Chapter 4: Escape

It's not much of a fight in the end, though I'm a bit disgusted by the clumsiness of my own actions. I would blame the fact my brain and body aren't really working as one, but the truth of it is, killing something-even as wretched a thing as a hobgoblin-is messy, horrible business.

I run flat out toward the guard while he shakes himself free of his frozen state at the last instant, leaping while he struggles to drop the buckets, the handles catching on the barbs growing from the filthy flesh of his wrists. He manages to turn sideways while I'm in midair and partially evade me, but I crash into him, the impact inevitable from the moment I launch from the ground, and take him down with my weight as my first weapon, landing on top of him with the bone knife raised before I can think.

I plunge it into his neck, watching as if from a distance the sharp end puncturing green, glistening blubber at the base of his throat. The gurgling of his breath escapes his thick lips, turning to a bubbling sound easing around a sigh, blood pooling out of the hole I made when I jerk the knife free, pooling up into his mouth and spilling over. I drive the bone point deep into a new place, severing several important connections that sustain

what's left of his life and feel him twitch under me as he dies quickly. With a last twitch he half sits upright, spurting a messy gout up and over my hand, splashing my front with crimson before he rattles deep in the back of his throat and collapses.

Over in between the pulse of one heartbeat and the next, his last. So fast I inhale and realize I failed to do so recently, the breath jagged and filling my aching lungs with much needed air. There's a stunned silence inside my mind, though my body seems utterly at ease wiping someone else's blood from the back of my hand onto the crusted hem of the hobgoblin's tunic just below his chain shirt.

My arm aches but in a good way as the red glow of the embed fades to white and then back to black. I rise and step away from the body, smearing away a few droplets of blood I feel drying on my face, the others joining me. I stand there, panting and knowing this could have gone badly if Blossom's gift hadn't been in my hand while said halfling slips past me and begins an efficient and cheerful search of the body.

"Well done," the paladin says, looking me up and down as if only realizing now she's underestimated me.

I nod back, aware I've been underestimating myself, so I can hardly fault her for it. "Can't just be him guarding us," I say, accepting my lack of horror at my willingness to kill as one more thing I just need to get used to. For some reason, as real and tangible as this is, I feel distant, like none of it matters, not really. As though what I've just done isn't the first time nor will it be the last and only my goal has importance.

What goal is that, though?

"He's the only one we ever see." The troll peers over my shoulder, Vosh sounding curious and calm, drawing me back from the confused spinning in my mind. "But you're likely right."

Blossom steps away from the dead hobgoblin, grinning up at me, a knife now strapped to her belt, her shirt tucked firmly into the leather. Stolen from the guard, both items, and gleefully in her control.

"Hand that over." The dwarf makes a grab for her past me but she skitters aside, leaping the body and putting the sprawling dead hobgoblin between her and him. A quick kick at a bucket sends slop that must have been meant for our next meal pouring out onto the stone floor in an oozing mess.

"Mine," she snaps.

"Actually," the elf says in her soft, musical voice, "I believe it's for our friend here to lay claim." She gestures gracefully to me. "Fair's fair, Blossom."

The halfling pouts at the elf then grins at me, batting her lashes once more. "Friends, right?"

I laugh, I can't help myself. "If it weren't for the knife you made me," I say, "this might have ended differently. So the dagger is yours. My gift to you. Friend."

Blossom curtsies. "My hero," she says before flashing a so there smile to the others and turns to the exit while the dwarf glares like I just stabbed him in the back. I have a feeling their bickering is going to get on my nerves about as much as it amuses me at the moment, though there's not much I can do about it either way. I have a feeling we're going to be together for a while.

I help the paladin stuff our former guard in one of the cells, dragging his surprisingly heavy body across the stone floor. She was nice enough to leave the feet to me, though I slip and skid over the trail of blood his gaping neck wounds shed on the floor beneath him so maybe she made the right choice taking his arms after all. There's no way to hide the blood trail, and anyone who looks down will realize there's been a fight and someone's lost enough blood they can't have survived the battle. Still, we can make it harder for the hobgoblin's fellow guards to locate its body and, knowing how they lack in a level of intelligence most other races enjoy, such a search might slow them down enough to let us escape.

That is, if we can even make it past them on the other side of that exit door. Or even open said door. I'm leaving that part of the job to the halfling Blossom.

When the paladin lets go of her end deep in the cell we chose for its resting place, I briefly consider a bit of my own body picking. I hesitate before helping myself to the rusting chainmail while my companion shakes her head when I offer it to her first.

"I'll wait until something less fragrant comes along." She crosses her arms over her chest as I don the armor, the weight of the metal slithering over my shoulders when I slip into the open side. Our guard has clearly stolen this from someone else because the sides gape, tied shut with a series of small leather straps. At least I can get a reasonable approximation of a fit, though I think it must have belonged to someone a lot smaller than

me. Still, I feel much more protected despite the stink of the rust and the clinging odor of hobgoblin. And when my arm vibrates and I look at my embed, the PH shivers, the number beneath increasing from thirteen to fourteen. I'll take it.

I follow the paladin out into the corridor again, closing the door behind the dead guard. The others remain at the exit, arguing quietly, while I shake my head and hurry to join them. Surely they have it open by now? But no, it remains firmly closed. The troll, dwarf, elf and halfling make no move to leave, so obviously either they're fighting over who goes first or there's a problem opening the way. It's clear when I look around Vosh's bulk they're having difficulty getting the door to do what it's meant to do and I push my way through to get a look at what the holdup is.

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