“We’re at the bridge!” shouted Captain Lorsson as the street ended and became a sweeping paved river bank, shiny with huge puddles. Mushrooms grew from beneath the tiles, sad and drooping in the rain.

I gritted my teeth and poked my head out of the colum to take a look at the bridge. If I was going to cross that thing I wanted to at least know how wide it was. I let out a silent groan. The big bridge I’d seen in the distance before had not been the one Lorsson’s detour led to. This bridge was a stone arch, steep and barely wide enough for four people to cross at once, and low enough to the water that the bigger waves were sloshing over it already.

“We’ll cross in double file!” shouted Lorsson. “Tradfast, you take the rear and I’ll lead the front.” He glanced upriver, and I followed his gaze. Great swells of water were racing down towards us.

“This is impossible,” I said under my breath. “I’m going to die here.”

“Don’t worry Stony,” said Urist. “I’ll protect you.”

It seemed he was all there was.

“Fine, I’ll take it gladly. Don’t let me fall off the bridge.”

“Forward!” shouted Captain Lorsson, and the colum began to march again. The dwarves in front of me rose up the arcing stones, pair after pair, until it was mine and Urist’s turn to hit the steep cobbles. They were as slippery as I had imagined, but still gave enough grip that no one fell down immediately.

We crested the rise, and I saw Lorsson get soaked by one wave then step onto the far bank.

A low rumbling wavered through the cavern air, louder even than the river. A screech followed, accompanied by a green figure that sailed through the air to land behind Lorsson. I gasped and fumbled for my knife.

“Look out,” cried a solder, as the monster, each of its four-arms ending in knife-sized claws, slashed at the back of the Captain. In an instant, Lorsson was facing the monster, sword slicing out and through the creature’s neck. The beast didn't even have time to make a sound before its head and two of its forearms went sailing through the air.

“Behind you!”

A hand hit my back and shoved me forward. Then the raindrops were spinning around me as I rolled down the crest of the bridge, cobbles digging into my body as I smacked into them over and over again. I caught a glimpse of Tradfast shoving a harbinger from the bridge back into the water, and of Urist stabbing one in the belly with his improvised spear.

Then I slid to a stop, friction from the bumpy surface overcoming my momentum. My cheekbone hit a cobble with a nasty crunch, and I felt a lump begin to form instantly. At least it hadn’t been my nose.

“Ah,” I said, and coughed, then shook my head. Shit! We were under attack! I patted my belt, searching for my knife. It wasn’t there. Had I dropped it? No, no, it was just on the other side. I drew it and stood up, coming face to face with a soldier, his face contorted with shock and fear, eyes swiveling to follow something in an arc behind me.

I spun around and screamed. Another harbinger landed in front of me, screeching and swinging at me. I ducked, and the soldier put his spear through its belly. It screamed, and I met its eyes the moment before it slumped to the ground.

They were small, black, set in a triangular face with a hundred little jagged teeth. The monster was like the statues in front of the houses by the river, or like smaller versions of the monstrous pillars above here.

“You stupid peasant, get across the bridge!” came the Ghost King’s shout, filling my head. A thick, sour smell came down as dwarf and monster slashed and stabbed at each other. Harbinger after harbinger leapt from the waves onto the bridge, so for every creature the dwarves felled, another one took its place. The sound of screaming filled my ears, monster and dwarf’s terror and rage mixing together in a nightmare cacophony.

“Get out of here you fool! I have no way to save your skin in front of all these people!”

“I’m trying!” I yelled at the Ghost King.

The pair of soldiers in front of me took a step to either side and I ran through. A shoulder slammed into me from behind, knocking me sideways. My foot nearly stepped into thin air over the bridge, but I stopped myself at the last moment and toppled back onto firm stone. Vorgur was shooting to the other side.

“You bastard!” I yelled. “You tried to kill me.”

He darted back a glance, and my anger faded. He hadn’t tried to kill me, he was just terrified like the rest of us. Any miner would shove another off a bridge to escape this kind of situation.

Except maybe Airon.

Again, I scrambled to my feet, struggling to find purchase on the cobbles, which were now slippery with watery green and red. I half ran, half slid past another pair of soldiers, who were fighting off three harbingers.

