The narrow mountain trail was treacherous, more of a goat trail than a discernible pathway, but Tiberion moved with all haste, seemingly heedless of the danger. Kal was hard pressed to keep up with the hulking warrior as he almost sprinted down the face of the cliff. They had long since lost sight of the goblinoid army, but that did nothing to diminish the pressing urgency of their mission. Unless Wolfpoint were warned, the garrison would never have a chance. The goblins would use the cover of darkness to attack, descending on the garrison in the dead of night, moving silently to overwhelm the meager defense before they had a chance to raise the alarm. It was a tactic they had used all across Isger, and Kal was determined not to let it happen at Wolfpoint.

As the sloping path began to level out into the bottom of a steep-walled cut, Tiberion slowed his descent. Kal stopped behind him, watching as Tiberion narrowed his eyes, glancing up at the rocky promontory that surrounded them.

The Hellknight reached for his sword, and something slashed the air, missing his head by inches.

Then the air was suddenly alive with black-shafted arrows.

Tiberion ducked low and moved ahead, with Kal close on his heels. Now they could hear the high-pitched shouts as the goblin attackers whipped themselves into a frenzy. Kal pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow, but the deluge of missiles that continued to rain down on them was such that he dared not lift his head to take aim.

Two grizzled hobgoblins leapt down from the rocks above, longswords gripped in clawed fists, eyes keen and wide with the prospect of murder. Where goblins cut your throat with bits of sharpened trash, hobgoblins were another story entirely. Here were the true soldiers behind the horde's rush. Tiberion turned to meet them, but Kal placed a firm hand on his back.

"There's no time!" he shouted, above the roar of enemy voices.

"Then go." Tiberion pushed Kal toward where the path continued downward out of the gully.

Kal thought about it for a second, considered leaving the Hellknight to his fate—damn him, if he wanted to stay and face certain death, let him! But something inside disagreed, and instead he raised his bow and fired back into the storm of arrows.

Tiberion awaited the hobgoblins, allowing them to charge as he calmly took up a defensive stance. These monsters didn't howl, but rather moved with a quiet economy not so different from the Hellknight's own. Their swords rose in unison, and then Tiberion was moving, ducking under the left one's blade and letting their combined momentum carry his own sword point-first through the hobgoblin's chest. Blood sprayed, and the Hellknight spun on his heel, hauling the black sword free with the rasp of steel on bone.

The second hobgoblin swung its own blade, but Tiberion was no longer in its path, moving to the creature's flank. The creature barely had time to register its mistake before the Hellknight countered, lopping the sword arm from its shoulder. The goblinoid staggered back with a piercing, strangled cry, only to have it immediately cut short by Tiberion's reverse stroke.

Kal loosed another arrow, doing his best to pin down the cowardly goblin archers beyond the ridge. "We need to go!" he cried. "Now!"

Tiberion didn't argue, leading the way once more down the rocky path.

They ran, almost bounding down the mountainside, but the sounds of pursuit dogged them at every step. The goblins whooped and screamed as they gave chase, loosing their arrows wildly. The missiles smashed against the rocks behind and to either side—the two humans were barely managing to keep just beyond the effective range of the goblins' patchwork bows—but for every second that passed, the goblins' aim seemed to improve.

Something suddenly bit Kal in the back of his left thigh, cutting the leg out from under him. He fell hard, grunting in pain as his forearms met the rocky ground, barely protecting his face. Behind him, the screaming of the enemy rose to a crescendo, trumpeting their victory.

Kal tried to stand, but the wound pinned him to the ground as though the weight of the mountain itself were holding him down.

Iron fists dragged him to his feet. Clenching his jaw against the pain, he put a hand to the gauntleted fist on his shoulder to steady himself and began to move. He would show the Hellknight that the grit of the Steel Falcons was in every way equal to that of the Chelish devil-callers.

Kal limped several yards down the path, half pulled along by Tiberion, before the Hellknight bundled him in behind a huge fallen rock. In its lee, Tiberion examined Kal's wound, both men assessing it with a practiced eye. The arrow had pierced full through the thigh, its red and dripping head now protruding from the front of his leg. Tiberion said nothing, but merely grasped the pointed steel and snapped it off.

