Quentin was leaning against an apple tree, dark blond hair hanging in his eyes, his normally tanned face blanched pale. I didn’t see any blood on him, which was more than I could say for his opponent. The goblin was sprawled on the grass, one of Quentin’s throwing daggers protruding from his throat.

Phaelan still had one goblin to contend with, and this one was showing more caution than his dead comrade. My cousin was armed with only a dagger, his rapier sticking out of a dead goblin’s chest, probably caught on a rib. I was debating tossing him one of my blades when the remaining goblin attacked, moving faster than I thought any mortal creature had a right to. Phaelan dodged the first swing, and dove for the dead goblin’s saber lying in the grass. He rolled as he hit the ground, the goblin’s scythelike blade whistling past where my cousin’s head had been an instant before. Phaelan grabbed the saber and brought it up, slicing into the creature’s unarmored hip. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it bought him some time.

My opponent had been scarred before I got hold of him. Phaelan’s attacker had the high cheekbones and handsome, angled features of the old blood. There were no scars, and no doubt the goblin was proud of his face. That’s where Phaelan struck. The goblin parried, but it wasn’t a clean deflection. Phaelan’s saber sliced through the creature’s exposed ear. My cousin then followed the goblin’s scream with a solid knee to the nethers.

Silence was no longer anyone’s priority as the goblin writhed on the ground clutching his slashed ear, among other things. Dogs began barking and whistles sounded in the distance as the watch was alerted.