The loose scree of the spoil ridge was too unstable to scale quickly, and they were faster than him. He was trapped in the pocket.
The goblins poured down the face of the manmade hill. The bulk of them, maybe eight or nine, scrambled along the ridge's spine toward the eastern wall—the only exit back to the main quarry floor. They were sealing the gap.
His boots scraped on shifting gravel as he pivoted, checking both directions. The narrow pocket that had been his killing ground stretched, sheer wall and rubble mound rising like prison bars on either side. The corpse of his first kill lay between him and the path toward the main quarry and the cave, its blood still spreading in dark fingers across the ground.
The goblins blocking his escape route formed a line, shoulders touching, a living barricade of muscle and claws. Their barely restrained postures were full of anticipation.
The head goblin remained on the rim, observing. Its head tilted slightly, studying him the way Caleb might study a problem at work. Calculating. Planning.
Not mindless.
The closest goblin broke from the line. It charged.
A flash of the first kill threatened to paralyze him; the dull crack of a rock against bone, the savage desperation. He saw the creature's eye, the flicker of fear before it died. Oh crumb—
Before the thought could finish, before the hesitation could take further root, his training took over. [Savant of the Body] fired through his nerves, a current of pure instinct that bypassed conscious judgment entirely. His balance shifted and body dropped into [Iron Root Stance]. The motion was fluid, economical, a seamless translation of hours of practice into lethal reality. His [Breaching Thrust] was a piston of keen purpose.
The iron tip punched through the creature's sternum with a muted crunch. The goblin's own momentum drove it deeper onto the spear, its claws scrabbling uselessly at the air inches from his face. Its eyes went wide with blank surprise, the feral intelligence dissolving into a dull, glassy stare.
He kicked the spear free in a hot spray of foul-smelling, blackish fluid.
I can do this!
Two more goblins peeled away from the pack, as if learning from their packmate's demise. They moved in concert, one high, one low, forcing him to choose. One climbed a few yards up the loose wall. The second charged low to the ground.
His spear tracked the higher threat—the one going for his throat. The thrust caught it in the shoulder, spinning it away.
The low goblin hit his legs.
Caleb went down hard, his tailbone slamming against stone while his pack cushioned his spine. The goblin's claws hooked into his thigh, tearing through canvas and into meat. He brought the spear shaft down horizontally, smashing it atop the creature's skull. Once. Twice. It released him, scrambling back with a dazed screech.
He rolled to his feet, blood running down his leg.
Movement above caught his eye. A goblin stood atop a rusted mining cart embedded in the ridge, glaring at Caleb. It kicked, and a cascade of gravel rained down.
Caleb raised his arm to shield his eyes. Sharp rocks pelted his forearm and head, each impact a stinging distraction. Through the gaps in his guard, he saw another goblin rushing in.
Can't see. Can't—
He thrust half blind. The spear met resistance, glanced off something hard—probably claws or bone. The goblin slammed into him, driving him back three steps. Its teeth found his shoulder, piercing leather and shirt to tear at flesh.
Caleb dropped the spear and grabbed the goblin's head with both hands. His thumbs found its eyes and pressed. The creature released him with a shriek, stumbling away.
He snatched up his spear, breathing hard. Two down. Three wounded. Still seven uninjured. And the leader, still watching from above.
They pushed him backward step by step with probing attacks. Test his defenses here. Force him to pivot there. Each movement drove him further from the forest and the hope of safety.
His heel hit something soft. The first goblin's corpse.
They're herding me.
They were driving him toward their chosen battlefield. The narrow pocket opened into a wider clearing ahead—hundreds of yards of exposed ground between him and the main cave entrance. In the open they could surround him. Attack from all angles simultaneously.
His [Combat Analysis] provided the conclusion in emotionless, clinical terms: they wanted him out there where their numbers meant everything and his positioning meant nothing.
No.
Caleb planted his feet at the very entrance to the pocket where it widened into the clearing. Here, the walls still funneled attackers toward him. They could only come at him two, maybe three at a time. He'd make his stand.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
The scarred goblin let out a sharp whistle and the pattern of attacks changed immediately. The probing strikes gave way to coordinated waves. Two goblins rushed him while a third scrambled up the wall to hurl debris from above.
His spear took the first goblin in the throat with a jabbing [Decisive Strike]. A clean kill, but the second got inside his guard. Claws raked across his ribs, parting thinned leather and flesh in lines of fire. He brought his knee up into the creature's gut, doubling it over, then drove the spear haft into the base of its skull.
Another wave. His movements became mechanical. Thrust. Pivot. Parry. Step back. Thrust again. The bodies piled up at the chokepoint, creating an obstacle that worked in his favor. The goblins had to climb over their own dead to reach him.
Four corpses. Five. His arms burned from the constant motion. Blood soaked his shirt from a dozen wounds, and the cumulative damage from the shallow cuts was adding up. The bite in his shoulder throbbed, a dull, insistent ache radiating down his left arm. It was harder to maintain a two-handed grip on the spear, forcing him to rely more on weaker thrusts and agile pivots. Each breath was a fresh stab of pain where the claws had raked his ribs, but his [Savant of the Body] helped him compensate, urging his muscles to find the most efficient counter to adapt, while [Ignore Pain] suppressed the worst of his injuries.
The goblin leader barked something different.
The remaining goblins pulled back.