Kal screamed in pain, and Tiberion slammed a gauntleted hand into his mouth before grasping the fletching at the back of Kal's leg and swiftly pulling out the arrow. Kal screamed again, feeling as though his whole leg were being sawed off, as Tiberion tore a strip from his black cloak and tightly bound the wound.

"Are you ready?" the Hellknight asked.

Kal wanted to say yes, to carry on their flight down the mountainside, but already he could feel his strength leaking out through that oozing bandage. Pain lanced through him as he attempted to flex the knee.

"We both know I can't run on this leg," he answered. "But I can buy you time."

Tiberion leveled another of those piercing stares. When he spoke, his voice was calm, collected. "We can beat them."

"There's no time. Wolfpoint has to be warned."

The Hellknight nodded, but still didn't rise from his hunkered position. Kal pulled himself up as straight as he could against the stone, throwing back his shoulders as if on parade.

"Sacrifice. That's what you said, right?" He pulled his bow into his lap.

Tiberion said nothing, but Kal thought he saw something flicker in those eyes. Then, still without a word, Tiberion turned and sprinted down the path and out of sight.

Kal was alone. He could hear the enemy drawing closer, their incessant howling revealing their positions up in the rocks. Checking his quiver, he saw he still had four arrows left. He would have to make each one count.

The sound of pounding feet echoed down the narrow pass, and Kal nocked the first arrow, leaning out in time to see a hobgoblin warrior charging toward him. He let fly, taking the warrior high in the chest and knocking him off his feet, then pulled back behind the rock as arrows clattered to the stone where he'd just been.

He waited for two breaths, then leaned out again and loosed a second arrow, pulling back before he could see whether or not he hit. Not that it mattered at this point.

Two left.

The enemy had grown quiet now, no doubt moving forward on his position, ready to make a final rush. He nocked his third arrow.

"Human!" The deep voice rang out from farther up the path, its accent thick and guttural. "I know you are alone. Your coward friend has left you to die. I will do better. Come out and face me, and I will allow you to die a warrior's death, not cowering in the shadows like a worm."

Kal heard the words, and knew it was undoubtedly some kind of trap. Why the hobgoblin didn't just throw goblins at him until he ran out of arrows was beyond Kal, but maybe the leader was running low. And Kal was almost out of arrows. With a sword in hand, he might well have a chance of taking out this band's leader.

More likely, he would die. But at the very least, he might buy Tiberion some more time. Success now was measured in minutes, not arrows.

Kal leaned his bow and quiver against the rock and drew his rapier. Using his free arm to pull himself upright, he stepped carefully out from behind the rock, doing his best to not to limp.

The Eagle Knight half expected to be met by a hail of black arrows, but they never came. Instead, a little way up the path stood a powerful-looking hobgoblin, his face marred by a bestial grin full of pointed, yellow teeth.

"I am Kerschak," said the hobgoblin. "Chief of the Red Tongues. And you will have the honor of dying by my blade."

Too weary to make a proper reply, Kal settled for shooting him a rude gesture some of the enlisted men favored. It wasn't elegant, but it got the point across.

With a barking laugh, Kerschak ran forward, blade raised high. Kal tried to duck, thrusting forward, but he had no power in his back leg and only managed a weak stab, which the hobgoblin easily batted aside. As Kerschak attacked, Kal was forced backward away from his supporting rock, limping heavily, his rapier barely coming up in time to stop each blow. The hobgoblin chief was relentless, and clearly enjoying this. Again and again his sword hacked down, and where before Kal might have easily countered and impaled his foe, with his wounded leg he could barely parry the ferocious attacks.

Finally, with a mighty sweep of his blade, Kerschak knocked the rapier from Kal's grip, smashing his fist into Kal's face and knocking him to the ground.

Kal lay on his back as the hobgoblin stood over him, victorious. It leered down, and Kal suddenly understood, in a way he'd only imagined before, what the Isgeri farmers must have felt in their last minutes. Yet thinking of them, he suddenly felt himself suffused with a warm glow. He wasn't ready to die—not really—but an Eagle Knight wasn't meant to die in a bed. Kal's only hope as the hobgoblin raised its blade was that his delay had given Tiberion enough time to reach Wolfpoint before the rest of the horde.

"Enough!"

The hobgoblin spun to face the speaker, and Kal looked past him to see Tiberion standing a little way up the path, sword drawn and expression grim.

