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"Here they come again!" Helmut shouted. Richart looked up from his sword blade. Filing the notches out was going to have to wait. The greenskins broke out from under the tree cover, charging towards the circled wagons of the caravan with the setting sun to their backs.

"Sigmar and the Empire!" Richart shouted, not because he was devout but because he wasn't going to lay down and die just because some mangy goblins wouldn't give up the fight. The shout got taken up along the line.

"Sigmar and the Empire!"

A few arrows and crossbow bolts zipped through the air. Ammunition was getting low and people were getting picky with their shots. A few missed. Some of the others struck the goblins soft wood shields and sank deep. At least one must have hit home, because one of the goblins fell. One less to fight when they hit the improvised wall of circled wagons.

There must have been at least a hundred of the little greenskinned bastards. Short, but with a wiry strength and toughness that belied their size, they were not the equal of a man but too dangerous to take for granted. Most of them wore leather armour and heavy hoods. They were armed with an assortment of crude spears, maces, and cleaving tools and most of them carried shields. A few lurked at the tree line and fired arrows from small bows. The arrows were puny, unable to pierce mail, but dangerous enough if they caught a man in a place where he wasn't wearing armour and not everyone was as well equipped as Richart.

There was a roar and cloud of smoke as the dwarves discharged their guns into the goblins. The brothers, craftsmen both, carried a large arsenal with them. They had doned mail coats when the goblins appeared and used both gun and warhammer to resist their attacks.

They were close now. Another volley of arrows and a few crossbow bolts. Whatever else you could say about Tileans, the mercenaries the merchants had hired were earning their pay. Three more goblins fell.

Balls of crimson fire flew into the greenskin horde. One burst on the shield of a goblin warrior, igniting it and the greenskin's arm. Another struck one in the head and turned it into a piece of charred meat. That gobo fell. The wizard was earning his keep. Too bad he wasn't a better one so he could fry all of them. The rest of the goblins hit the wagons.

A few people stabbed at them with halberds or captured goblins spears as they tried to climb up or squeeze past. The dwarf brothers stalked the interior perimeter, ready to deal with goblins that tried to crawl under th wagons and strike from surprise. They mostly got a face full of spiked hammer for their efforts. Richart waited.

The south side was wavering as they goblins were trying to push through in force. Now. Richart ran that way and pulled himself on to the top of a wagon. A forest of goblin spears awaited him. He really wished he was wearing more armour.

Still, the goblins were handicapped by their short stature and their position below the wagon while he was a tall man with long arms. A blow of his sword smashed open a goblin brainpan, a stab opened a throat. He parried or blocked several stabbing spears and laid open an arm of one goblins and half severed the hand of another. One spear penetrated his leathers and opened a shallow wounds on his leg.

He seized a fallen spear with his left hand and swept a goblin spear to the side. The goblin caught his sword blow on his shield, which splintered. A few more blows and it was kindling with the goblin retreating with a mangled limb. Most of the goblins were falling back, having paid too heavy a price for too little gain. The men around him were standing their ground. The breakthrough had been prevented.

He wiped his blade on a goblin body before checking them for valuables. He found a few shillings, more brass pennies, and a silver ring. Wincing he examined his wound. It wasn't deep, thank Ulric. He walked over to Horse and took a bandage out of his saddlebags. He sprinkled some rutgut from his flask on it. An old priest of Shallya had sworn by it and the man had known some tricks when it came to healing.

"Richart," said Marieta, "you can still fight?" He turned towards the mercenary. The Tilean was easy on the eyes if you liked them dark and muscular. Richart wasn't too picky. She had most of her teeth and a distinct lack of warts or boils that automatically moved her to the higher ranks of available women. He didn't much care for the mail hauberk or the weapons, but a woman wouldn't be wearing those when she doing what she did best. To be fair, the mercenary had guts and could shoot straight and right now that was what counted.

"Ja," he replied. The woman spoke Reikspeil fluently, although she did have an accent. "It'll get worse soon."

"Night is coming," she said. "Maybe they get reinforcements."

He nodded. "If they get enough, or a bunch of orcs, or a powerful enough shaman . . . ."

"They'll break through. And then we all die." Well, not quite if Richart had anything to say about that. A hard man with a mean horse had a decent chance of cutting his way out of this mess. It would mean taking his chances out there alone, but it was better than dying. Too bad for everyone else though.