Nearly at the bridge! A harbinger nearly as large as Tradfast appeared in front of me. Twice as tall as its brethren, it looked me in the eyes with malice and reached up with one hand, stretching out claws as long as swords. It slashed and I jumped back, fell again, and the creature stepped forward and kicked. Its foot-talon slashed into my shoulder, tracing bleeding rents through my flesh. I cried out and clutched at the wound.

“Stony! You fool!” The Ghost King’s voice boomed from a dozen directions at once, bypassing my ears and going straight to my brain.

The harbinger lifted its foot, talons aimed right for my stomach. I screamed and scrambled further up the bridge, barely hanging on to my knife. Behind the monster, more of its brethren swarmed, blocking off any hope escape for me.

Urist’s wooden spear appeared in the harbinger’s chest, and the creature fell back gasping for air and groping at its wound. I blinked, numb with surprise, then scrambled up, knife in hand.

But what good would it do? Between me and the bridge were a dozen more of the monsters, naught but death in their eyes.

And a small blur clutching half a spear and a monster’s severed arm shot into them, lashing out at random. Urist, fighting like a maniac.

“Charge them!” he shouted, and I realised I had no choice. I held my dagger out and pelted down the cobbles, gravity lending me extra momentum, screaming the foulest words I could think of.

Then I was among them, arcs of green blood spraying my face as Urist hacked and slashed with his weapons. A harbinger jumped between him and I, but I kept running, momentum and fear giving me no choice but to go on. Its arms wrapped around me, but I was too fast for its claws and I stuck my dagger deep into its belly, and wrenched it sideways.

With ridiculous ease, the edge sheared through the monster’s guts, sending green curls of gore splattering down. Dimly I was aware of a truly disgusting smell, but all that my mind could focus on was getting through. A soldier pushed past me, stabbing another harbinger, and Captain Lorsson appeared in front of me, charging past and roaring, sword held high.

Then there was nothing but the paving stones of the empty river bank, strewn with smashed and broken mushroom stems. I slowed my pounding feet to a stop, panting and twisting my head this way and that. But there were no more harbingers, just a huddle of miners, soaked through with watery red and green. I let out a deep breath and crouched to the ground, staring at the stone and my bloody dagger for a moment. Behind me, the shouting and screeching was dying off, and then came a victory roar, and feet stomping rhythm.

“Stony, are you alright? Are you injured?”

I looked up, and saw Urist’s face, looking oddly relaxed for someone who’d just run through a battle. He wasn’t even bothering to wipe the blood pouring from a deep gash in his forehead.

“I’m fine,” I said, and stood up. The urge to shove him away came upon me, but I pushed it down. “Thank you. You should do something about your forehead.”

Urist nodded once, and turned to join the soldiers. A few of their number were missing, and most of the survivors bore deep gashes whereever their armour exposed flesh. But all the same, they looked far from upset, their faces those of the victorious.

“Three cheers for Urist!” they cried. “The lizard slayer! Hip hip hoorah!”

They pumped their fists in unison, as Captain Lorsson, his beaming face half benevolence, half wild battle-rush, pulled out rolls of bandages from beneath his armour.

So Urist was a hero now. The part of me not infused with pure elation at being alive told the rest to be a little concerned. This time he’d been on my side, but who could know if he’d regain his former personality and turn on me? Or what if I displeased the King?

“Do not displease me then,” came the King’s voice.

I froze and clutched my dagger. Had he just read my thoughts? Had he been doing it all this time? I tried to think of nothing, just stare blankly at the soldiers, two of whom had just lifted him onto their soldiers, the rest cheering and laughing along.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw more harbingers leaping out the water to the streets on the riverside, a mere hundred metres from our position.

“Captain!” I shouted, pointing to the harbingers. “More monsters!”

He looked to where I was pointed and began to shout.

“Dwarves, get up! We’re going to run! Tradfast, you lead them and I’ll follow up with the wounded!”

The signal fire licked up past the buildings, the rain clearly nowhere near strong enough to put it out, merely a few hundred metres uphill. I didn't need anyone to lead me, and so I didn't wait for the hulking figure of Tradfast, green blood and mush coating his every inch, to get to the front before I started running.

My friend was waiting for me.