Kerschak glanced around wide-eyed, shouting in the goblinoid tongue.

Nothing happened.

"You have no archers left, Kerschak of the Red Tongues." Tiberion turned his black sword so the hobgoblin could see the fresh rivulets of blood that ran from it to pool on the stony ground.

Kerschak looked toward the cliffs once more, then seemed to take the Hellknight's word. With a roar, he bolted back up the path toward the Hellknight, powerful legs churning the ground between them.

Tiberion watched him approach, making no move until the last possible second. When his blade hummed through the air, taking off the warchieftain's head, it was in an almost surgical manner, his feet never shifting in the dust. The hobgoblin's body pitched forward, landing in a crumpled heap as his head spun off to roll wetly down the cliff.

Kal pulled himself back upright, leaning against the rock wall as Tiberion approached. The Hellknight wiped the blood from his blade with the corner of his black cloak.

"What happened to sacrifice?" Kal asked, and though he strove for reproach, his tone was grateful.

"I considered you more suitable as a diversion," Tiberion replied. "Come. We've wasted enough time." He gestured down the mountain path.

"In case you've forgotten, there's still this." Kal touched his bad leg carefully. "I'll only slow us down."

With one fluid movement, Tiberion grasped Kal around the waist and slung him over his armored shoulder. Even as his leg screamed at the abuse, Kal was amazed at how easily the big man took his weight.

"Then it is lucky for you, Kal Berne, that I am strong enough for both of us."

And once more they made their way down the mountain, toward Wolfpoint.

Coming Next Week: J. C. Hay gives us an inside look at life in the undead gutters of Mechitar in the first chapter of “Blood Crimes.”

Richard Ford has written short fiction for Games Workshop's Black Library and the British Fantasy Society's acclaimed journal, Dark Horizons, as well as the novel The Dragons of Lencia.

Art by KyuShik Shin

"For Andoran and liberty!" screamed Kal, as above them a dozen figures moved, loosing their arrows as one.

Kal braced himself for the inevitable deluge that would pierce his flesh and leave him bleeding like a stuck pig... but it never came.

Guttural cries of pain pealed out from over the lip of the rock wall, and shouts of anger joined them—not the foul speech of the goblins, but human voices.

From down the passage came the first of the hobgoblin berserkers, and Tiberion took a step forward, ready to cut them down as they charged. But before he had a chance, missiles suddenly rained down from above, piercing the foremost goblinoid's body. It fell with three arrows protruding from its chest as the rest ran into a solid volley, falling and shrieking. Kal loosed his bow into the fray, taking one of the hobgoblins in the throat. Altogether, it was enough for the others to halt their advance, and as the hum of bowstrings announced a second storm, the remaining hobgoblins in view turned and fled back the way they had come.

Silence fell over the dark gully as Kal looked around frantically, trying to spy who had come to their aid, though he could see little in the waning light. Before he could call out, a rope was suddenly dropped down from above.

"You'd best move quick," came a disembodied voice. "They won't stay gone forever."

Kal needed no further encouragement, and he shouldered his bow, then grasped the rope and pulled himself up the rock face. Tiberion was quick to follow, easily scaling the sheer surface despite his heavy armor.

When he reached the summit, Kal was helped up by strong hands. He saw that several disheveled figures hunkered in the dark, their bows drawn against any further danger. On the ground lay several goblin archers, arrows still protruding from their filthy, twisted corpses.

"Thank you," said Kal to the bearded man who had helped him up. "For a second there I thought we were going to end our days with our guts splayed to the winds."

"There'll be time for thanks later," came the reply. "And likely time for the rest as well. For now we have to move."

"And the horses?" Kal looked back over the gully, but could no longer see where they'd dismounted.

"Eaten."

With that, the grim figure and his grubby cohorts began to slink off into the dark. Kal and Tiberion followed across the sloping rocks, trailing their sure-footed guides over the uneven ground. How these new men managed not to slip in the dark, Kal didn't know, but several times he found himself losing his balance and falling to his knees, only to be grabbed and pulled to his feet by one of their rescuers. They carried on silently for more than an hour, winding their way further up toward the mountain peaks as the night wind began to whip through the gullies, threatening to fling them into oblivion at any moment. It was to his great relief that Kal eventually spied a campfire in the distance, and as they climbed closer, the welcome smell of cooking food reached his nostrils.

