Rosalind opened her door and gave him a smile. ‘The hero returns. Saviour of Gal’azu.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Lothar muttered. He did quite like the sound of it though.

  ‘That’s what they’re saying in the taverns of Avolo. Urkal Foberoy has proposed to the city council that they hold a celebration in your honour. I suggested it to him, but still.’ Her smile disappeared. ‘What? Something’s up?’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. I like the fact my squad is riding high, rather than the laughing stock it once was. It’s all I wanted. But the job ain’t finished yet. Sal Blair attacked my mercs in the street yesterday. Our feud won’t end until one of us is gone. That’s the reality of it.’

  He was relieved when she nodded. He’d thought she might disagree, and they’d have another argument.

  ‘Seems like he’s headed for Dorwich. I want to avoid more bloodshed between the two crews. If I can get to Dorwich quickly, I can face him alone. End it, once and for all. That would require your help. You know, with the Hither-Thither thing. Do you think you could beam me over there?’

  ‘Makes sense to do it like that. I’ve told you before though, Stiff. It doesn’t work like that. I’ll have to go with you.’

  ‘Alright. But I don’t want you getting involved. Just him against me.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, raising her hands. ‘I won’t intervene.’

  ‘Good. Thanks.’

  ‘Unless I have to.’

  She traced circles with the Staff of Hither-Thither. Lights, then colour, appeared in thin air. The portal materialised, and Dorwich was visible on the other side of it.

  Lothar stepped through, and Rosalind followed him.

  They came to the bridge the goblins had used to cross the Auster. Crows, and larger carrion birds, squawked and flapped their wings, complaining at the approach of the humans as they rose into the sky.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  On first impressions, much of the city remained intact, despite the fighting that had raged here. Of that, there was plenty of evidence. Bodies lay where they had fallen, all picked at by the animal scavengers drawn to such a bloody feast. Most were goblins, but Lothar spotted humans among them too. One, he even recognised—Shade, the chap who had welcomed him to Gal’azu with a couple of broken fingers.

  ‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer fellow,’ he muttered. He turned to Rosalind. ‘Wait here for me.’

  ‘What, here?’ she asked, gesturing at the pile of corpses by the bridge.

  ‘Alright, not this exact spot. You know what I mean.’

  ‘Good luck, Stiff,’ she said, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  Lothar continued alone. He checked Slayer in his scabbard, making sure it was loose enough. Those nerves one gets before a battle—unpleasant, but vital—were already on him.

  He’d never been to Dorwich before, but had received reports on it. He decided to head towards the building known as the Blairs’ palace, though as he approached, he saw it resembled a country mansion more than a palace. Was this kind of exaggeration a key plank of their success? The power of The Golden Blades had, it seemed, not been as great as their myth.

  As he reached the walled outskirts of the residence, a figure slunk out from the shadows. Slayer was immediately in Lothar’s hand.

  Alfie ‘The Guvnah’ Goodfellow kept his sword in his belt. ‘Looks like I picked the wrong team when I had the choice,’ he admitted.

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ Lothar said. He looked around, wondering if this was a trap. ‘No hard feelings.’

  ‘Very good of you mate. Sal is at the far end of town, on the walls.’

  ‘And you’re going to let me go and kill him?’

  ‘There’s got to be a resolution, don’t there?’ said the Durnishman. ‘Feels like Gal’azu ain’t big enough for the both of you. At least this way, no one else gets hurt.’

  ‘That was my thinking as well. And if Sal kills me?’

  ‘Then hopefully he’ll forgive me. People tend to. It’s easier than getting rid of me.’

  ‘Sure. Then you have my thanks. I suppose.’

  The Guvnah nodded his appreciation, and Lothar carried on walking.

  When he came upon the walls, he drew Slayer a second time. Sal Blair was there. Alone. He was looking out at the landscape to the north of Dorwich, but turned at Lothar’s approach. With a wry grin, he drew his own blade. ‘You got past The Guvnah without injury then?’

  ‘I had some help,’ Lothar lied.

  ‘I spoke with the goblins from this spot,’ Sal told him. ‘Told them that taking Dorwich from me would exact a price that would ruin them. I was right in the end.’

  ‘You and your squad did Gal’azu a great service.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it. They offered me an alliance. I could have facilitated the goblin takeover and bolstered my position.’

  Lothar shrugged. ‘Who knows how that would have turned out.’

  ‘True. Pretty sure you’d be dead by now though. I look back over recent months, and I only have one answer for how you were able to best me. Sheer dumb luck. I can analyse my own decisions, and pick faults. But I can’t think of a single thing you’ve done to deserve it.’

  ‘I’ve always been lucky.’

  ‘Even luck runs out eventually.’ Blair swished his sword. ‘Let’s put luck on the line once more and see what happens.’

