Gabriel stoked his chin frantically. The rasping of fingers on stubble sounded like wood being sawed.

“Alright, alright,” Gabriel said with forced calm, “There is no need to panic. Let’s just think a moment.”

Gabriel, Figo and Vish hummed in unison.

“Did anyone else see all of this… Homiciding?” Gabriel asked.

Figo snorted, “Ooh yeah. I mean, it was public. It was public, and violent. Public, violent and graphic,” Figo amended.

“She’s like a goddess of rage,” Vish whispered, “A sexy, awe inspiring goddess of rage and death.”

Gabriel took a step away from his visibly excited comrade, “Not helpful, Vish.”

As Gabriel contemplated the precariousness of their situation, he looked around the small, cosy tavern and picked up on two things of note:

The first thing Gabriel noticed was how quiet it was. Nobody was running, nobody was screaming. Everyone was carrying on as if they were not in the presence of a bloodthirsty maniac. This was good – it meant that the occupants of the inn didn’t know about the murders yet. That meant Gabriel and his team had time.

The second thing of note was their current distance from the bloodthirsty maniac in question. She was over there, sipping a beer, and only occasionally wrinkling her nose in their general direction. They were here. They were not over there. In fact, they were pleasingly close to the door - the single point of ingress and egress to the Rusty Bridge.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows.

“I… I think we can just… Leave,” Gabriel announced, his surprise palpable.

“Just like that? Just up and go?” Figo double-checked.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Oh, well, alright then!” Figo beamed, already making for the exit.

“Wait!” Vish said, “I still need to get that stuff!”

Vish gestured to a large sack he had left beside the table, unsettlingly close to Lydia’s, probably deadly, left kneecap.

Gabriel bared his teeth, “Then go and get it, quickly, and carefully.”

Vish nodded and began tiptoeing towards Lydia.

“Vish,” Gabriel said.

“Yeah?”

“Walk.”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Gabriel breathed gratefully as the mind-mapper moved to retrieve the supplies, “crisis averted. We’re not with her, she’s not with us. Life is simple. I’ll go get Bling.”

Gabriel was half a dozen steps from Bling, and Vish was halfway across the common room, when the door flew open and three members of the Gladstone town watch charged into the inn with their swords drawn and their yellow sashes swaying imperiously over their barrel-shaped breast plates.

“Nooo,” Gabriel whispered.

“There she is,” the lead guard bellowed, “don’t let her get away.”

Lydia was on her feet in a flash, and her bastard sword was in her hand a second later.

The bartender looked from Lydia, to the guard, to Gabriel, “He’s with her! Stop him!”

The closest guard did a quick double-take and then shifted his stance to intercept Gabriel.

“Nooooo,” Gabriel reiterated.

“Stay put, citizen. You’ll answer for your crimes,” the guard insisted.

“What crimes? There are no crimes. I don’t even know her!”

“Gabriel!” Lydia called from across the room, “Gabriel, come here! I’ll protect you.”

“Honestly, I don’t know her!” Gabriel said.

“Gabriel! Here, quickly!” Lydia began to usher Gabriel towards her with the point of her blade.

A second guard moved to apprehend Gabriel.

“Nooooooo,” Gabriel moaned.

Tensions were peaking, but for the moment nobody was moving. Vish, Figo, Lydia and the guards were all rooted to the spot, eyes flitting around anxiously. There was still a chance to diffuse this situation. Gabriel could sense it. He just had to tread carefully.

The mercenary leader rubbed his face and slapped his cheeks, “Okay, okay,” he marshalled himself, “you’ve got this Gabriel, just be the diplomat.”

Gabriel made it through the first syllable of “gentleman” before Bling dropped from her stool into an action roll, and buried a dagger into the calf of the nearest guard.

Hell breaking loose would probably have been more coordinated. It definitely would have been quieter.