The camp was small, and situated in a narrow gully. Within was packed a motley band of men, women and children huddled together for warmth and safety from the elements. The men that had guided them were greeted with warm embraces and heartfelt blessings, but as Tiberion strode into the firelight, the camp fell silent.

Kal felt the discomfort keenly, and as Tiberion's albeit unwilling companion, found himself obliged to make the introductions.

"I am Kal Berne of the Steel Falcons," he said, his stomach knotting as all eyes turned his way. "And this is Tiberion. We are part of an allied contingent, sent to root out the remaining invaders in these lands."

"We know what you are," said the bearded man who appeared to be their leader. "I am Ursul, and this," he indicated the camp with a grand sweep of his arm, "is all that remains of Isger's settlements for ten leagues of here."

There were pitifully few for all that, but Kal believed the man. "How did you come to be here?" he asked.

"This was the only place we could run to when the hordes came. Tribe after tribe of goblins swept across our lands, leaving nothing but cinders and corpses. Some fled north, but not quick enough to avoid the slaughter. We ran south, and hid here. And lucky for you we did." Ursul took a seat beside the fire as one of the women handed him a bowl and spooned him some thick broth from a bubbling pot. "You'd best sit, unless you're too good for the likes of us?"

"Of course not," Kal replied taking a seat. He gratefully accepted a bowl of the thick stew, and the smell of it made his stomach gurgle in anticipation.

Tiberion remained in the shadows, seemingly vigilant for any sign of attack. Kal was happy to let him remain aloof, if such was his inclination.

The ragtag band of refugees was keen for news of the world beyond the mountaintops, and Kal was happy to report the progress of the allied forces—how they had pushed back the goblin tribes to the Chitterwood, and how they were optimistic the conflict would be over by winter. This news was greeted with relief by Ursul and his band, and Kal surmised they had doubts as to whether they would survive winter snows up in the unforgiving slopes of the Aspodell Mountains.

As the night wore on, Kal began to feel comfortable among these refugees, and his sympathy for their plight began to grow. It must have been difficult for them, surviving for so long in such treacherous conditions, but their spirits seemed high. So caught up was he with their revels that he almost forgot his mission. It was when he glanced back and saw the stern figure of Tiberion gazing off into the distance that the gravity of his situation suddenly began to weigh on him.

He stood and walked to where Tiberion was perched, staring beyond the thick veil of darkness.

"Anything to report?" he asked.

Tiberion glanced at Kal without bothering to return the Andoren's smile. "Somewhere beyond those peaks stands Citadel Dinyar; fortress of the Order of the God Claw."

"Is that where you come from?" asked Kal, his interest piqued by Tiberion's uncharacteristic spark of conversation.

"No. I was raised in Citadel Vraid, near Korvosa."

That was more than five hundred miles northwest. "You're a long way from home."

"The Order of the Nail goes where it's needed."

"But not necessarily where it's wanted." It was a flippant comment, and one Kal instantly regretted, but Tiberion did not seem to take offense.

"The world is a dangerous place. The Hellknights enforce order and law, and put fallen men back on the path of righteousness. Even when those men are unwilling to walk it."

"Some might call that tyranny." Kal felt himself beginning to flush at the Hellknight's easy arrogance. It was an outlook the Chelaxians were famous for: the sense that they should impose their will on the world, even if that meant enslaving those nations that resisted their ideologies.

"Are you so different in Andoran? Do you not punish the wicked and protect the innocent?"

"Of course we do. But our country has its independence. Its people are free."

"What use is freedom without peace? When the wicked are free to prey upon the innocent?" Tiberion shook his head. "No, only strict application of law can bring true peace. Your freedoms only hinder that."

"At least we're not slaves."

"You are all slaves. You just don't know it."

Kal gritted his teeth against a scathing retort. "So the Order of the Nail only wants peace—is that right? And what then? When you've made your peace, destroyed the last vestige of chaos—or freedom—where does that leave you?"

Tiberion stared at Kal as though searching for something. Locked in that gaze, Kal suddenly felt naked, vulnerable.

"If I live to see that day," Tiberion said solemnly, "I will gladly lay down my arms and live the life of a peaceful man."

"And until then you'll continue to kill. For peace."

"Yes."

"Even it means giving your own life?" But Kal already knew the answer.

