well, there’s a trick to fightin’ archers,” Gorm growled, hefting his axe.
“What’s that?” said Laruna through gritted teeth.
“Shoot first,” said Gorm, signaling Heraldin. “Cover me.”
The bard’s arm jerked. Three clouds of smoke burst from the floor, billows of emerald and sapphire that wound together in turquoise swirls. Gorm launched himself over the desk, axe in hand. He couldn’t see the crossbowman through the smokescreen, but he could see the top of the window that the assassin was crouched in. After some quick triangulation, he sent his axe flying through the dust clouds in an arc that terminated with a thunk and panicked scrabbling. A bolt embedded itself into a nearby floorboard.
The Dwarf launched through the smokescreen with a manic grin and a fist cocked for a skull-cracking punch. As he emerged from the colorful vapors, he finally glimpsed the face of the crossbowman. Gorm recognized the assassin’s features instantly, which likely contributed to the panic spreading over them.
“Flinn!” Red mist was already closing in around Gorm’s vision as he charged, mixing with the last wisps of Heraldin’s seafoam-colored smoke.
The Tinderkin paused to do some quick calculations. Without a word in reply, he dropped from the windowsill and ran.
“Get back here, ye bloody bastard!” Gorm roared, launching himself after the fleeing assassin. His pursuit was interrupted, however, by a massive iron blade slamming into the floor in front of him. The golem it belonged to stepped into his path, its eye glowing crimson.
“Ye mindless hunk of metal,” Gorm snarled. “If’n Barty’d given ye a brain, ye’d know how stupid that was.”
In reply, the golem snapped its head forward as it locked on again. Its eye flickered as its arm ratcheted back into position.
Gorm was ready. When the golem’s predictable swing came, he leapt on the arm and launched himself at its face. It briefly occurred to Gorm that, given his axe was still embedded in the windowsill, he probably should have improvised a weapon. Unfortunately that thought, along with most of his other cogent ones, was quickly being drowned out by a rising tide of crimson.
Instead of searching for an alternative to his axe, he attacked the problem, and the golem itself, as a berserker did: directly and with excessive force. With one hand he grabbed the golem’s head; with the other he punched the glass eye repeatedly, slamming his bare fist into it until his bloody hand crashed through the orb and smashed the mechanisms behind it.
Bellowing in triumph, Gorm leapt from the staggering golem onto the next construct in line, trying to make for the window. A third golem intervened, swinging its blade and shield to block the Dwarf’s path. Gorm hollered again as he landed on the floor, this time in frustration.
Another, louder roar answered him. All eyes turned to the opposite end of the hall.
The guildhall’s wall collapsed inward as Thane made a door out of a window, bellowing in fury. The closest golem turned to look at the new combatant and chirruped quizzically as it searched for the right combat protocol. Its query ended in a metallic squeal as the construct’s head was torn from its body and shoved down its neck hole. The Troll tore off its arm as he passed, and wielded the steel appendage like a club against next golem.
Gorm’s attention was pulled back to the nearest golems by the telltale ratcheting of an incoming strike. He leapt to the right, but his dodge proved to be unnecessary. A combined storm of fire and lightning from the mages washed over the golem, blasting it from its feet and melting it into a glowing, red lump.
That left just one golem facing Gorm. It brandished its weapon and stared with mindless malice at the Dwarf, ignoring the chaos around it. It didn’t even falter as another golem’s blade erupted from its chest, or as its own sword arm was seized by a Troll and torn off. The angry light in its ocular orb only faded when Thane decapitated it with its own blade.
“Is that the last of them?” Laruna asked.
“Almost,” said Heraldin.
The heroes turned to where Gaist and his double were battling. The doppelgangers, in turn, paused in their duel to look at the approaching heroes and the Troll rumbling up behind them.
“Don’t worry,” Gorm told the shapeshifters. “We got time to figure this out. Thane here’s got a good sense of smell.”
One Gaist stared at the Troll impassively. The other wavered and bolted for the door with a cry of “Sod this!” That turned out to be an unfortunate choice of last words. The doppelganger didn’t make it two steps before the Troll was upon it.
