"The only good goblin is a dead one."
***
The next goblin came through low. Trying to duck under his spear thrust. Smarter than the first three. Learning from their deaths in the way that only creatures who lived by violence could learn.
Rhys adjusted his aim. Drove the point downward into its spine.
The creature collapsed with a sound between a shriek and a gurgle. But its momentum carried it forward. Claws raked across his leg before it died. Tore through cloth and skin and left tracks of fire in their wake.
Blood soaked through his pants. Warm and sticky.
Another goblin. This one carried a short sword that looked like it had been stolen from a human. The blade too long for its body. The grip wrapped in leather that was clearly not goblin work.
It feinted left. Then came in fast from the right. The blade whistled through the air in an arc aimed at his ribs.