"Mine, yours, and the those of every one of these people, if necessary." The corners of Tiberion's lips twitched upward slightly. "It is a small enough price to pay."

Kal had heard enough. With a shake of his head, he left the brooding Hellknight and returned to the warmth of the campfire.

Before sleep finally claimed him, he spent the rest of the night among the refugees, much preferring their stubborn optimism to Tiberion's uncompromising edge, but still he couldn't get their conversation out of his head. He knew there was no arguing with such belief, but part of him couldn't help but admire the steel of the Hellknight's conviction.

As the light of the morning sun gradually crept over the encroaching mountain peaks, Kal was awakened by a sudden commotion within the camp. Ursul was on his feet, talking in hushed tones to a younger member of his contingent. When the youth had finished his report, Ursul approached Kal, also beckoning Tiberion forward.

"There's something you should see," he said, and led them off toward one of the mountain trails that wound up from the camp, higher into the peaks. They eventually reached a high plateau, and Kal could see it looked out onto miles of open country, its vista including the vast Chitterwood and the blue-white serpent of the River Keld.

"There." Ursul pointed downward toward the foot of the Aspodells.

Kal craned forward, at first not seeing anything. Then, as he strained his eyes in the waxing light, he saw them—hundreds of them—moving like an army of insects in the distance and making their way northeast from the Chitterwood.

Tiberion gazed gravely toward the goblinoid war-host. "The horde is on the move."

"And it's headed straight for the reserve garrison at Wolfpoint," said Kal. "The fort's been behind the front lines for a month—they can't be expecting them to swing back down this side. They'll be totally unprepared!"

"Not if we warn them," Tiberion replied. The Hellknight was already moving back toward the camp.

Kal was quick to follow, with Ursul on his heels. They swiftly gathered their equipment, sharing a solemn glance as they realized the gravity of the task ahead. Wolfpoint was miles distant, and they no longer had horses.

"Take the north path," said Ursul, pointing the way from the camp. "It's narrow, but it'll take you straight to the foot of the range, shorter than the goblins' route, and the garrison's only a mile further on. May Old Deadeye speed your flight."

Kal gave a nod of thanks, and Tiberion led the way. Within minutes they had left the camp far behind them as they navigated the perilous track downward in their race to Wolfpoint.

Kal said a silent prayer. He'd seen goblins move before, and he knew Tiberion had as well. Even if their path was shorter, as Ursul claimed, it would still be a close thing. And if they didn't manage to beat the horde, it was likely there would be no one left at Wolfpoint to warn...

Coming Next Week: A desperate race and a comrade left behind in the final chapter of "Noble Sacrifice."

Richard Ford has written short fiction for Games Workshop's Black Library and the British Fantasy Society's acclaimed journal, Dark Horizons, as well as the novel The Dragons of Lencia.

Art by KyuShik Shin

Isger, 4701 AR

They rode their horses far from the well-trodden roads of the Conerica Straits. The ancient trade routes were no longer safe, even for seasoned warriors, and the pair stuck to the labyrinthine hill paths that intersected the foot of the Aspodells' northern peaks.

Kal Berne led the way, looking for any sign of the enemy's passing. The allied forces had managed to push the goblinoid insurgents back to the Chitterwood, but there were still isolated bands roaming the hills and mountains, ready to strike at the few towns and villages left standing. Their mission was part of the allied attempt to eradicate the goblinoid threat from Isger once and for all, and Kal relished the challenge. He had been a scout in the Steel Falcons for two years, and his tracking skills were as highly prized as his knack with a bow. With any luck, it wouldn't be long before he could challenge for the rank of lance corporal, and the success of this mission would certainly do his chances no harm.

His companion guarded the rear, though this did little to alleviate Kal's nerves. Truth be told, the warrior at his back made him more uneasy than the prospect of stumbling on a band of brigands or a goblin warhost. Kal glanced back, seeing the dark, brooding warrior atop his black destrier, gazing forward with barely disguised contempt. He was tall, his dark hair falling about his armored shoulders. On his breastplate was fashioned the face of a hideous demon, and at his back hung a wicked black sword.

A Hellknight!

What was General Marusek thinking, pairing him with such a... Kal couldn't think of the word; the warrior was hardly a man, after all. Men showed emotion, mercy, empathy. Whereas the armored fiend that accompanied him was like a block of cold granite.