Every patron in the bar was on their feet within a heartbeat. Most were running for the door, but others were drawing weapons and picking targets. Vish was carving a way towards his sack with all the delicacy of a ship carving its way through ice. Figo was on top of a table, bow in hand and arrow notched, warding challengers off with a, literally, pointed threat. Lydia was throwing devastating blows with the hilt of her sword, creating a small henge of unconscious bodies. Bling was biting at the guard she had floored. And Gabriel? Gabriel had his head in his hands wishing he was anywhere else in the world.

“What do we do, Gabriel?” Figo was calling from his vantage point.

“Run! Obviously, we fucking run!” - was the extent of Gabriel’s leaderly advice.

“Should I be shooting?” Figo checked.

“No! No, you should not be shooting! If you have to ask, then the answer is always “NO”!”

Gabriel only had a moment to scold himself for his abysmal use of time before a guard was upon him. This time the mustachioed warden looked a lot surer of what he was supposed to be doing. The guard started stabbing.

Gabriel curved his body around the first two thrusts. He leaped back from the third and tripped over a stool, saving him from the fourth. The fifth never came, as the guard’s flimsy, state-issued helmet was now adorned with a hatchet. The watchman careened sideways and collapsed on the floor.

Lydia was there in a heartbeat, retrieving her throwing axe from her fourth kill of the day. Miraculously, the horse had lived.

“Was that really necessary?” Gabriel screeched.

Lydia just shrugged and buried her bastard sword in the corpse so she could give Gabriel a hand up.

Gabriel groaned.

“We should be going. Gather anyone you don’t want left behind,” Lydia said.

Unbidden, this made Gabriel think about Vish, but the mind-mapper was at Gabriel’s side before he could capitalize on the opportunity. Vish held up his sack triumphantly.

“Okay, good to go,” Vish said.

Gabriel cast a look around at the carnage they had unwittingly invited upon this peaceful establishment and sincerely wished he had opted for a career as a mountain hermit. A few decades away from society seemed very appealing at this point. In less than five minutes, Gabriel had gone from recruiter, successful mercenary captain, and pleasant pub patron, to wanted criminal and accessory to murder.

Gabriel longed for horse shit to shovel.

Such thoughts occupied Gabriel’s mind as he fished Figo down from his table, hoisted Bling off of the man she had been enthusiastically pecking at, and ran through the streets to the edge of town.

Their tactical retreat was something of a blur in Gabriel’s mind. As far as he could tell everyone in his group was unharmed, and they were clear of immediate danger. He had an inkling that Lydia had killed a few more guards outside the tavern, and he remembered having to drag Bling away from… Something. The details were mercifully hazy. He also knew that they had been heading roughly in the direction of Tindra, but remembered someone suggesting that they try to throw off their pursuers by changing course.

Coherent thought only returned when cramp forced Gabriel to grind to a halt. He doubled over and gasped for breath. Fortunately, the others looked equally in need of the respite.

“Okay,” Gabriel said between sucking breaths, “Where, by basilisks” bollocks, are we?”

“West,” Lydia answered simply, “We can cut North through the Gladstone Forest for Tindra.”

The large woman was barely sweating beneath her heavy plate mail. Gabriel hated her for that. Come to think of it, Gabriel hated her for quite a few things.

“You,” Gabriel seethed, and extended an accusatory finger, “do not get a say in this. You do not get a say in anything.”

Lydia shrugged, which just infuriated Gabriel further.

“What were you thinking?” He said, in a much higher pitch than he had intended.

“You are paying me to protect you, so I protected you,” Lydia said.

“Protecting us from trouble you caused!”

Lydia just shrugged and walked into the forest.

Gabriel followed unconsciously. The others tagged along.

“And I haven’t paid you anything yet!” Gabriel continued.

“You will,” she responded.

The surety in her voice was a knife in the soft flesh of Gabriel’s pride.

“Stop! Stop!” Gabriel shouted, and was surprised when she did, “We’re not going a step further until you explain yourself.”

“You’d rather stay here and wait for the town watch to find you?” Lydia asked.

Gabriel stood his ground, “Why did you kill those men?”

Lydia sighed, “I killed them because they attacked me. They were mocking me for my size, for my shape, for having one arm... When I ignored their taunting, they got violent. They got violent and they got it in their heads that even a large, one-armed woman was still a woman, if you get my meaning. So, I killed them. I defended myself in a way that other women can’t.”

