We passed through Pennylast's central marketplace at a steady run. That was one constant in my life's work - regardless of the legality or morality of whatever I've been up to, it inevitably requires lots of running. Faced with that, you soon learn to find a pace you can keep up for an extended period. Usually, there's someone behind or in front of you who's going to respond violently if you meet. When that happens, as with now, you need to be able to fight without your own internal lightshow or puke drizzling between your lips.

As far as I could tell from the few words I'd been able to extract from Terence, the others had talked to the architects behind the Belly Row renovation and not managed to uncover anything suspicious. When they sent a team of survey wizards to have another look at the development, the Companions went with them as protection.

Predictably, within a short space of time, it all went wronger than a politician's sex life.

"So, were they actually fighting when Lindon deafened us?" I said.

Without breaking stride, Terence grabbed a sausage from a stall as we passed, pointing to his badge. "Incoming attack," he said.

I flicked a coin back over my shoulder to the butcher chasing us. "Belly Row isn't much further - hopefully, we can get there in time to help."

A few more alleys, and we could hear ominous sounds up ahead. The all too familiar reports of weapons chiming against armour mixed with deep rumblings that shook the ground as well as the air. Either those survey wizards were employing some serious hypernatural weaponry, or the fight happened to coincide with an earthquake.

"Run ahead," I said to Terence, irritated at the slight rasp in my voice - I'd pushed it too hard. "You'll be faster and more help than me."

He made eye contact before nodding and accelerating into a sprint, Broadsword of Bashing sliding into his grip as if from nowhere. I paused in the middle of the alley and placed hands on knees, fighting through the tension in my chest. This didn't seem right - I should have been able to keep that pace all day. I might have had enough life experiences to make an intrepid explorer feel boring, but I'm not old yet. (No, I'm not giving you a year count. Just trust me, okay? I'm not old.)

"Roooooooozlyyyyyyyyn." It was a whisper on the breeze, fainter than the inspiration for a painting, more an idea than sound itself. It was also creepier than a spider in a vampire costume. "I waaaaant yoooooouuuuu."

"If someone's there, show yourself now and I might not bitch-slap you back to yesterday." Yeah, I can be aggressive when I'm out of breath.

"Roooooooozlyyyyyyyyn." Something moved. I was in a particularly narrow passage between streets, tall buildings either side, with a single, battered wooden door next to me. The door wasn't moving but it seemed to be shifting, the ghost of a shadow playing across its aged timber surface. I considered shouting for Terence to come back but that seemed irrational ... and I didn't want to be a wimp. "Come tooo meeeeeeeee."

I blinked and backed up a step. "Seriously - not funny anymore."

"Commmmmmmeeeeee." A skeletal finger emerged from a join in the wood, cloaked in tar-black smoke, shaking like an arthritic ghost. In the distance, more rumbles sounded and the floor vibrated. A tingling sensation whizzed into my nether regions and threaded its way through my innards up into my chest. In a different context, it might have been pleasant, but that only made it more sinister, more intrusive.

I could feel my heartbeat thudding in my temples.

I'm not easy to scare, alright? I've been burned and stabbed, beaten up and chased, spat at and insulted in several very aggressive manners. This was something else entirely. If I had balls, I'm pretty sure they'd be half way up my body by now, vibrating like marbles struck by lighting. That finger stabbed and called at me in equal measure, plucking at deep strings and touching a place not even I was comfortable thinking about.

The wall opposite the door smacked into my back, making me jump. I hadn't even realised I was moving.

I pursed my lips. "Just piss off, okay? I got friends to save." Why so defensive? It was just a stupid finger, beckoning from several feet away. It wasn't hurting me, but it reduced me to child-like wishes for respite. The pain in my chest wasn't from breathlessness anymore - it was fear, hard and dark and unrelenting. "Oh, this is just ridiculous! Sod it, I'm leav-"

The door burst open, emitting a stream of speeding shapes.

Unfortunately, my first reaction was to yelp like a harpy catching her nipple in a zip. As a result, by the time I realised it was just a couple of swarthy - frankly, quite plain - guys with leather-clad clubs, they'd already entered close quarters. One pinned my arms to the wall while the other stripped away my dirks. I tried to knee the one holding me in the groin, but he was ready for that and blocked with a thigh.

Back against wall, arms held up, two guys pressed against me. Yeah, I don't mind admitting a stab of panic flickered through me, but it was that sensation that galvanised me into action.

See, you have two options when panic hits. You either go with it, and lose yourself in that hiding place deep within, shielding behind the vulnerability of fear and abandonment, freeing your thoughts from the turmoil of the present, or...

"AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Fire burned in my throat as I snapped my head forward, obliterating one guy's nose with my face. Blood smacked in hot ribbons across my cheeks and chest. His hands loosened on my arms and I cannoned an elbow sideways at my other attacker. I felt my joint crunch and break on something hard, but something gave way on his side too. There was no pain, no fear, no hesitation - just a world of red brutality.

I launched myself onto the guy without a nose, carrying him to the floor. Somewhere in mid tumble, my hand wrestled his club from his fist. We landed on the ground and a breath-full of blood fountained from the mess in the middle of his face. His hand swept up to strike me, so I opened my mouth. I felt some teeth give way when his fingers crashed between my jaws, but that didn't stop me biting down with every ounce of fear-induced hatred I could summon.

He screamed, mouth open wide in agony. Something struck me on the back of the head and my world blurred.

No pain, no fear, no hesitation.

I spat his fingers onto his forehead and rammed the club down into his open mouth, feeling its length sliding down into throat and neck. Another blow rang against my head and everything shifted, turning to shades of grey and pastel streaks of colour. I heard a roar tear through my throat, full of the madness of combat and adrenalin, and I levered the club back with all my might. I felt his lower jaw come away with the motion, a muffled gurgle breaking through the sonic gloom. I had time to throw all my might back the other way, time to feel things crunch and shift, time to know he'd never attack anyone in an alley ever again.

Then my vision shook for a third time, and all sensations faded, settling into a darkness that just might be permanent.