A harsh cry interrupted his thoughts. The crows were descending in force, taking advantage of the lull and the last of the evening light to fill there bellies. He saw one big bastard, a raven for sure, pluck the eye out of goblin's head. Don't worry, he thought at the bird, there is plenty more were that came from.

He finished wrapping his wound. The bandage stung, but it was better than getting puss or the green rot. He picked up a file and got to work on his blade. There was still a little light to see by and it was still safer in here than alone out there.

Hey! It's a Warhammer Fantasy story; can't say I've seen one of them (I tried writing one, one time, around the time Ogre Kingdoms was released. I had a genius idea - Tyrant takes in human child for whatever reason, child grows up and goes on adventures. Turns out it had already been done).

But ramblings aside, I think this one's good. Damn good, in fact. It has Goblins, who are funny.

Marieta gripped her spear as the sun vanished behind the trees. It was twilight now and soon it would be night, the natural time of the greenskins. She had thought signing up to guard these merchants would be easy work, but it appeared she had been badly wrong. Now she was stuck inside a circle of wagons and praying to Myrmidia she would get out of here alive.

Half of her comrades had been killed or wounded in the chaos of the initial attack. They had weathered the second and third assaults inside the circle of wagons but now night was falling and that was goblin time. How many more creatures would come out of the woods in the next assault?

Too many. Marieta had heard about these kinds of situations from older, tougher veterans when she was younger. When situations like this went to shit like this one was rapidly doing, there were sometimes still survivors. They were, more often than not, hard, cunning men willing to do just about anything to survive. There was a man like that here. Richter.

So she was going to attach herself to him and try to ride out this cauldron in his wake. She had no intention of dying here, not if she could help it and he was her best bet so far. Pity about everyone else though, but she wasn't going to commit suicide for a few shillings a day.

Drums began to beat. They were coming from the woods. Easy, she thought to herself. They want to make you jumpy, that's why they are doing this. That and trying to bring in every greenskin they possibly could. She gripped her spear tightly.

The last of the sunlight died away. Mannslieb shown almost full in the clear night sky, but it was not alone. The acursed moon Morrslieb was a ghastly green sickle edge glowing in the darkness. A bad omen. She spat on her spear She would be shedding blood soon enough.

"They'll be coming soon enough," grunted Gunther. The grizzled veteran's hair and beard had gone white prematurely. A few men thought that made him weak, but they learned fast enough that he was all mean muscle and bone.

"Si."

"You're not bad with the crossbow, but up close is man's work. You and your fancy spear up for it?"

"I've stood in the line before," she said. "I'll show you what the tickler can do."

"Tickler?" He looked at the spear closely. "That's from the barbs behind the head?"

She nodded. "Its the the rat men and their beasts. They're though, but the barbs they rip them up real good."

"Skaven? You don't really believe in Skaven, do you?"

"You live in Tilea and you won't have the luxury of pretending the rat men don't exist." She gripped her spear tightly. "The drums, they're getting louder."

"Ja. More goblins have come. Lets try to last the night, hey?"

"Si. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll start killing each other."

"They're greenskins. Stranger things have happened. I wouldn't bet on it."

"Me neither."

"Try to keep the wizard alive. I don't know if he'll kill enough goblins to matter but nobody likes to charge into fire."

Marieta nodded. "Will do." Sebastian wasn't too far from Richter and Gunther had a point. There wasn't much chance of them holding, but there chances were better with a wizard than without one.

She walked over to the wizard. He wasn't much older than her, probably mid twenties. He wore a loose fitting over robe slit for easy movement over a tunic of dark red wool and dark trousers. The hems of his robe wre decorated with an orange pattern that resembled flames. His hair was dark and his face was pale. "Sebastian," she called out, not too loudly.

He turned towards her. "Marieta right?"

"Si," she said. "My boss has given me the job of keeping you breathing."

He smiled. It wasn't a bad one. "Good. They will be coming soon."

"You are sure?"

"There are three shamans weaving spells. I can see the magic twisting and flowing. They're working the goblins up into a fighting fury with their workings. They will come soon."

"Will they be able to see your magic?"

"Even if I don't conjure flames? Yes, yes they will."

Marieta felt her blood run cold. She pretended to casually look around. Richter was over there. Good. She had no intention of being a target in a spell battle.