Her explanation complete, Lydia continued to delve into the forest, gently moving aside branches and twigs with her one good arm.

Gabriel felt like an ass. This wasn’t a new feeling, but it was an unpleasant one. He looked around at his team and acknowledged the unspoken agreement between them. They had needed some extra muscle and, as long as they could pay her, it seemed Lydia was the woman for the job. Her inauguration had not exactly been auspicious, but Gabriel had to confess it was somewhat fitting.

The team of mercenaries followed in Lydia’s wake, mimicking the way she carefully picked a path through the trees, so as to leave a less obvious trail.

“What about the horse?” Figo asked.

“He had judgmental eyes,” Lydia answered.

“Of course,” Gabriel said, but continued to follow the iron clad warrior.

The situation seemed less bleak as the day wore on. Gabriel reasoned that as long as they continued to do Vagalad’s bidding the unofficial duke could probably secure them clemency. Lydia might have to be thrown under the carriage if she couldn’t explain her way clear, but Gabriel checked his moral compass and found that he was okay with that. She was an employee, not one of them, and he knew where his duty lie. For now, she would help them perform their task, and make amends for placing them in their current predicament. Of course, Gabriel’s quick acceptance of the warrior had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Lydia could comfortably turn him into a paste.

They walked for a time in the shadows cast by the forest canopy. The trees were close together, making the going slow. The shade was cooling, but the close confines made the air muggy and claustrophobic. It was not long before the troupe was flagging in the heat. Gabriel called a brief halt to their march so they could take stock and get their bearings.

“Alright, ladies, gentleman, and Vish,” Gabriel began, “we may not have got off to the smoothest start, but we have started, and that is something.”

The others didn’t look quite as cheerful as he had hoped.

“First things first, let’s see what we’ve got to work with,” Gabriel suggested, and began to place his belongings on a felled tree trunk, “I’m carrying some coin, some of which is promised to Lydia, and my sword.”

“Display purposes only,” Vish muttered beneath his breath.

Gabriel ignored him, “What do you have that we can use, Lydia?”

Lydia rolled her eyes but dutifully listed her equipment, “My sword, my axe, my knife, my water skin, my tinder box, and that’s about it. My bed roll and cloak were in my room when we made our escape.”

She did not add any of her possessions to the communal inventory.

Gabriel nodded, “Figo?”

“Knife, some rope, a little dried meat, another tinder box, bow, and sixteen arrows,” Figo placed them carefully on the log as he spoke.

“Sixteen arrows” Gabriel logged.

“Well,” Figo gave a nervous smile as he fished some arrows out of his quiver, “twelve regular arrows and four I made myself.”

He presented the handcrafted arrows for inspection. They had a rustic charm to them, and the clear markings of an amateur fletcher. In fact, they-

“- look like someone shoved a bundle of twigs up their arse and rolled down a hill,” Vish observed.

Figo looked crestfallen.

“They were early attempts. I’m getting better,” the young archer said defensively.

“Sorry, Figo, but Vish is right. These are about as useless as Vish’s sense of decency,” Gabriel said.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Speaking of, you’re next, Vish,” Gabriel informed the mind-mapper, “what supplies did you manage to get?”

“I got food for six days, a tent, sleeping rolls, cloaks, grappling hooks, a set of cutlery, cooking equipment, some herbs, water skins, the works,” Vish concluded, “It cost us a lot but I thought it was worth splashing out a bit to make sure we’re well provisioned.”

Gabriel was taken aback, “No, yeah, you’re absolutely right. Nice one. Let’s see it!”

“I don’t have it,” Vish said.

“Come again?”

“I don’t have it.”

“But you just said that you bought all of those supplies,” Gabriel said.

“Oh, yeah, I did. Then we got chased out of town with the watch on our heels and followed a walking anvil into Gladstone Forest. The supplies are back at Figo’s mum’s,” Vish explained.

“Oh gods, mum!” Figo suddenly remembered.

Gabriel silenced Figo with a wave of his hand, “So what’s in the bloody sack you almost got us killed fetching?”