  ACTION ROUND

  Lothar was dealing with an opponent much younger than himself. Sal was quicker—his movement and use of his sword was direct and aggressive. It was just as well that Lothar wore The Baron’s Necklace of Agility. It enhanced his movement enough to match Blair’s. They struck simultaneously, looking for a gap in each other’s defence.

  Both men used their shields to block the other’s blade, knowing that the first to score a direct hit would get a huge advantage.

  Neither of them connected on their first action. Lothar realised he was up against a better swordsman. Sal’s slight advantage in action and hit points also meant the odds were in the Durnishman’s favour. But the Shield of Resistance evened the contest, providing him with the defence he needed to resist his opponent’s potent attacks.

  Sal took a risk, sliding in and knocking Lothar’s shield to the side. He then pulled back, as his longsword came down on a wide-arced, downward angle. The contact wasn’t perfect, but his blade hammered into Lothar’s hip, causing 14 points of damage.

  It gave Lothar an opening. He thrust Slayer forward, but Sal’s backward movement was good enough. Lothar’s sword strike was accurate, but without the power to get through Sal’s chain mail. What Blair hadn’t anticipated was Lothar managing to spin his body into the space between them. The Shield of Resistance smashed into the side of his head, knocking 12 hit points from his total.

  Sal kept moving, and they separated. Lothar knew he’d been lucky. There was a 4 hit point difference between the pair now, 27 to 23. But the gap in action points remained the same, 7 to 6.

  Their breath was heavy, concentration intense, as they closed on one another. They executed identical attacks. Both used their shields as decoys, knowing that a clean hit from their swords could end the combat. Both got what they wanted. In a mirror image, the blades flicked towards the face of their opponent, disengaged, and went for the hand. Sal succeeded in catching Lothar’s gauntleted hand; Lothar caught Sal on the wrist.

  The result was the same. Both men dropped their blades, their right hands made useless. The sight of white bone protruding through Sal’s mail gave Lothar hope, even if he knew he was hurting just as bad. His hit had done more damage—they were on 7 points each now. Both had daggers at their belts, but not the ability to draw them.

  They charged one another, shields braced for impact. It was a brutal way to end a fight, like stags rutting for dominance. They clashed, the impact funnelling down Lothar’s left arm into his shoulder and neck. They withdrew, then hit one another again, failing to cause the damage each needed.

  On the third clash, Sal tried something different, going low with his shield. But the gap was too great. Lothar, relentless, barged forward, clipping his opponent with the bottom edge.

  It was enough to end the fight. Sal sprawled onto his back. With 2 hit points left, he was barely conscious.

  Lothar loomed over him, hardly enough energy to stay on his feet.

  Sal looked him in the eye. ‘You only beat me because you had those weapons.’

  ‘True.’ The rim of Lothar’s shield came down on Salvador Blair’s head, and it was done.

  Rosalind was quickly over to him.

  His blood still singing with a warrior’s fury, he took a strange pride in the fact he hadn’t needed her help. He held up his mangled hand. ‘Anything you can do with this?’

  ‘No. Except get you to Mila or Tree as soon as possible.’

  ‘Alright. First, check his sack, will you?’

  With a raised eyebrow, Rosalind fetched the sack of carrying that Lothar had noticed leaning against the wall. She brought it over and opened it for him. She gasped. Inside was the accumulated treasure and weaponry of The Golden Blades. ‘To the victor, the spoils.’

  ‘I suppose so. Can’t help feeling a little bad about it. I have been lucky; and I did come to this fight with certain advantages. Not least the knowledge you would have helped me had I needed it.’

  ‘I would not!’ Rosalind insisted, and Lothar wasn’t sure what to believe. ‘But anyway, Blair was wrong. It hasn’t been luck. He was the one with all the advantages. His mercs abandoned him. Your crew followed you. You did right by people—that’s why you won.’

  ‘Huh. Maybe.’

  The Guvnah joined them, glancing at his old boss. ‘Well. Congratulations, Stiff. Cleaner this way.’

  ‘Yeah. I guess so. Maybe you’ll consider joining The Rotten Apples after all?’

  Alfie Goodfellow chuckled. ‘Reminds me when I go to the bar in every spit and sawdust tavern, and the barkeep asks “what’ll it be?”, when they only have one damned beer on tap. And it tastes awful. O’ course I’ll join. You’re the only game in town now.’

  ‘Well thanks for the ringing endorsement. Now prop me up, will you? I’m about to keel over.’

  Rosalind picked up the sack of carrying in one hand. In her other, she traced circles in the air with her staff.

  MISSION COMPLETE

  SUCCESS: Sal Blair was killed

  None of your mercs improved their stats

  No mercs levelled up

  Squad Games. Follow, favorite, or review, to support the story.

  Patreon.

  Partisans read 8 chapters ahead.

  Companions read 30 chapters ahead.