Hawkridge

Chapter 7

The horses rushed past in a gale of dust, barely visible through the trees and dirtied air. Shouts from the riders were all but lost to the din of hooves but Skidmark's sudden roar devoured them. Colt raced to the road, heedless of the pain throbbing in his side and staggered out in time to see the horses split around the drake like a river cut by a stone, never breaking their charge. The drake snapped at a few of them, but with so much meat on the ground, the effort was halfhearted, meant to ward the strangers from his meal rather than add them to it.

Colt ran after them, though the distance continued to grow as they rode on. Anthony emerged from the woods an instant later behind him and shouted something, but Colt couldn't hear him over the other sounds. The first rider, a broad man with a bow and quiver strapped over his back, leapt from his horse at the gate and with a quick effort threw wide the opening, letting the rest spill through with spears, pitchforks and even a few drawn swords.

A tall man with dark curly hair led the group through, wielding a shepherd's crook like a spear. The first arrow took him in the throat halfway between the gate and the manor. Blood rained from his neck, drenching his front crimson before Colt could blink. A second arrow buried itself in the man's stomach and he tumbled from his horse, hitting the ground like a slab of meat at the butcher's.

A cave goblin popped up over the balcony like a monstrous imitation of a ground hog, bow in hand. Another goblin hopped up and fired off an arrow, then another. And another. And another. The men were caught in a deadly hail that sent rider and mount tumbling to the ground in chaos. And the onslaught continued.

Colt felt himself pull up short at the horror. He'd seen a lot the last few hours. The slaves trapped underground. Killing the goblins, up close, feeling Aephyr's blade biting into their flesh had been terrifying. But that had been in the heat of battle. This...he was watching a mass execution.

The goblins had timed their ambush perfect. At the halfway point it didn't matter if the riders turned back or kept charging, both were equally lethal. The closed off yards that had protected the manor house became killing fields, trapping man and horse alike in easy reach of the goblin's deadly arrows.

"Uncle Ethan!" Anthony rushed past towards the slaughter, coat tails flapping behind him and staff raised high.

"Rotting carrion," Colt swore and ran after him.

Lightning erupted from the fallen men and horses, striking the balcony in an eruption of flames. Splinters and smoke burst away, dropping burning goblins to the ground. Another shot fired off, and this time held like a stream of burning water, sweeping across the balcony's barrier in a spray of fire and choking smoke. Shrieks rose up with the debris as goblins were burned, blinded and forced back. The stench of wood smoke and burning flesh filled the air, overpowering even that of the dead drakes.

Cheers sounded from the fallen and men rose up, wounded but not broken. Some had arrows sticking from a shoulder or leg, others tucked arms twisted at wrong angles close to their chests. More remained unmoving on the ground. Under cover from the smoke, they charged, hobbled and ran the rest of the way into the house.

"Give 'em Grish boys and leave 'em for the buzzards!" Sheriff Maer roared from the middle of the crowd, arms lifted high. Metal engraved rods glistened in each hand, sparks leaping from the ends.

"Goblin warriors don't fight with slaves or captives at their backs," Aephyr whispered in Colt's ear as he resumed his sprint, somehow effortlessly keeping pace with him, as if she were gliding along the ground beside him rather than running. "They don't trust that they won't rise up in the middle of combat and stab them in the back."