"You're afraid." Marieta opened her mouth to deny it. "Good. It shows you have sense." He smiled sardonically. "I once asked the gods for the opportunity to become a great wizard, a legend in the Colleges. It looks like they have a sense of humor."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Hope at least one of those shamans catches a bullet or a crossbow bolt," he said. "Two against one is hard enough, especially if they've been boosting their powers by eating tainted mushrooms or drinking spider venom. What are my choices? I'm going to burn as many of them as I can. If you have a better plan, let me know."

"I'm going to live," she said softly. Burning brands began to appear. "Myrmidia have mercy," she said, "they're going to burn us out."

"It is dangerous to play with fire," Sebastian replied. The goblins began to advance out of the trees. Marieta felt a rush of heat as the wizard began to intone a spell. She gripped her spear.

"Myrmidia, if you are listening, please don't let me burn or be taken alive. If I die this night, let it be clean." She could see moonlight and firelight glinting off weapons. The time for prayer had past. Now was the time for steel.

A nice little update; I'm liking the feel of this one, and I'd even hazard that this one is your best written. I'm looking forward to more.

Ford Prefect wrote:A nice little update; I'm liking the feel of this one, and I'd even hazard that this one is your best written. I'm looking forward to more.

Thank you.

Sebastian pulled the slim chain around his neck from under his tunic. He raised the iron ring at the end of it and kissed the cluster of Fire Rubies before slipping the Doomfire Ring onto his finger. Three shamans. He shivered. If he was going to die here, it would be in the highest traditions of the Bright Order.

Arrows began to fall as Goblin archers loosed their bows. The screaming, gibbering horde continued to advance. In Mannslieb's light he could make out the spider riders moving along the flanks and the dark banners flapping in the night wind. Goblins armed with ornate, trident like devices herded fat bodied, bouncing creatures that seemed to made up mostly of fang filled maws.

The crash of gunfire split the night. Bullets and crossbow bolts tore into the monstrous creatures. They screamed and gibbered and tore apart the wounded and dying in their own numbers as the Goblin handlers prodded the squigs foreward. More arrows fell. Sebastian heard a high pitched scream of pain somewhere off to his left.

He could see only two of the shamans. One on each side, each riding a spider and drawing in streams of greenish aethyr which they then wove into nets before casting them over their goblin brethren, increasing their ferocity. The third eluded him.

He froze for a moment. Three against one and he could only see two. He was going to die if he revealed himself. The armour of Aqshy, the red wind of magic, that he had woven would not allow him to survive the counter attacks they would unleash. If he revealed himself, he would die.

But he would die anyway. As they closed they would see him and unleash their crude spells against him. The only difference would be in his timing. If he waited longer they would do more damage to the defenders. He raised his right hand and pointed the Doomfire Ring at the shaman on the left. "Volans!" he cried and unleashed the ring's power.

Blazing spheres of flame shot from the ring and struck the shaman, turning him into a pillar of flame for a brief moment before he toppled off the spider's back. He turned to deal with the other shaman. It would take just a moment to invoke the ring's power. If he was quick enough he could burn the second shaman down before he got a spell off.

Gunfire barked out again. He saw the shaman loll half off the spider's back. Sebastian smiled. Thank Sigmar for gunpowder. That just left one. A bolt of green fire flashed out from the mass of goblins and struck him just below the left shoulder. Sebastian screamed as the impact of the bolt through him to the ground.

He lay, stunned, flat on his back. Shouting and screaming was all around him. Get Up! he shouted at himself in his mind. Two are dead! Only one left! You're still alive. Get up!

He winced as he struggled to get up. His protective spell was fraying into pieces, but it had taken most of the shaman's blast. Monstrous creatures that were mostly fang filled jaws, were bounding up onto the wagons. He saw Marieta skewer one on her barbed spear and dribe the butt into the earth, pinning it as it died. Her sword gleamed in her hand as she sliced into another. The whole western half was under attack.

With his left hand he drew his sword from his belt. His arm ached, but he could hold it. He held out his right hand and uttered the words of a spell he had never cast in actual expectation of battle. A sword of blazing flame appeared in his hand, a creation of concentrated Aqshy. Steel blade in his left hand and The Flaming Sword of Rhuin in his right, he joined the fray.

I like Sebastian; he's a real battle wizrd (if a novice, as it seems).