“Now is that the last of them?” said Laruna.
“I count twelve golems down,” said Jynn.
“We’ve still got to go after Flinn,” growled Gorm, his fury still burning.
“We need to find Burt and Patches as well,” said Jynn.
Heraldin looked around the empty room. “And what about the pirate guy?”
“The who?” asked Gorm.
“The guy in a long coat and a pirate hat,” said Heraldin. “Shouted in nautical terms? Carried a saber? Said ‘yar’ a couple of times?”
“You’re sure it was a pirate?” Gorm’s raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“It’s not the sort of thing you can mistake for something else.” Laruna spoke through gritted teeth as she clutched her wounded arm. “Right down to the big hoop earring.”
“I saw him leap out the window at one point,” said Jynn.
“I didn’t see him.” Thane dropped the deflated remains of the doppelganger as he stalked back toward the party.
“It was well before you arrived,” the noctomancer said. “I think it might have even been before Gorm showed up.”
Gorm shook his head. “Why would he run away then? They were winnin’ for a bit there.”
“He didn’t look like he was running.” Heraldin scratched at his whiskers. “More like… searching for his target.”
Jynn nodded. “They knew our group, and came after each of us individually.”
A ball of ice ran down Gorm’s spine and dropped into his stomach. “That means he was probably searchin’ for—”
“Kaitha!” bellowed Thane.
“Now, she’s a beauteous sight if’n I ever seen one,” said the pirate, or rather the assassin dressed as a pirate. The important bit, Burt felt, was the saber the man held as he sauntered into the alley.
“You stay back.” Burt brandished his knife in a manner that even he knew was ridiculous.
“Yar, I don’t think I will,” said the assassin, advancing. “See, Old Captain Jones here was sent to kill a particular wench, and ’tis my good fortune to find her sleepin’. Makes the killin’ all the easier.”
“Yeah? You’ll have to get by me first.” Burt had heard about people saying such things in ballads and epics. Now that he said the words, they sounded a lot more foolish.
“Aye, that be the idea,” said Captain Jones. “If’n I want to kill her, I gotta kill you.”
“Well, I didn’t mean that, exactly,” said Burt.
“Oh? No matter. I’ll be doin’ it anyhow.” The assassin leapt forward. His saber flashed in the moonlight.
Burt ducked and slashed out blindly with his own knife. He felt his blade bite into the pirate’s flesh as a searing agony raked across his ear. The Kobold leapt back with a yelp of pain.
The assassin withdrew as well, clutching a bloodied wrist. “Yarr, that was a lucky blow,” Captain Jones hissed through gritted teeth.
“You sure about that?” the Kobold growled, waving the knife and trying to ignore the blood dribbling into his eye.
“Burt? Is that you?”
Burt and the assassin both froze at the Elf’s murmur. Glancing back, he could see that she was stirring as though from a dream, her eyes shut and her brow furrowed. Her hand had found her bow, however, and she clutched it close.
“Yar, I clearly don’t have the time for this bil
ge,” snarled Captan Jones. “So I suggest ye run your flea bitten arse out of here and leave me to my work ’afore I run ye through!”
“Yeah right, sailor,” Burt’s hackles were up. “You’ve got no idea what I’d be up against if I let you touch her.”
The pirate assassin took a step forward. “Arrr, let me assure you that I—”
Any promise that the assassin might have made was cut off by a thunderous shout, a sound somewhere between an avalanche and a dragon’s roar.
“Well, now you’ve got some idea,” said Burt.
Captain Jones didn’t have time to respond. He glanced down the street intersecting the alley just as a Troll hit him like a catapult stone.
“Yeah, now you get it.” Burt grimaced and looked away. A man wasn’t supposed to make the noises that Captain Jones was making. Then again, a man wasn’t supposed to bend like Captain Jones was bending either. “All right, Thane, enough. I mean, ugh, c’mon. He’s done.”
