NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: The Adventures of the Creeping Bam (BOOK 1: The Job)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: SHAYLINE

I've been trying my best not to kill my friends as we've been making our way up through the fortress, but it's been a hard fight, and any reticence those I've spent my life amongst might have had has quickly been put aside. As much as I can I try to wound but not kill, but even so I count as least eight lives I've been forced to end since the alarm call went up. Every one of them hurts me like a wound to my very soul.

The danger is it's making me angry, and that's just making me fight harder. As we burst through the door into the courtyard I run headlong into my next opponent, and it's Dur, who blinks seeing me but barely hesitates for a breath before wielding his big battleaxe again. His usually gold eyes are red when he squares on me, and I tense as I adjust my approach, preparing for his swing. He lets out a typically orcish bellow and closes the distance between us in a single fierce bound, but I'm already feinting hard to his left and his haymaker whistles a bare inch past my ducking head, exposing his throat to me as he overextends. I react before I can think, and I've rammed my sword six inches deep into the sweet spot in his throat before I can adjust, drawing back just as quick.

Dur staggers around as I dance away, and while his eyes are still bloody red I mostly see confusion in them now, and only a little of the pain in that look is physical. He couldn't have wounded me deeper if his axe had found me on that pass, I feel my heart breaking right through as his weapon droops and he clasps his free hand to his gushing throat. He tries to speak but all that comes out is a winded gurgle as he spits up a great cloud of blood and his knees start to wobble. He's still got life in him, though.

Part of me wants to run away as fast as I can, but I can't leave him here like this. I've already killed him, he'll be dead in a matter of minutes no matter what, but it's not a quick death, and while he's ready to die like a warrior I don't want him to suffer. So I tense up again and he squares his shoulders, but doesn't raise the axe, I think he knows what I'm doing. "I'm sorry." I mutter under my breath, mostly for me, but he blinks at it, then after a thoughtful moment nods and takes his hand from his throat, letting a fresh spurt of arterial blood go as he does so, and spreads his arms wide. I take a breath and lunge again, this time thrusting tight and trusting my aim not to let any ribs foul my stroke.

My sword punctures his heart clean through and I keep pushing until I'm out through his back. He bucks once, going instantly rigid, and lets one last gasp go, and in that last moment the red in his eyes fades again, a look close to thankfulness crossing his face as his eyes glaze and his knees buckle. I drag my sword free and let him fall, holding in the sob that's begging to come as I turn away so I don't have to watch.

"Shay! Come on!" Art's shout snaps me back to reality, and I look up to see him run Girrin through the stomach and pulls free fast with a shove as he points to the keep, rising like a craggy spire midway across the courtyard. Our target. The thought of Ashsong thrusts purpose back into me sure as a fire in my veins, and I champ down on my grief like I've been doing all the way through our climb. I give my blades a good hard whip to clear away the blood and follow.

A ragtag, undisciplined group of eight or so attackers rush us from the other side of the courtyard, clearly coming from the mess hall. Through the corner of my eye I see Art squaring up, preparing for their approach, and again I feel that tightening in my gut as I recognise every single one of them. They must recognise me too, although the sight of me likely promotes fresher anger in them now, splashed as I am now in the blood of my former friends. I raise my own weapons at their approach, but yet again find myself wondering if I really can do what I have to right now ...

Then it's like the air tears open beside me, but no, it's a blazing bright arc of lightning, completely baffling turned as it's on its side to smash into the ground just short of the charging line on the right. The flagstones shatter and explode upwards as the arc crackles fast and hard leftwards, and the attackers are tossed back by the force of it. It's gone as fast as it comes, but I'm left dazzled for several moments, fighting to blink away the writhing afterimage from my vision.