The gobbos were coming in a wave, like they always did. They had less discipline than all but the most degenerate men. Predictable. There was so little that was new under the sun and nothing new under the mountains. Kargun hefted his long rifle, searching for a target worthy of his bullet.

It wasn't hard. Their leaders had to drive them forth this time. Even a greenskin was bright enough to figure out what had happened to the previous waves of attackers. Being leaders the gobbo bosses also had all sorts of trinkets to show their superior status, such as the giant spider mounts edging their ways along the side. The probably though the poor light would shield them if the humans still had ammunition left to shoot. They were right and they were wrong. Kargun and his brothers were dwarfs, gunsmiths by trade, and they could see just fine in the dark and they still had bullets for their guns.

Kargun tracked the goblin, leading him just slightly. Then he stopped and started waving his hands in the air. All those bones and coloured clothes might make him a shaman. It was always best to kill the magic users first. Long, hard years of war against Goblins, Elves, and Skaven had recorded that lesson on every copy of the Book of Grudges. Kargun fired.

The bullet flew straight and true out of Kargun's rifled barrel. Plate armour, especially if made from gromril, could often turn a bullet if it didn't strike dead on, but Goblins seldom wore heavy armour over their puny bodies. Blood sprayed out the back of the Goblin's chest and he slumped in the saddle of his spider. So much for his magic.

Hargin shouted "nice shot brother!" He then blew the brains out of an big bastard of a gobbo that must have been over five feet tall. They were getting close now. The unfortunate thing about rifles, while their accuracy was great, is that they took so long to reload. Fortunately, there were alternatives available. The blond Dwarves carefully put their rifles aside and picked up muskets.

The fired point blank into the advancing Goblin lines. Another pair of greenskins staggered and fell. The survivors hit the wall as the brothers picked up new guns. The first one to clamber up on the wagon got a whole in his chest and fell back. The next took a bullet in his left shoulder. "Keep them off me brother!" Hargin yelled.

Kargun pulled himself up onto the wagon and bashed in the wounded Goblin's skull before drawing his pistols. Hargin lit the wick to the bomb they had improvised out of a battered wooden tankard, a few scraps, nails, and a respectable gunpowder charge. Kargun shot the next Goblin in the chest from about three feet away. Blood sprayed, but the greenskin didn't fall. Kargun kicked him off the wagon.

An Orc had pushed his way up to the front. He swept his choppa around, forcing Kargun to fall ball as he pulled himself onto the wagon with apelike arms. Even stooped the greenskin was more than six feet tall. Scraps of mail were attached to a backing of leather giving the Orc crude but effective mail armour. He raised his choppa, a monstrous slab of dull metal that must have weighed nearly twenty pounds, above his head. The muzzle flash from Kargun's pistol touched the Orc's tusks as he blew his brains out the back of his skull. The Orc toppled.

"Down Brother!" Hargin yelled in Khazalid. Kargun instantly fell on his face leapt back, face first into the mud as the mug-bomb went sailing over head. A moment latter there was a loud thump and then greenskin screams. Hargin drew his pistols to repell more attackers as Kargun pulled himself up. Most of their guns were empty, but there were still a pair of pretty guilded dueling pistols laying nearby, intended for sale to moneyed gentry who liked both beautiful toys and solid Dwarven craftsmanship. He rushed over to the case next to the other guns and pulled them out. Their reserve guns. Well, he had no intention of dying with unused pistols at hand.

Several Goblins pulled themselves up and Hargin shot them down while several others attempted to sneak under the wagon. It was a tight space under there, favoring gobbo sticker more than Dwarven hammers. Of course, it favored Dwarven guns even more. Shots rang out and more Goblins fell.

Kargun looked back toward his brother. Two Goblins had climbed onto the wagons and were besetting his brother with spears. He had broken the shield and shield arm of one with a heavy swing on his hammer. He raised it for another blow and the other Goblin stabbed out with his spear. It caught Hargin in the throat.

Bright blood burst from his brother's wound, but he did not fall. His hammer came down and avenged his own death by shattering his killer's skull. Only then did Hargin topple and the Goblins began to surge towards him. Tears in his eyes Kargun raised his hammer to sell his life dearly.

Ford Prefect wrote:I like Sebastian; he's a real battle wizrd (if a novice, as it seems).

Journeyman to get all technical on you Ford.

