The rampaging mob of goblins closes in on me, waving their weapons high in anticipation of the violence to come. The war chariot bearing their leader nevertheless slows and eventually comes to a stop, the mutant horse stomping on the ground with pent up aggression. The goblin warlord clearly wants to keep a healthy distance away from me and let its minions do the dirty work. That's fine with me though. This battle is only going to end one way.

I light up another cigarette and impatiently motion the goblin horde to make their move, a calculated show of bravado for the benefit of Mills and his people. The blade of my sword glints in the morning sun. Other than the snarling and grunting coming from the goblins, complete silence had settled over the battlefield. I should be feeling pissed that Christina stole so much of my thunder, but really, more power to her for taking to Henrik's lessons so well. I'm professional enough to keep my ass pain out of our relationship.

I just wish she could have killed the warlord with her magical attack. If Christina wanted to show off, she could have at least made things easier for me as well.

The warlord shouts a guttural command and the goblins bring up bows loaded with barbed arrows. I roll my eyes as a massive volley is sent right towards my position. Not bothering to dodge, I just stand there, impatiently tapping my feet, letting my battle coat and defensive magic deal with the attack.

One good thing about fighting in the vicinity of an excavated life vein is that using magic becomes much easier. The release of so much raw energy makes a magic knight's abilities far more potent. The arrows fall all around me, some of them deflected by the treated leather of my battle coat, but most piercing through the garment. Arrow after arrow strikes home and soon I begin to resemble a hedgehog more than a man. There's a murmur of disquiet from the camp as I eat enough arrows to kill a man several times over.

But the rhino skin spell holds firm, and not a single one of the barbs breaks my flesh.

Man, casting right at an open vein really is the bomb. Too bad we can't do it too often though. Absorbing so much magic too often is not particularly healthy. A few years back, there was this guy who got the bright idea in his head to train at an excavation site. Said the high amount of ambient magic in the air made him stronger. A few months later that idiot came back into the city with a huge tumor growing out of his face. The tumor was cut out but left our brave knight with a permanent hole in his head.

As well as permanently disabled.

Apparently the tumor had swallowed up a large chunk of the guy's grey matter in the bargain. The city kept him around though, sweeping streets and serving as a salutary lesson in public health.

I contemptuously sweep an arm across my chest, shaking loose several of the arrows that had been embedded there. Squaring my shoulders before the Goblin pack, I draw a line across my throat, eyeballing the warlord in challenge. The pack recoils, their ammunition having been expended to no effect, and start to slowly back away. I stalk forward, steadily pushing the invaders further away from the camp. The goblins must know by now that their weapons are not effective against me. As the line wavers and thins out, an unwelcome sight greets my eyes.

Within the goblin ranks, are three, no, actually four hunched over figures. At first glance, their ragged clothing and bent over gait gives the impression that they are goblins as well, but as these mystery interlopers hurriedly retreat behind the goblin warlord, I catch glimpses of chain mail worn underneath the rags, setting them aside from the goblin pack.

Hnh. A complication. At least none of these mystery individuals intend to join the fight just yet. Before I can spare more thought on the problem, the goblin warlord raises a stone club resembling a crudely made scepter and begins slamming it against the ground. The pounding noise rallies his troops and they stop falling back.

Honestly, I would have been happy to let the pack go if they retreated right now. Being a magic knight had become a business a long time ago. And part of running a business is securing repeated clientele. If the pack decided to make a break for it, I would have routed them off the field, but leaving a fair number alive to regroup out of sight, guaranteeing Mills' camp would be molested again at a later date. And so the cycle would continue, the goblins showing up, Mills calling us in and the House of Robeur serving as heroes for the day.

A neat, no risk, never ending conflict that keeps everyone fed, if not exactly happy.

Unfortunately, the warlord has got other ideas. He keeps bullying the pack forward, intending to commit everyone to a final glorious charge against me. Nothing for it then. I grasp my sword with both hands, feeling the blade hum with the magic accumulated within it, more than enough to hack a goblin apart with a careless stroke. Spreading my feet and getting a firmer footing on the ground, I assume the ready stance. The hooting and growling from the goblins grows in intensity, and they begin running towards me at full tilt, murder reflected in their eyes.

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I take a deep breath, preparing myself. The wave of monstrosities washes over me, and I am buried under gnashing teeth and swinging weapons.

My sword arcs upward, slicing several goblins apart in a single blow. An empty space is abruptly opened up in front of me and the remaining goblins surge forward, filling it up just as quickly. My weapon lashes out in rapid succession, drawing blood and killing indiscriminately. Goblins fall and soon a mound of corpses begins to gather at my feet.

