Harold winced as the fireball engulfed Dill. “That's got to sting a bit.”
Gillian was already nocking a second explosive arrow as she ran towards the pair. “I doubt it.” She came to a halt and fired, the expansion of the second explosion close enough to force her to turn her head to one side. “The zombie doesn't feel anything and the golem has no nerves in the first place.” She dipped her head to pass between bow and string and tucked the bow over her back.
Harold stooped as he ran, picking up several lumps of bone from the floor. He must be on what was left of the rose bed – he recalled the march of the necromanced a year or two ago and Gillian's method of dealing with an army of the resurrected dead by means of an industrial wood chipper. It had done wonders for the roses. “But how does he come back from being a crispy bake?”
“Ask me if I care.” Gillian drew her katana and leaped forward, the blade slicing down on the golem's arm.
The last third of the blade went spinning off into the darkness, narrowly missing Harold as it scythed past his head. For the first time in his life, he stopped wishing he was taller. “Watch out.” He hurried after Gillian with barely a glance at the pieces of bone, selecting one that felt suitable for a spell and dropping the rest into his pocket. “You could have had someone's eye out with that.”