Dissolution

He stepped in and cut downward. A goblin, this one possessed of a short sword—a proper warrior's weapon, and some martial training to go with it—lifted the weapon to parry. It didn't matter. Splitter sheared right through its blade and streaked on into its torso. Knife in hand, the fourth goblin dodged behind its foe. Sensing its location, Ryld kicked backward. His boot co

ected solidly, snapping bone, and when he turned the creature lay motionless on the ground, likely dead of a broken back. Ryld turned to survey the battlefield. His eyes widened in shock and dismay. Pharaun too was on the ground. Three goblins crouched over him on their bandy legs. One scabrous creature had blood on the iron spike that served it as a poniard. Ryld bellowed a war cry, sprang at them, and struck them down before they could do any more damage. He kneeled beside his friend. Beneath the elegant piwafwi, Pharaun's equally gorgeous robe had two punctures in it, and was dark and wet from breastbone to thighs. «I heard them corning a moment after you did,» the wizard wheezed. «I didn't turn around fast enough.» «Don't worry,» said Ryld. «It's going to be all right.» In reality, he wasn't at all sure of that. «The goblin thrust through the gap between the wings of my cloak. The little bastard hurt me when Greya

a and her followers couldn't. Isn't that silly?»