Thane didn’t seem to notice the Kobold. It would have been hard to hear anything over the final screams of the assassin and the Troll’s own enraged roaring. There was a fury in the Troll’s eyes that Burt had never seen before, and it didn’t seem like anything could snap Thane from his frenzy.
Then the arrow struck.
The shaft protruding from the back of the Troll’s head didn’t seem to hurt him as much as surprise him. He turned around, only for another shot to strike him in the throat, snowy fletching sprouting from his jugular like a wildflower. A heartbeat later, yet another arrow bloomed in his right eye, prompting a grunt of pain.
“Troll!” Kaitha screamed.
Burt turned to find Kaitha standing, her hair wild, her nightclothes filthy, and her face a mask of terror. She was already notching another arrow while her eyes searched for some way out of the alley. “Kaitha! No!” Burt hollered.
It was too late. Kaitha loosed the arrow, striking Thane in the vicinity of his heart. In one fluid motion she grabbed Burt and threw him through a nearby window. “Run! Get away, Burt!” she screamed before taking off down the alley. By the time Burt righted himself and got back to the window, the Elf was already scaling a fence at the end of the alley. She hit the ground running on the other side and sprinted down the streets of Haertswood.
“Well, ain’t that a fine way to treat a guy who saved your life,” grumbled Burt, clambering through the window. “I took a saber to the ear, but a Troll shows up and it’s everyone for themselves. Just chuck a guy through the window and hope he doesn’t get eaten.”
Burt hopped down into the alleyway and dusted himself off. “I tell you, the Kobolds always get the worst of it. Uh, I mean, I suppose you got the worst of this one, right? Thane?”
He looked up at the Troll. Thane still watched the fence the Elf had disappeared over. His throat made little gurgling noises as he breathed, and black blood seeped from his eye down the side of his face like a trail of dark tears.
“You all right?” said Burt. “Thane? I mean, I know that didn’t go well, exactly, but… you know. It’ll be fine. Probably.”
Thane pulled the arrow from his eye with a horrible shlucking sound. By the time he blinked twice, his eyeball had regenerated enough to stare in shock at the enchanted arrow that Kaitha had shot him with.
“Look, she’ll be back, and we’ll explain what happened. It was a misunderstanding, right?”
If the Troll noticed the Kobold at all, he didn’t show it. He absently plucked the arrow from his neck as he stared down the alley. The closing gap in his throat made little whistling noises with every breath. They were coming shallow and fast now.
“I mean, that looked bad, right? Killing a guy like that, you know, all messy? Just as she’s waking up? And you all covered in…” Burt struggled to find the words. “Human? It’d be easy to get the wrong idea, you know? But it’s not you. It’s just how it looks.”
The Troll pulled the last arrow from his chest. It had punctured one of the pouches on the bandolier he wore, so that a few trinkets fell amid the blood gushing from his wound. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he only made a small choking noise, like stones grinding together.
“She will come back,” Burt said. “And we’ll talk to her, all right? She’ll see… Thane? Thane. Take a deep breath, buddy.”
Thane took a deep breath, and then another, and soon his whole body was shaking with the force of the ragged, sobbing breaths that he gulped in. He shut his eyes, dropped to all fours, and let loose a long and mournful roar, halfway between a bellow and a groan.
“No, no,” said Burt. “Listen, it’s gonna be—”
Thane was beyond listening. He set off at a full run, fleeing toward the north gate in a blind sprint.
Burt threw his paws in the air helplessly as the Troll retreated. “And there we go,” he grumbled, fishing another cigarette out of his vest. “It’s all down the gutter now.”
Water splashed over the muddy street as Garold Flinn dropped into the gutter and took off running. The sounds of battle had faded behind the Tinderkin, and that meant the sounds of pursuit would start soon enough. He dove down a side street, making tracks in the mud, and then quickly doubled back through the gutter again.
Flinn grimaced as he ran. Weeks of planning and a small mountain of gold had gone down the drain in a few minutes, and he wasn’t any closer to killing Ingerson. No, worse. He was farther behind; now, finding assassins willing to take the job on would be much harder, and those brave enough to take on the job were likely to raise their rates and demand hazard pay. It would be hard to find the gold for that, especially now that had he forfeited his deposit on Barty’s golems. And gold was the least of his problems; all the giltin in the Freedlands wouldn’t buy him a day of Johan’s patience.