What are they—
The first rock caught him in the temple, stars exploding across his vision. He staggered, raising his spear to block, but he couldn't parry the projectiles. His defensive position was suddenly a trap, a shooting gallery with him as the only target. They came from everywhere—above, ahead, from angles he couldn't cover.
A fist-sized chunk of granite cracked against his already-injured shoulder. His left arm went numb, fingers releasing the spear shaft. Another one hit his knee, buckling it. He curled in on himself, trying to make himself smaller.
Can't stay here!
The barrage intensified, relentlessly driving him towards the wider area. Stones zipped past his ear; one deflected off his spear, jarring his arm. Another slammed his ribs, testing his cuirass and spreading a dull ache. He stumbled as one grazed his head. He couldn't block them all.
He abandoned the chokepoint entirely.
Bursting through the hail of stones, he left the gap and stumbled onto the main quarry floor.
The expanse before him was terrifying—three hundred yards of broken ground, rusted machinery, and overgrown spoil piles between him and the cave.
From the ridge behind him the scarred leader let out an urgent shriek. The goblins abandoned their rocks, dropping into four-limbed sprints as they bounded down the slope and up the pocket with unnatural speed.
He didn't hesitate further. Channeling a quick pulse of Stamina into his legs he used [Dash].
The world lurched. He blurred ten yards forward, putting immediate distance between himself and the pack. The sudden acceleration threw off the aim of the few still throwing rocks; a stone skipped off the ground where he had been standing a second before.
The cost was immediate—a quick drain on his already flagging energy.
He sprinted, weaving through the maze of the quarry floor. He vaulted a rotting mining cart, putting the obstacle between him and the pursuers. His lungs burned, the air tearing at his throat.
They were gaining. The four-limbed gait of the feral goblins was built for this uneven terrain. They flowed over the debris while he had to navigate it.
He reached a relatively clear patch of ground. A glance over his shoulder showed the lead goblin closing the distance, claws digging into the earth for traction.
He forced another precious surge of Stamina into a second [Dash].
The world blurred for a second time as another ten yards vanished beneath him. The burst carried him past a cluster of rusted gears and toward the final stretch.
He checked over his shoulder as he neared the northern wall. The goblins slowed, their charge broken by the sheer distance he had created. They wouldn't catch him before he reached the entrance.
He pulled up at the cave mouth, pivoting to face them with his spear held ready. This would be the new choke point. But the scarred leader, now standing atop a distant pile of rubble, simply barked another command. The pack halted its advance. Rocks rose in their claws.
The barrage that followed was thicker and more accurate than before, forcing him to stumble back from the entrance.
A yawning darkness that seemed to swallow light engulfed him. The temperature dropped as he entered it, cool air flowing from the depths carrying the stench of rot and damp earth. The entrance was tall enough that he didn't have to duck, but narrow enough that only two people could walk abreast.
He pressed himself against the rock wall just inside the entrance. The overhang provided some protection, but not enough. Rocks could still arc in from the field outside. They cracked against the cave mouth, showering him with chips of shrapnel. The goblins began to reposition for better angles.
He glanced deeper into the cave. The tunnel twisted abruptly just fifteen feet in, cutting off all light from outside. Pure, absolute darkness waited beyond that turn. His [Spiritual Perception] detected nothing—either the cave was empty, or its depths blocked his supernatural sense.
A stone clipped his knee—the spot they'd hit before. He went down, catching himself on the cave wall. They were targeting his injuries. Wearing him down.
Options! What are my options!?
He looked back toward the quarry floor. The goblins had fanned out in a loose semicircle, advancing slowly as they threw. Their bodies crouched low, balanced on their legs, prepared to burst forward the moment he broke cover.
Charge them? No. It's suicide.
His [Combat Analysis] filled him with certainty: they were a living net. If he tried to charge back out across the open ground they'd collapse on him from all sides. Multiple angles of attack. No way to defend against them all. He'd be dead in seconds.
The hail kept coming. One caught his injured shoulder again, tearing a gasp from his throat. His grip on the spear was weakening. Blood loss made him dizzy. The goblins had all day. An entire quarry floor of ammunition. They could batter him until he couldn't lift his arms, then close in for an easy kill.
He checked the cave's interior again. Impenetrable shadow. Unknown terrain. Possible dead end. But also—possible escape. Possible defensive positions. Possible survival.
The rocks or the dark.
They have all day. My time's running out.
Another throw whistled past his ear, so close he felt the wind of its passage. The leader had picked up a particularly large rock, hefting it to test the weight. Their eyes met across the distance. The goblin's scarred lip curled back from yellowed teeth, a grotesque imitation of a grin.
It threw.
Caleb's spear came up in a desperate deflection. The rock clanged against the iron point, the impact jarring through his arms and nearly tearing the weapon from his grasp. The scarred goblin tilted its head, studying him like a puzzle that was nearly solved.
It had made one mistake. It had given him a choice.
Caleb met the creature's cruel gaze one more time. Then, with deliberate purpose, he turned his back on the barrage.
And plunged into the darkness.
[Dash] is going to be covering 10 yards of distance, not feet. I've tried to update the previous chapters to reflect this. Change makes much more sense. I think I'm so used to reading stories in the metric system I was thinking meter and saying feet. Going to stick with Imperial though. Thanks to whoever pointed this out, btw. I'm sorry I didn't make note of it, right after saying I was trying to do a better job of that. In spite of my failings, you're a star.