The look on Rugar's face was worth the many risks of revealing myself. His skin paled to an ashen white, his pupils dilated, and his mouth opened so wide you could fit a loaf of bread between his lips.

After a few long moments, he found his composure, picking his jaw off the floor and lifting his chin in defiance.

"I have been looking for you. Now you're here… Saves me some trouble."

I interlaced my fingers behind my head.

"The last thing I want to do is give you trouble."

Rugar barked out a laugh.

"I almost like you, elf. Where are my guards?"

His storm blue eyes swept over the tent.

"Dead. And this half-elf is called Jacob, or did you forget in your old age?"

Rugar snorted.

"I remembered. I've been thinking about you for months."

"I'm flattered."

"You shouldn't be. I've been thinking of all the ways I could make you hurt."

He tapped a finger against his temple.

"A blacksmith's mind—slow and methodical."

"Emphasis on slow."

Rugar smirked.

His eyes wandered down to Thor, who stood behind me. It was through him that we knew exactly when the old blacksmith was close by.

"Where's Castille and Dugan?" Rugar asked.

I leaned back in the chair and laughed.

"Behind you."

Castille charged through the tent door and shoulder-checked Rugar in the back, pushing him deeper into the tent. Dugan came in next, swinging his wooden club down on the knee of Rugar's left leg.

The leg buckled, and the old man dropped to one knee with a clatter of metal. I slipped my feet off the table and pushed the chair across the rug. Thor waddled to my side.

"Sorry, Rugar. This is how it ends."

Castille raised Dusk in a reverse grip, the sword's black tip aimed at his neck.

"Never!" Rugar shouted.

The candelabras around the room shook and rose an inch off the ground.

"Watch out!"

Castille jumped and rolled to his side as two of the candelabras flew across the room.

They smashed into the space where the Northern woman stood. The metal poles twisted together into a single mangled shape with an ear-splitting groan. The new shape swung around Rugar's left to smash into Dugan. The short man raised Dawn. The mass of black iron bounced off the enchanted shield and flew... at me!

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Thor squealed.

I jumped to the side, landing flat on my stomach. The chair I sat in exploded into jagged splinters as the metal mass careened across the room. The back of the tent caught the mutated candelabra and burst into flames. I pointed at the tent wall, shooting a bolt at the spreading flames. My spark mixed with the fire, making it mine. I reached out with my phantom limb and snuffed it out, leaving a gaping hole in the back of the tent.

"You alright, Isla?"

She popped up from behind Rugar's bed.

"Yeah!"

I turned back to Rugar.

Castille was on her feet, swinging Dusk in a downward slash at his head.

Rugar reached out with an unarmoured right hand as if to catch the blow. The black blade carved through meat and tendon like butter, shrieking against his metal vambrace and denting his shoulder pauldron. Rugar's dismembered thumb and index finger dropped to the floor with a spurt of blood.

"The sword isn't made of metal, idiot," Castille said.

She pulled back and stabbed down. Dusk scraped down his metal chest piece, creating an ugly grey scar. The tip caught on the ridge where the chest piece met the plackart that covered his stomach. Castille put her left hand on the pommel, grit her teeth and pushed!

The metal armour was pierced with a sickening pop. The obsidian blade grated against steel and bone. Rugar let out a wet wheeze as Dusk ran him through. Rugar's right arm flailed, his three-fingered hand latching onto Castille's.

I stared from the floor in disbelief and then horror.

The right side of Castille's face rippled and writhed. The flesh convulsed and twisted at unnatural angles.

It was the metal from her grandfather's sword! The pieces too small for Dugan to pull out!

Castille grunted and bared her teeth. Dugan raised his club. I leapt to my feet.

"Jacob, move! You're in the way!" Isla said.

I froze, caught between Isla's order and the scene unfolding in front of me.

Blood trickled from the corner of Castille's mouth, poured from her right eye. Dugan swung his wooden club down on Rugar's head. He blocked it with his left arm, and Castille… Kept. Pushing.

POP!

Dusk burst out of Rugar's lower back, and Castille's right eye exploded! Rugar's arm flopped to the ground. Castille stumbled back, wiping away the blood and jelly dribbling down the side of her face.

"Castille... You're eye."

"Finish it," Castille said between pained breaths.

"But-"

"Finish it!"

I willed my dagger into my left hand, raised it and-

Thor let out a low series of grunts.

"Boss?! What's all that noise about?"

The tent flap opened.

A boy a few years younger than me stared wide-eyed at the scene in front of him. He balanced a wooden board of white bread, cheese and spit-roasted game on one hand.

"Oh... Uh... Wait, you're them?!"

In our stunned silence, something metallic bounced on the rug behind me.

Isla gasped.

I turned, my eyes settling on a round iron-grey ball in front of the twisted candelabra.

It was one of Elmer's hand bombs with its fuse burned down to a nub.

Isla shot a stream of water at the bomb. A second too late.

BOOOM!!!

# # #

I blinked through the acrid smoke filling the tent.

Where am I? What's happening?

My face rubbed against the smooth silk rug, wincing from the ringing in my ears.

Someone groaned, and after a moment, I realized it was me.

The explosion knocked me off my feet and knocked loose my senses.

I should have been dead.

Did my jacket protect me or…

Isla…

My mind flashed to the moment before the explosion, when Isla's stream of water turned into a small barrier for the front of the tent. The front of the tent, but not her.

I raised my head to burning strips of canvas dangling from the ceiling, and the boy shuffling Rugar through the tent's door. Castille and Dugan were groaning on the ground, and Thor was grunting louder.

Where was Isla?

"An impressive yield."

A new yet familiar voice rang out behind me.

No... No, not now. Why now?!

I looked over my shoulder.

As the smoke billowed in the tent, two red eyes stared at me through the hole burned in the canvas wall.

A scimitar flashed, and a neat line was cut from the bottom of the hole to the floor.

"After your many lies, I expected your gift to be a fake."

A figure walked through the makeshift opening; two scimitars clutched in his clawed hands: one made of steel, the other made of fire.

"But this… This pleases me."

The figure flashed a sharp-toothed grin.

Van. Fucking. Lagos.

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