“This?” Vish held up the bag in question, “It’s my laundry.”

Gabriel spoke very slowly, “You let us get caught by the town watch, because you wanted to retrieve your laundry.”

“Well, yeah,” Vish replied.

“You unrivaled arse,” Gabriel seethed.

“What? I’m going to need clothes. Travelling is always muddy,” Vish grimaced.

“Do you even have your sword?” Gabriel asked without much hope.

“Nope, left it. I can use yours though,” Vish suggested.

“I will be using mine, thank you, because I remembered to carry one.”

“Aether knows why you carry one. Probably best you give it to me. You can wave around the scabbard if you want. In your hands, that’s about as menacing as a sword,” Vish said.

“Fuck off,” Gabriel retorted, but quickly changed the subject, “Great, so we can light a couple of fires, shoot a maximum of twelve things, and all the while we’ll be wearing Vish’s unsettlingly form-hugging, luminous robes.”

“I wouldn’t, they’re not clean.”

“Naturally,” Gabriel sighed.

“Hardly my fault,” Vish protested, “Figo’s mum stopped doing my laundry.”

“My mum was doing your laundry?”

“She was, until we did that herb gathering job in the swamps.”

“The trick is to hide your stuff in with Figo’s,” Gabriel empathised.

“You too?” Figo said, aghast.

“Well, Bling was doing it, but,” Gabriel hesitated, “we have different standards of hygiene.”

“You had Bling doing your laundry? That”s low, even by my standards,” Vish assured him.

“She volunteered! Anyway, we’re getting off track. Gather up your crap and let’s get going.”

“What about her?” Lydia asked, “Bling, is it?”

The three men exchanged a look, “That’s not a good -” Gabriel began, but Bling had already hopped forward and was in the process of enthusiastically emptying a multitude of pockets.

Bling’s contribution consisted of a curved knife, a stiletto dagger, a double-edged dagger, six forks, one goblet, two butter knives, various coins (mostly from defunct currencies), a chain, handfuls of costume jewellery, lint, handkerchiefs, bangles, bells, thread, needles (entirely by chance), more lint… Gabriel eventually managed to stop her as she was in the process of adding her boots to the pile. Her boots didn’t match.

“It’s okay, Natasha, that’s good. We just want to see the stabby things, you know?” Gabriel made a knifing motion.

Bling scrunched up her face for a moment and then seemed to comprehend. She pulled a hairpin from her tangle of bright red locks and added it to the pile.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good. Well done, Natasha,” Gabriel smiled weakly.

Bling beamed in response and then went skipping off, singing a bawdy tavern song she only knew two lines from.

Lydia raised her eyebrows and surveyed the mess before her, “Well, there are a few things in here we can use.”

Vish picked up a fork gingerly, “I’m not putting anything in my mouth that has lived in Bling’s pockets.”

Gabriel sighed, “Let’s just, pack up and piss off.”

Once Bling had re-homed her hoard in the folds of her cloaks and fabrics, the group trundled off once more. The detour through the forest would add two or three extra days to their journey, and they had supplies enough for none of them. No matter how reluctant they were, they had to get moving.

Figo scouted ahead with his bow at the ready, in the hope of spotting some easy game. The rest ambled behind in a small cluster, with Bling prancing between Figo and the others, acting, unprompted, as a messenger.

“Is she simple, or something?” Lydia asked after Bling had danced up, saluted them, and skipped off again.

“What? No! Well, yes, but, no,” Gabriel sighed, “It’s complicated.”

Lydia shrugged, “Makes no difference to me. She seems alright in a scrap, even if she is simple.”

“She’s my sister,” Gabriel said with a touch of venom.

“Oh, sorry,” Lydia didn’t sound sorry.

“She wasn’t always this way,” Gabriel said.

“No?”

Lydia’s responses did not exactly encourage further conversation, but Gabriel was bored, and he was feeling defensive of his older sister. He put his arms behind his head as he walked, and stared up at the fading light piercing the canopy at an angle.

“No,” Gabriel confirmed, “she was our leader.”