The sudden sound of an arrow being released; the whistle of an arrow in flight; the almost melodious hum produced by the bowstring’s reverberations—Hasan shot at the lead goblin, wounding him and prepared to shoot again.
Meanwhile, Feldard dropped his crossbow in favour of his trusted battleaxe. He grinned widely. Goblins—no matter what manner their training or clan—were something he rather enjoyed fighting and killing. He could hear behind him Miklos’ arcane mutterings and wondered what magics the mage had called forth. He was almost getting used to the use of magic in battle now, though he’d deny it if any would dare suggest such.
Grabbing the initiative, Miklos barked the first lines of his web spell “…transadhestro!” More use now than in the blaze he guessed. A halo if magical strands burst forth in a spray from his outstreached hand at the centre of the goblin pack as the groups charged to meet each other. As the creatures emerged from the trees, the strands of the mage’s web engulfed half of the group. That should even up the odds, the mage triumphantly thought to himself.
Being just behind Hasan and in helm and armour, Maruc’s only intuition of magic was the brief greasiness in the air and a vague pungent sickly sweet smell. It almost distracted him from the wild swing of the violent goblinoid in front of him. High on adrenalin, he shrugged off the first blow and brought his flail round in a viscous arc at the goblin’s head. He said no word. If they could finish this lot off without noise the others across the stream might not aid them so swiftly. Halav had blessed them. This was relatively easily to tell friend from foe at this stage.
The dwarf attempted to sidestep the goblin’s hand axe, as he swung his battle axe around in its wide sweeping arc towards his foe, nearly cleaving the thing in half. “You call that an axe,” he taunted as he turned to face another foe. “Ha! Now this is an axe!”
Stephan turned to face the immediate threat of goblins from the trees. It had not been since the dungeons of Korlo that he’d fought with a mage, and he found himself greatly relieved to see the magics entangle several of the Wolfskulls.
“Pyotr and his family may already be in the tower.” Stephan shouted as he readied his sword. “Darya and the others are likely there already. But they’ve the blessing of Havlav here, I can assure you. There be two here who have take the devotions to Him.” He gave a grimmace, and lunged at the nearest Wolfskull, body slamming him with his shield and knocking him into the path of the elf’s sure-shot arrows; giving Hasan a clear target.
Turning, he narrowly missed having his noggin pierced sliced. Swiveling with his blade, he struck at the out-stretched arm of the goblin delivering a wrist-crippling wound. Quickly then, shifting his weight to his left foot, he brought his right boot up and out impacting the bent over goblin’s side. The beast, clutching it’s arm, his weapon laying useless on the ground, lost its balance, stumbling away. Stephan raised his sword to deliver the killing blow but again the twang of Hasan’s bow sounded and an arrow appeared in the goblin’s throat.
Feeling the rush of battle but keeping his voice down, Stephan engaged the goblin near the bridge edge. “With a bit of luck,” he thought, “I might send this one into the river…”
The battle appeared well in hand, the last two remaining goblins were on the defense, and appeared to be on the verge of retreat.
“Look out!” cried a man’s voice from the gatehouse across the bridge. It was Taras, Pyotr’s eldest son. Stephan turned to see a squad of seven goblins mounted on dire wolves charging wildly along the riverbank.
“Quick, before they cut you off!” shouted Taras. The gate was swung open. There was not a moment to lose.