His silver claws, he noticed, were reflexively clenching and unclenching, making soft scissor sounds as they did so. The assassin ducked into a ruined house, braced himself against a wall, and took a moment to collect himself. He recalled that all assassins were eventually stoic, either by maintaining a calculating demeanor or by letting their emotions get them terminally ensnared by one of the many perils of the profession.
The key was to look on the bright side. The mission may have failed, but Flinn had gathered valuable information about the nature of the weaponsmaster. It was also possible, if unlikely, that Captain Jones had successfully taken out the ranger. And even if the pirate had failed, there was a good chance that Flinn had taken down one of the ex-heroes. The Tinderkin smiled at the thought.
Flinn’s breathing had slowed some, and his blood no longer pounded in his ears. Given the circumstances, he figured this was about as calm as he could muster. He was about to set back out when a mournful howl rang out in the distance. The note had a deep and stony timbre, and while Flinn was no expert on supernatural fauna, he was inclined to think that it sounded like a Troll.
The only other Troll that Flinn had ever encountered had been hunting Gorm Ingerson in the ruins of Bloodroot. Reports of Troll sightings were extremely rare, but that was largely because people who encounter Trolls usually didn’t survive long enough to make reports.
Although, now that Flinn thought of it, neither did any of the assassins sent after Ingerson’s party.
The Tinderkin stared to the east. It couldn’t be more than a coincidence. But if it was… Flinn tried to wrap his head around the possibilities.
“What does that mean?” Gorm growled.
Burt took a long drag on a short cigarette without looking up at the Dwarf. “Well, spug’s a Shadowtongue swear, and so when I say it’s all gone to spug—”
“I know what spug means!” Gorm barked as the rest of the party approached. “But what do ye mean, ‘they’re gone now’?”
“They’re not here?” said Burt. “I thought that part was obvious.”
“Aye, but Kaitha and Thane were gone before!” said Gorm. “What do ye mean they’re gone now? Did ye see them? Did they see each other? What happened!”
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Burt exhaled a cloud of blue-gray smoke that joined the evening mist. “Yeah, they saw each other. They ran off.”
“What? Together?” asked Jynn.
“No.” The Kobold shook his head and took another drag.
“The pirate was here, as well,” said Heraldin, retrieving a crumpled hat from the remains of the late assassin.
“Here too.” Laruna made a face and held her stomach as she stepped over something glistening.
“Yeah, he really got around at the end there.” Burt gestured at the carnage with his cigarette.
“Would ye just tell us what bloody happened?” asked Gorm.
“Thane came back with Kaitha, but she was blacked out. Told me to keep her safe, so when that pirate guy showed up and wanted to kill the Elf, he took a good chunk out of my ear.” The Kobold pointed to the dirty bandage that he wore like a lopsided hat. “Thanks for asking, by the way.”
“I been askin’—” Gorm sputtered.
“Yeah, no, don’t worry. So then Thane finally comes back, and he’s mad enough to… well… to do all this.” The Kobold nodded at the remains of the assassin. “‘Course, it ain’t quiet, so that’s when the Elf came to. And of course she assumed the Shadowkin was on the wrong side of it. So she shot him in the face and ran off screaming.”
Gorm’s stomach lurched. “Thrice-cursed bones,” he swore under his breath.
“Yeah.” Burt took another drag.
“Gods,” said Jynn. “So he…”
“He left, yeah,” said Burt.
“I feel sick to my stomach.” Laruna looked pale as she shook her head slowly.
“We’ll go after him,” said Gorm determinedly.
The Kobold laughed bitterly. “Really? That Troll runs faster than even your fancy horses. And have you ever found him when he didn’t want you to?”
“Really, really sick,” said Laruna.
“It’s easy to get fooled by shapeshifters,” said Heraldin, staring daggers at Gaist. The weaponsmaster parried with a sidelong glance, then looked away.
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