Heric flinched.

The tiny woman shrieked at the Hob.  Heric couldn’t understand what she said, but it made the Hob recoil. Then it rebuked her. 

Heric only caught one word, fahesha. That was her name, Heric remembered, although the Hob made it sound pejorative.

Meanwhile, Tegalie struggled, trying to free herself from the shackles that had closed around her wrists, waist, and ankles.  The hooded figure loomed over her, a wine jug, tarred and blackened by fire,  clasped in his hands as it murmured.

“Time to die,” the goblin holding Heric’s sword said as he raised it high, preparing to cleave Heric’s head from his neck.  All Heric could do was watch.

There was a whoosh, the quiver of fletching.  A wind passed by Heric’s head. The sword fell, but not at Heric’s neck, It tumbled in the air, as the goblin stumbled backward clutching at its own throat.  

Heric leapt, straight at the goblin about to kill Ganthe.  Heric thrust the push knife, Tegalie had slipped to him, in between the armoured plates.  The goblin cried out.  It’s sword tumbling from its grasp. Heric  propelled himself, using his momentum to force the goblin to the floor.  He felt the thick, red-black blood cover his hands and arms in spurts. The goblin struggled to reach its knife.  He stabbed again.  The goblin howling in pain. And again.  The goblin freed its knife.

Then Ganthe was there. He ended it swiftly, plunging his own knife into the goblin’s throat.

Ganthe grinned at him. “Got it back,” he said, holding up his favourite knife, the blade slick with blood.

Heric scrabbled over towards his own sword. Another goblin stood over it.  It gave Heric a nasty grin, but that immediately turned to shock and terror as an arrow plunged into its throat.  It dropped to its knees.

Heric grabbed his sword and thrust it into the goblin’s chest.  Then rising to their feet, he and Ganthe stood back-to-back ready for the onslaught.  However around them it was bedlam.  

The chanters were screaming and running about as they slapped at their arms and bodies.  Most of the warriors too were preoccupied, waving away unseen insects and motes.

Upon the ledge overlooking the pit Heric glimpsed a figure in a grey. Falduin was casting his favourite spell, and this time it had worked.

Just below, at the base of the ledge, Lera approached the thrones.  She held her spear low and her shield forward stalking the hooded figure.  

As Tegalie spat invective at the figure, it raised the jug so that the spout hovered above Tegalie’s mouth.  It mumbled in prayer, seemingly unaware of Lera’s approach. 

Then Orwic interceded.  He brought the axe down at Lera’s head.  She caught the blow on her shield, forcing the weapon away, as she thrust with her spear.  Orwic dived back, away from the point, as he cried for help.

“The Princess,” Heric cried.

“I’m there,” Ganthe said, and raced towards the thrones.

Over the screams and shouts, Heric almost didn’t realise that the Hobgoblin was bearing down upon him.  At the last moment he leapt out of the way as the hafted axe swished through the air where his head had just been.

Heric backed way as the Hob pressed forward. One step. Two. The Hob lunged, the axe aimed high, then it dived low at Heric’s ribs.  Heric caught the feint early and parried.  He followed with a simple return strike.  The Hob darted back, avoiding it only just in time. They jabbed as they circled, each evaluating the other.

Heric caught a glimpse of Lera and Orwic battling.  They were both dangerously close to the pit.  Nearby the hooded figure imprecated over Tegalie, as she cursed it. Above them, a knife spun through the air aimed at Falduin, but the weapon bounced away harmlessly as if it had struck a barrier.  And Ganthe?  He was nowhere to be seen.

The Hob bellowed and attacked again.  Heric darted inside the falling axe, binding the haft with his sword. However, the Hob pivoted the haft around the lugs, aiming the end at Heric’s head.  Yet Heric shoved, knocking the Hob off-balance and stalling its retort.

 Heric sensed a goblin racing up from behind. He danced aside as the curved sword slashed at him.  The Hob charged, striking high again.  Heric parried,  twisting to oppose the expected attack from the goblin behind.  However the goblin staggered back with one of Ifonsa’s arrows in its throat.

The Hob roared in rage, but Heric met it with his own anger.  He pressed his own attack. High, then low, and more. A vicious series of blows driving the Hob back towards the thrones. 

Yet the Goblin King was far from bested.  It caught Heric’s sword with the head of its axe and yanked.  Heric staggered forward as the Hob swung with its fist.  Heric shied away at the last moment, the punch grazing his shoulder, weakening the strike but it left Heric stumbling backward, his guard down, and a buzzing in his ears.

The Hobgoblin’s cry of victory was interrupted by a shriek from the hooded figure. Ganthe had stolen up behind and had plunged his knife into the figures back. The jug it held tumbled out of its hands, disgorging its red-black liquid upon Tegalie’s head. The jug bounced off the throne’s crest rail then arced towards the pit.

The moment of hesitation was all Heric needed.  He met the Hob’s blow, parrying it, then pivoted his blade around to slam it into the Goblin King’s exposed head. The Hobgoblin reeled, blood gushing from its wound. 

As Heric closed in for the kill, a cry reached his ears: Lera.  She was down on one knee, as Orwic loomed over her, raining axe blows down upon her upraised shield.  Heric hesitated. Then something slammed into him from the side.  A glancing blow that staggered him.