They had been introduced at the allied base in Elidir. Tiberion was the Chelaxian's name, and he had ignored Kal's attempts at small talk. It quickly became clear that Tiberion was not one for conversation.

Their orders were clear—to scout out the hills east of the Chitterwood and report back any sign of the enemy. Simple. Or it would have been had Kal not had to ride with a devil-worshiping brute. Nevertheless, he had accepted his orders without complaint, and as they made their way along the treacherous goat tracks and shaded vales he focused on the mission.

For almost two days they had seen no sign of the enemy as they made their way toward the mountains, and as he sat atop his dappled mare, Kal was beginning to wonder if this was a fool's errand.

Then he saw it, almost imperceptible on the uneven ground. He quickly slipped from his mount, crouching beside the track and running a hand through his short, dark hair. It was barely half a print, but it was there, plain as day in the sodden earth, showing where a clawed foot had crossed their path.

"I have sign, headed south," Kal said, not expecting an answer.

"How old?"

Talmandor's wing—it speaks! thought Kal, though he didn't dare say it out loud.

"An hour, maybe less. On foot. If we're quick we may be able to catch them before night."

Kal glanced up with an eager smile, but instantly felt foolish as he was met with Tiberion's usual stolid expression. Kal leapt back onto his horse and reined it south, diverting from the path and moving higher over the lip of the valley. Tiberion moved up beside him as they mounted the rise, and the clawing peaks of the Aspodell Mountains rose before them.

Kal glanced up at the overcast sky. "We have maybe an hour of light."

"Then we had best make haste," said Tiberion, sticking his spurs to the black warhorse beneath him and galloping down the other side of the rise. Kal spurred his own mount, and followed behind.

They rode hard, navigating the narrow gullies and paths, rising higher into the foothills. Below them the ground gradually became firmer, as rolling hills made way for sloping mountains. With every step a darkening veil of shadow gradually enveloped them, and Kal began to think they might have lost their quarry, but as the moon began to rise he caught sight of a stooped and fast-moving figure up ahead. From such a distance he couldn't make out any detail, but from the loping gait it could only be one thing.

"Goblin." Kal pointed at their quarry as it fled toward a narrow ravine several hundred yards ahead. "If we're quick we can catch him before he loses us in the mountains."

He spurred his steed once more, urging it up the scree toward the slim opening. Their horses slipped and stumbled up the slope, and by the time they reached the summit the diminutive figure had disappeared from view, but Kal was not about to be beaten. He leapt down from his mare, unsheathed his bow from the saddle, and moved forward.

"Wait!" barked Tiberion, but Kal was in no mood to be ordered around by his stern companion. His target was close—he could smell it. The foul thing had most likely set villages aflame and slaughtered innocents, and Kal was determined he would not escape the justice of the Steel Falcons.

He ran into the ravine, twisting his body to slip through the narrow entrance. Once inside, the sheer wall of rock created a narrow passage, and he followed on the goblin's trail. Behind he could hear Tiberion dogging his path, sword ringing from its scabbard and armor eerily quiet as he moved with a grace that belied his bulk.

Kal followed the twisting passage, surefooted on the treacherous rock. He nocked an arrow as he moved, his eyes straining through the darkness for any sign of the goblin.

Suddenly, the passage opened out, and he ran into a wide gully, the cliff face reaching up to a lip twenty yards above. Several paths led away from the rock, and Kal cursed his ill luck, for there was little detritus on the ground that would give him a clue as to where his quarry had fled.

Tiberion entered the clearing behind him, and as Kal turned he saw the Hellknight was clearly displeased.

"Idiot!" snapped Tiberion. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

"I'm trying to track our quarry. We have orders—"

"Those orders are to observe and report, not to hunt down every solitary scout we come across."

Kal squared up to the Hellknight, despite the latter's imposing frame. "And what? We're supposed to just let him run?"

"Yes," Tiberion rumbled. "Because now you've most likely led us straight into a—"

Tiberion didn't finish, but instead pushed Kal hard in the chest. The young scout fell back, fury rising at the Hellknight's assault, just as a black-shafted arrow streaked in front of his face and clattered against the rocky ground.

Kal landed hard on his backside, instinctively bringing his bow up to aim at where the arrow had come from, but there was no sign of the archer.