He knows a fair amount of magic and has the skill to much of it well, but he has yet to reach the accomplishments of a master (or Magister as they say in the Colleges) of his order.

Excellent! Thank's for the clarification!

Imperial Overlord wrote: He knows a fair amount of magic and has the skill to much of it well, but he has yet to reach the accomplishments of a master (or Magister as they say in the Colleges) of his order.

Most probably don't get that far of course. After all, wizard lords are a lot rarer than your average battle wizard. And even the poorest of battle mages will be a great wizard when compared to the average level of wizardry.

(A minor thing: the Doomfire Ring and the Ring of Volans are separate items. The doomfire ring fires flames, the ring of volans I believe contain a single spell (in game chosen randomly from any of the eight lores). However, I supose there isn't any reason why you couldn't have (a/the)? doomfire ring have a command word.)

I like the story. It has a good feel to it, sticking within the warhammer feel but not being limited to stuff that fits in the game mechanics.

You're correct in that most apprentices don't make it to the rank of Magister let alone Magister Lords, but Journeymen have better odds. To clarify, he was merely shouting Volans name as a battle cry, not in possession of his ring (the Supreme Patriarch has that little handy piece of jewelry).

Richart slashed his sword across a Goblin's eyes, sending the creature realing back screaming. He parried the clumsy spear thrust of the next greenskin with his long knife. The spear point grazed along the plate armour covering his left arm, but didn't bite. He blow nearly severed the Goblin's arm at the shoulder. The mortally wounded Gobllin fell back. Richart pressed foreward.

He should be making a run for it, the Goblins were attacking from the west and wrapping around. He could get on Horse and ride east, but he didn't like his odds of escaping Goblin wolf riders in a dark forest. If he had to, he would, but trying to hold out to dawn was the better of two shitty options.

One of the Dwarves was down, the other was still fighting. He took the arm off of the elbow of a Goblin who was trying too hard to flank the Dwarf and not paying enough attention to his surroundings. The next Goblin blocked two swings of his sword with a battered shield. On the second blade his sword lodged in the soft wood. Fuck.

The goblin grinned evily, showing a mouth full of rotting fangs as it swung its nail covered club at him. Richart took a glancing blow on his plate armoured arm as he rammed his long knife into the Goblin's throat. The little bastard fell back, blood jetting from the wound. Richart pulled his sword free.

The stunty was laying about him like a mad man. Goblins are viscious, not brave and they wanted no part of that bone crushing hammer. Several bodies lay at his feet. The others jabbed at him, but downing an armoured and enraged Dwarf by taking a few jabs with a pigsticker wasn't going to happen. The Dwarf bled from a half dozen minor wounds but wasn't going to fall without a lot more assistance.

Richart ran a greenskin through and then parried the next Goblin's blow. The greenskins were trying to react to his attack, which was bad for them because that meant they took their eyes off the Dwarf for long enough for him to crush a Gobliin's pelvis.

A drover and one of the surviving mercenaries came over to help. Richart and the Dwarf formed the center, they secured the flanks. Goblin blood flew and bodies piled up. The closest ranks grew timourous and the back ranks, unable to see the carnage, pressed hard on their backs. Then it happened.

A Goblin lashed out at the ones pushing him, not being at all eager to get sliced or crushed. The other Goblin struck back. In moments the front of the host was involved in a bloody, all Goblin brawl, the humans momentarily forgotten. No one defended the breaches.

Richart lead the charge. Distracted Goblins were hewed down. The wagon tops were retaken from Goblin scum as the greenskin brawl rippled and spread throughout their ranks. Here and there chieftains and scarred warriors established zones of control through fear and brutality, but by then it was too late. They had been thrown back and their warbands were deserting. With screams, curses, and threats in the Goblin tongue they fell back to pursue the deserters and remuster their host.

Richart watched them vanish into the night. That had been a narrow escape. He wasn't likely to get that lucky again. "They'll be back," the Dwarf said bitterly. "They'll round up the others and whip them back into line. All we got was time." Tears streamed down freely into his beard. "I owe you for that," the Dwarf said. "My name if Kargun Thorrisson." He extended his hand.

Richart took it. "Richart," he replied. Hell, half the reason he had saved the Dwarf was because the bastards were tough and slow, the perfect guys to hold the line while someone else ran for the hills. Best not to say that though.

"You fight well," said Kargun, "better than most humans."