It was one of the chanters, running at full speed toward the thrones as it screamed at the top of its lungs.  As Heric regained his footing he watched in horror as the chanter threw itself into the pit. It was followed by another. And another.

Heric rushed toward Lera, but before he had taken more than a few steps, Lera thrust with her spear under her shield.  The point caught Orwic in the belly.  Orwic screamed, and again as Lera twisted the haft, and yanked the spear head free.

A roar.  The Hobgoblin rushed to intercept.  Heric ducked, as the Hob’s axe sliced through the air above.  Heric thrust low, but the axe parried and drove his sword out wide. The Hob snapped the haft at Heric’s head.  Heric caught it on his shoulder, the armour taking most of the blow.  He thrust down at the Hob’s leg, but it danced away. 

Heric pursued: thrust, slash, feint.  Yet the Hob countered every move.  The two warriors gave their all, as they tested and prodded seeking an opening.  Yet the Hob was fresher.  

The days of riding and lack of sleep had taken their toll upon Heric.  Twice he only just avoided suffering a grievous wound.  It was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed.

“Your dagger,” Heric heard Tegalie shout.  He didn’t know if she addressed him.  He glanced down at where his weapon should have been, but of course it had been taken away earlier by the goblins. 

Seeing Heric distracted,  the Hobgoblin rushed in, slamming the lower haft into Heric’s ribs. The armour caught some of it, but not enough.  It knocked the wind from him.

The Hob crowed in triumph, raising the axe high above its head.  Yet before it could strike, its bragger turned to a howl of pain.  It staggered as it glanced behind it.  Heric took the opportunity presented.  With one mighty blow, he slashed, his blade slicing the Hob’s exposed neck clean through.

The Goblin King dropped its axe, as its hands went to the wound, desperately trying to keep its life force from escaping.  It staggered back, then with its right hand reached behind it.

Tegalie screamed as the Goblin King dragged her up by her hair, Ganthe’s knife falling from her hand.  The Hob lifted her up until her feet were off the ground, as The Princess razed ineffectually at the Hobgoblin’s forearms with her nails.

Heric drove his blade at the Hob’s belly.  It punched through the armour.  An awful stench erupted from the breach, red-black blood mixing with a vicious brown fluid gushing out.  Heric twisted the hilt.  The Goblin King moaned, and released Tegalie as it dropped to its knees.

With a wild swing, Heric cleaved the Goblin King’s head from its shoulders.  The head tumbled away, falling into the pit.

Heric stumbled.  He dropped to his knees.  Exhausted.  He coughed.  Pink foam coated his lips.

Tegalie ran to him.  “Heric?”  he heard her voice, but it was muffled.

He nodded.  Coughed.  More foam.   

He gazed numbly at the last of the chanters raced toward the pit. The warriors all lay silently on the ground or moaning in pain.  Most of them had arrows in the throats, eyes or sticking out of their chests.

Tegalie tried to help him up, but all he wanted to do was sleep.

“Up!” Tegalie insisted.  But he didn’t move.

It was Lera that roused him.  Her voice.  The timbre.  The fear.  “Heric!” she cried, “Help!”

Heric turned, expecting to see Orwic, but he was nowhere to be  found.  Instead the hooded figure loomed over Lera and Ganthe, forcing them back towards the pit.  It’s cowl had been thrown back and even from behind Heric could see that it was not wholly goblin. It looked as though it had been blended with a snake, complete with oily black scales.

Lera thrust with her spear, the point burying itself in the beast’s heart.  Yet it appeared to have no effect.  Then Ganthe hewed at the creature’s arm  with Lera’s sword.  It sliced right through the shoulder so that arm pealed away from the body.   Yet there was no cry of pain.  A thick oily black fluid leaked from the wound. 

Then Heric realised that Falduin hung in the air above the ledge.  He clutched at his throat as though a mighty hand had grasped it.

Heric launched himself, racing toward the back of the accursed creature.  He brought his sword blade down upon the things head.  It split it on two, all the way to the elongated jawline.  But even that did not stop the monster.  It lurched forward it’s remaining arm slashing at  Lera and Ganthe with black claws.  They were at the very edge of the pit.

Heric raised his weapon to strike again, as Lera screamed at Ganthe, “Move!”

Ganthe scrambled away as Lera plunged her spear into the chest of the beast.  She twisted, and stepping to the side, levered her spear.  The aberration was dragged forward.  It attempted to swipe at Lera, but she prised it around and then thrust  it into the pit.  The monstrosity teetered then plummeted into the boiling liquid within, taking Lera’s spear with it.

Heric sank to his knees. He was utterly spent.  His head ringing, his chest screaming, especially when he was wracked by the persistent coughing. The world was a whirr around him.

He remembered... Sir Helmund.

“Son, that’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever witnessed,” Heric’s lord and captain said.

Three Imperial Guards lay dead at Heric’s feet.

Then he was being helped to his feet.  When had he fallen?  He couldn’t remember.  Why were Ganthe and Tegalie carrying him away from his lord?  And why was Ifonsa helping Lera with Falduin.  Heric didn’t remember any wizards being at the battle.

Heric peered over his shoulder trying to keep Sir Helmund in his view.  He didn’t want his lord believing he wasn’t paying attention.  He could tell Sir Helmund was expecting a response, yet he couldn’t remember the question.  So he screamed the only answer that really ever mattered in the army.

“Yes, Sir!”