I click my tongue in annoyance as a dagger slips past my guard and stabs towards my throat. The blade presses hard against me, but abruptly shatters as it yields to the rhino skin spell. My hand snaps out, grabbing the offending goblin by the arm and with a authoritative pull, I begin windmilling the monster about, wielding it like a morning star against its fellows. Bones crack and bodies fall. As the monsters stagger backward from my onslaught, a particularly hard swing on my part tears the goblin free of its own arm, sending the beast careening off into the distance.

I look down on the survivors from my perch on top of the small mountain of bloody corpses, my sword a glistening red ruin. This is the difference between a magic knight and some random guard carrying a musket. And at last, the goblins get it. They well and truly get it. As I drop the bloody arm with a squishy thump, adding to the mound of death, the goblins break and flee, ignoring the protestations of their warlord.

I jump down from the bloody pile, and eye the warlord in challenge. The fight's over. What comes next is up to it. The four figures huddled behind the monster remain motionless, awaiting the warlord's decision.

And that decision is to charge his chariot straight at me.

The beast cracks the reins with frenzied energy, causing the mutant horse to barrel forwards, both heads lolling in delirium.

"So pointless." I complain to no one in particular as my fist flies out like a battering ram, hitting one of the horse's heads.

There's a jolt of impact as the magic amplifies my strength and the head turns into a pile of mush. The entire chariot bucks upward into the air, throwing off the warlord. But the monster in not in the least bit panicked by this turn of events, performing a flying leap towards me with its club raised over its head. I raise the flat of my sword to parry and an overwhelming force crashes against me, forcing me backward. I feel the rhino skin spell protest, its invisible fibers quivering from the blow.

As I struggle to get back into a fighting stance, my eyes track crudely carved runes on the surface of the warlord's club. Crap. Magical weapon. No wonder I felt that attack. I barely manage to dodge to the side as the club whirls at my head again, wind whistling in my ear.

Its fine. I'll deal. I always do.

I hurriedly backpedal, giving up more ground but managing to dodge another assault from the warlord. My sword flicks out in response, stabbing for the monster's heart. But the simple iron plate the warlord wears over his chest abruptly blazed with power and my blow is turned aside with a shower of sparks.

And of course the warlord wears magical armor. Wonderful.

I try to retract my arm to defend, but the monster doesn't give me any breathing room. The club slams downward again and crashes straight into my chest. I feel the wind leaving my lungs as my body is sent flying backward in a wild tumble. As I hit the ground on my back, the rhino skin spell decides it has had enough and shatters, the lattice of spell work hardening my skin unraveling in a single instant. I feel the spell literally being peeled away from me as I grow softer, weaker, and most worryingly, squishier.

Certainly a bad position to be, when you have an angry goblin warlord looming over you. The monster leers in triumph and raises its club to deliver the final blow.

I then spit the cigarette in my mouth straight into the warlord's face, where it goes off like a cheap firework. The goblin shouts in surprise and covers his eyes, momentarily blinded by the flash and staggering away with its back turned to me. Handy thing, that apprentice's trick. Letting me get back to my feet relatively undisturbed.

And giving me the opportunity to ram my sword straight into the warlord's anus.

The warlord's cries reach an insane pitch as it screams like a castrated horse. The monster lumbers about bow legged as I lean into the sword, causing the blade to sink deeper into its body and tearing through the other side. And with a final twist of the weapon, I send my opponent crashing to the ground, black blood oozing out of the warlord's anus as it breathes its last.

I'm really going to have to give the sword a thorough wash after this, aren't I?

I pull the sword out of the carcass, finding it easier going than I would have thought. Probably thanks to be blade being slick with blood and other unmentionables. In the background, I hear the familiar thundering of hooves approaching me.

"Yes?" I ask mildly as Christina gallops up to me with her wand drawn. Its a nice sentiment, coming to my rescue like that, but spoiled by her recoiling away with a disgusted look on her face.

"I thought you needed help?" Christina mumbles, covering her nose with a sleeve.

"Nah. Everything was under control." I massage the truth slightly, "Sword master combat is a lot more physical than what you might be used to. Getting thrown about like that is normal, really."

"Uh, sure Senior Brother Nair." Christina coughs out, her face going green.

"Take your time." I say, "Live combat needs some getting used to." But my attention has already drifted to the four figures still standing in the distance, calmly observing the proceedings. Now that they're not hunched over, but standing upright, its clear they're not goblins. Our mystery interlopers are very obviously humans.

So who are they?

And what am I supposed to do with them?