"I'd better," said Richart, "that's how I earn my bread."

"We will need all the skill we can muster to live through this," said the Dwarf. Richart didn't have much faith in the "we" part, but by all the Daemon haunted hells was going to make it out alive no matter how many bodies he had to crawl over.

Kargun seems rock hard, and I like that, and Richart is wonderfully self-serving.

A Goblin's shield exploded into blazing fragments as Sebastian brough down the Flaming Sword of Rhuin. The weapon was as light as a feather in his hand and the wizard struck again, thrusting the sword of fire into the Goblin's chest. The flame blade emerged out the Goblin's spine in a spray of boiling blood.

Marieta moved up to hold his left side with shield and sword. The Goblins saw the flaming blade in his hand and clearly wanted no part of it. They fell back when he pressed. Marieta sliced a Goblin along the side of the head and the greenskin fell back, screeching in dismay. She knocked the spear out of another one's hand and opened the throat of a third.

Sebastian caught an out thrust spear haft with his sword and feinted high with the Sword of Rhuin. The Goblin raised his shield up and Sebastian brought the burning brand across the Goblin's left leg. It fell screaming. Cold steel in its chest reduced its screams to a gurgle.

He pushed ahead hard, swinging the Sword of Rhuin in a broad arcs. The Goblins inched back and Gunther and a drover moved up on his right. Then the flaming blade collapsed into sparks and short lived embers. The Goblins stopped retreating.

Sebastian raised the Doomstone Ring. Three fireballs blazed forth and two Goblins burned, one struck in the head and another in the chest. The third took the blast on his shield and was rapidly discarding the smoking piece of wood. They hesitated.

It gave Sebastian enough time to cast again. Drawing upon Aqshy, he through two more fireballs at the now shieldless Goblin. One struck him in the right shoulder, the other in the stomach. He collapsed. The Goblins broke, falling back in disarray. The air around Sebastian grew cold as he drew upon the red wind of magic and sped two more fireballs into the Goblins.

Some kind of violent feuding was travelling though the Goblin ranks like a crashing wave. It reached the ones facing them. The withdrawing Goblins reacted to the additional pressure by exploded away in every other direction, all order disintigrated as every greenskin worried about his own skin.

The horde was breaking apart, Sigmar be praised. Sebastian leaned foreward and braced himself against a wagon, taking deep racking breaths that were barely more than sobs. He steadied himself and noticed his hand was wet. Red blood.

He looked down. A dark stain marked the left side of his tunic. "Sheisse," he said and fell back.

Hardcore, that Sebastian. *swishes flame sword*

Marieta caught Sebastian before the College Wizard hit the ground. "Blood and bones," she swore as she gently laid Sebastian in the mud. "Get Richter," she said to Gunther. "Now!"

The mercenary drew a knife and sliced away part of Sebastian's robes to reveal the wound just below his shoulder. The light was too poor to make out much in the way of details other than it was bleeding freely. "Shallya's tits," she muttered.

Marieta sliced off more of his robe and crudely packed it over the wound to slow the bleeding. "Don't die on us you bastardo strega," she muttered.

"How bad?" asked Richart.

"He's bleeding a lot."

"Yeah, I guessed. I might be able to do something for him."

"Then do it."

"Someone get me some lanterns! Now!" Several men went scampering. Within a minute or two, three lanterns were clustered around Sebastian's body. Richart had taken out his bottle of spirits, a few strips of cloth, a needle, and thread.

"How bad is it?" Kargun said, kneeling by them.

"Don't know yet," said Richart as he opened a lantern with gloved hands and heated the needle.

"Why are you doing that?" Marieta asked.

"To drive off little plague daemons," he replied. He shrugged. "The priest who told me that was drunk and may have been lying, but it works better if you do."

"Okay, take off the compress." She did. "Nasty. Probably made it worse by fighting. Good thing he's unconcious, not that he'll be lucky enough to stay that way. Hold him down and give him something soft to bite on. This is going to hurt like Khorne's own hell."

Kargun and Marieta both seized an arm and a shouder. A drover stuffed the handle of his whip into Sebastian's mouth. "I'm starting," said Richart to warn them. He began to sow.

Sebastian woke up thrashing almost immediately. "Hold him," Richart ordered. "Now lie still and take it like a man. Its either this or death." Sebastian subsided, groaning. Richart continued to sew.