"Move!" yelled Tiberion, grabbing Kal by the epaulet of his jacket and hauling him to his feet.

As they ran toward the nearest passage from the gully, a deluge of arrows began to fall, whipping past them and clanking against the rock face. One of the deadly shafts hit Tiberion's shoulder, but the pauldron of that fearsome armor turned its flight.

They sprinted out of the gully, hearing the screeching curses of goblin attackers in their wake. It was dark now, difficult to see in the tight corridor of rock, and Kal concentrated on staying close to Tiberion, whose dark cloak gave him the appearance of a shadowy specter in the night.

The passage twisted left and right, wending its way through the mountain until it let out mercifully into another gully. Tiberion ducked—and it was the only warning Kal got as they were suddenly ambushed by a mob of dark attackers.

A wickedly hooked axe swept through where Tiberion's head had been a second before. The Hellknight spun on his heel, sweeping his greatsword around and hacking into his assailant's abdomen. Kal barely had time to register the howl of pain and the stream of flying gore before one of the creatures was on him. Its gray-skinned face was a mask of fury, crooked teeth twisted in malice—the feral features of a hobgoblin!

Kal brought his bow up, drawing back the string and loosing an arrow before he had time to think. The arrow pierced his attacker's eye, puncturing the hobgoblin's brain. It stood transfixed for a second, the fletching quivering, then fell back dead.

In the following moments Kal was frozen, watching the Hellknight at work. Tiberion was truly an exemplar of his craft, and all the contempt Kal had felt for him was quickly washed away by stunned awe. The Hellknight was assaulted by half a dozen of the screaming, clamoring monstrosities, but he parried their blows with precision, countering with his own evil-looking blade. His movements were economical, with not a breath or motion wasted as one by one he eviscerated his foes.

By the time Kal managed to steel himself and nock another arrow, Tiberion was surrounded by corpses, his stance ready for the next comer, his breathing even and calm.

There came a sudden bellowing howl from the passage down which they had fled. An arrow whistled past his ear, and Kal looked up to see more diminutive, snarling figures above. He swept his bow around and loosed in one fluid motion, seeing his arrow fly straight and true. A grim satisfaction warmed him as he heard the gurgling cry of the goblin as it fell back from view. Before he could congratulate himself, Tiberion grasped his arm and pulled him along.

"We'll be shot like fish in a barrel if we stay here," he said.

Kal could only agree, moving after him as they heard footsteps echoing down the passage at their rear.

They plunged ahead once more, their way lit only by the moon. There was a howling clangor all around them now as their goblinoid foes whipped themselves into a frenzy, spurred on by the thought of the knights' imminent demise. Kal felt fear welling up inside him. He had seen what these animals had done to their captives in a dozen settlements across Isger. Torture and mutilation was common—the lucky ones died quickly. Kal could only guess that such a prize as two knights would be too good to waste with a quick death.

Well, Kal Berne wouldn't be taken alive, only to die later on the end of a goblin's dogslicer. He would go down fighting with the blood of his enemies on his hands and blade.

Tiberion scrambled to a halt, and Kal heard him curse, spitting the words in a guttural tongue he didn't recognize. Before them rose a solid curtain of rock.

"Like fish in a barrel," Kal said.

Tiberion turned back toward the direction they had fled, raising his sword in a defensive posture. Kal nocked another arrow, aiming it high, waiting for the next shadowy goblin archer to show its misshapen silhouette above the rocky parapet.

The howling grew louder, and above them came the sound of scrabbling bodies moving into position. It was too dark to see them now, but Kal knew they were there. Down the passage came the sound of the approaching horde.

Kal glanced at Tiberion. "You know they'll kill us slow, don't you?"

Tiberion nodded without turning his gaze from the corridor, sword still held aloft and steady, as solid as the rock enclosure in which they stood.

Then came the roar, and the enemy charged from the dark.

"For Andoran and liberty!" screamed Kal, as above them a dozen figures moved, loosing their arrows as one...

Coming Next Week: The price of freedom and weight of responsibility in Chapter Two of "Noble Sacrifice."

Richard Ford has written short fiction for Games Workshop's Black Library and the British Fantasy Society's acclaimed journal, Dark Horizons, as well as the novel The Dragons of Lencia.

Art by KyuShik Shin