"Done," he said. He wrapped the wounds with strips of cloth and applied a splash of rotgut. "Put him somewhere warm and let him rest." Kargun and the drover picked him up and moved him gently to a bedroll near the fire at the center of the circle.

"What are his chances?" she asked.

"Not bad," Richart replied. "He woke fast enough, meaning he had only lost a lot of blood instead of damn near most of it. Wound wasn't the nicest, but I was able to sew him up before he lost too much more and he was still conscious at the end. Better than half of him making it."

"Good," she said.

"Ja. Good for us too. Those Goblins are going to be while regrouping. Some of the chiefs are going to have to kill a few to regain authority. He might be ready to chuck a few spells by the time they come back in strength."

"They can see in the dark," Marieta said. "Those ones, they'll be found quick enough. If they still have the stomach, they'll be back soon enough."

"Ja," said Richart. He didn't sound too worried. "They might also just lick their wounds and fade. Tough to tell."

"We'll know soon enough," Marieta replied. Richart nodded in agreement. "Question is," she continued, "how do we use this time?"

"Question is," she continued, "how do we use this time?"

Build a fort?

"Question is," she continued, "how do we use this time?"

You write down your memoirs, so that WyrdNyrd can keep reading this great story, even if you all buy it in the end.

Imperial Overlord wrote:"To drive off little plague daemons," he replied. He shrugged. "The priest who told me that was drunk and may have been lying, but it works better if you do."

Clever.

Very nice fic. I look forward to reading more. I take it magicians are not in danger of deamon-posession in Warhammer Fantasy?

Feil wrote: Very nice fic. I look forward to reading more. I take it magicians are not in danger of deamon-posession in Warhammer Fantasy?

Not to the extent they are in 40K. Still, it does happen. The Hierophants of the Light Order are skilled exorcists, if you don't get burned first.

Richart looked up at the sky. The eastern horizon was a soft peach in colour, signalling the coming dawn. He'd done a lot of needle work over the last few hours. Fine with him. His fingers were a little cramped, but he hadn't been doing the heavy lifting all the other able bodied had done.

It was just his luck that the wolf riders hadn't gone away. Ranald must hate him. Of course, they hadn't done any of the bleeding in the wave attacks or been involved in the big brawl. They staid, watching the encircled wagons from the trees and making the idea of taking a run for it on Horse a really shitty option.

So the others piled up dirt, blocking off the bottom of the wagons and the filling in the gaps where they met while he sewed. Goblin arrows were collected and given to those with bows. They weren't of the highest quality, but then they weren't having to penetrate Bretonnian plate.

He took a bite of jerky and bit into a piece of hardtack moistened with water. He gulped both down quickly and took another swig to wash it down. He hated trail food.

He lay back and checked his sword for knicks. Spending most the the night beating the hell of Goblins had consequences for steel as well as flesh. He took out his file and began smoothing things out.

"They'll come again manling." Richart looked up and saw Kargun. "Mark me on this."

"I know," said Richart. He stopped, examined the blade, and then went back to filing.

"I'm trying to impart some wisdom into your empty head," snapped the Dwarf.

"They'll come again isn't anything I don't know. The chiefs have invested too much prestige or whatever passes for that in Goblin into taking us down. As long as they and their ass kickers can keep the rest in line, they'll do it."

"Aye."

"So that means, more than the rest, they've got to die. The chiefs, the shamans, and-" he gestured to the north, "the wolfriders."He examined the blade and then put away his file.

"Got any ideas on that lad?"

"Not yet," said Richart. "Not yet. But I'm working on it."

It's building back up again; excellent.

Marieta sank her shovel into the dirt and wiped her brow. The sun was high up in the sky and even in early autumn that was enough to make it damn hot, especially after shovelling dirt. They had spent most of the morning sealing off the gaps between the wagons and along the the bottoms with dirt walls. Weapons were loaded and their dwindling supply of ammunition stacked next to them. Marieta was down to five bolts. The bowmen, of whom there were two left, had repleneshed their supply with Goblins shafts.

The Dwarven gunsmith, Kargun, had his surviving stock laid out and loaded. It was truly a fearsome arsenal of guns, a small fortune in Dwarf crafted firearms. Guns were expensive items, more often used by soldiers and nobles of the Empire than by mercenaries. Unreliable too, although Dwarven ones were less so. Right now she lusted for them, them and anything else that might get her out of this hellpit alive.

Richart was resting. He hadn't done much to help with the defences, but he had done a lot of sewing. Sebastian was bundled up by the fire in the center. He had regained conciousness and was lucid. Hopefully he would be able to muster enough strength when battle came.

She walked over to where Richart sat near his horse. His sword was laid out next to him. He wasn't handsome by any stretch of the imagination, but the scar on the right side of his face didn't completely destroy his looks. There was a certain rugged masculinity about him that made him somewhat attractive, although some of that was the effect of the almost certain death looming over them. "Kargun said you were working on a plan," she said.

"Yeah."

"How is it going?"

"Don't die."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Not a great plan."

He shrugged. "I tried. Nothing better came up. How's it out there?"

"Quiet. Maybe too quiet."

"They're waiting until the sun will be at their backs. It'll hurt us and Goblins hate sunlight."

"You know a lot about them."

"Used to raid my village every couple of years. Everyone there knows about them." He snickered. "I've come a long way just so the greenkskinned bastards can still kill me."

"You think we can win?"

"No, not unless Ulric sends his to tear everyone of those Goblin scum apart or something equally unlikely."

"What I thought," she said.

"Maybe one of us will get lucky and live," he said. "I've beaten the odds before, they just weren't as bad."

"They're moving!" Gunther shouted. Marieta turned her head towards the west.

"Khorne take them all," Richart muttered as he rose to his feet. "Time to die. Might as well do it standing with a sword in my hand."

Kargun levelled his rifle. The greenskins would pay a steep price in blood, make no mistake, but what did the lives of useless Goblins matter compared to the lives of so many Men or that of two of the Elder Race? There was no glory here, no avenging of ancient grudges. The only thing left was to sell their lives as steeply as possible.

They came, a shrill horde shouting and screeching. Behind them riders on wolves lashed and drove them on. The sun was at their backs, forcing the Dwarf to squint. He waited. Patience was an art all of the Elder Race had mastered before they could be considered adults.

It came. A group of wolf riders held still, gibbering at each other in their uncouth tongue. Kargun pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through through the Goblin's chest and he tumbled from the saddle. Another took a crossbow bolt in the face.

The Dwarf reloaded with swift and practiced motions. The greenskins would be upon them soon enough. Arrows began to fall inside the wagons. They lacked the force to penetrate mail and they were fired blindly, but there was enough of them to be a menace. The shrill scream of a horse told him that at least one arrow had struck home.

The nearest pack of Goblins was lead by a big one, nearly five feet tall. It carried a shield with a grinning red sun device and wore a mail hauberk. The sword in its hand was of human make, loot from one battle or another. Kargun's bullet tore through the shield, mail, and flesh. The greenskin was tough enough to keep coming. He switched rifles and fired again. This time it fell.

They were getting too damn close. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another wolf rider fall of his steed. "Die you filth die!" he shouted. Die for my brother. Die so I can live.

He lit the fuses on the two bombs beside him, waited three breaths for the fuses to burn down, and then tossed them into the Goblin pack. Black blood and green flesh splashed away from the detonation. The pack disintigrated, its surviving members scattering. The panic infected another pack. The rest kept coming.

Kargun smiled. The wolf riders moved in to contain the panic and dissarray. Moved in from their cover behind the ranks and thus made easier targets of themselves. An arrow struck one and it toppled. Kargun fired a musket at one, missed, switched guns, fired again and blew its brains all over one of its companions.

Off to his right a man was screaming. He ignored it and drew two pistols and fired. Another wolf rider fell. An arrow struck a wolf rider in the leg and a crossbow bolt struck another in the shoulder. A Goblin scampered up onto the wagon. Kargun dropped his pistols and picked up a spear. He rammed it hard into the Goblin's pelvis and thrust the shrieking creature back among its comrades.

Chaos reigned out there. The wolf riders had fallen back upon recieving the fusilade of fire and with it their attempt to enforce even crude Goblin order collapsed. Troops were bleeding away even as they drove their attack home.

Three more Goblins climed up the wagon. Kargun lanced one in the head, swept the second's feet out from under him with the shaft and the third leapt on him with a jagged blade clutched in its hand. The Goblin slammed into Kargun's chest, its free hand clutching at him while it slashed at him with its blade.

Sharped iron raked across the shoulder and chest of Kargun's mail coat. The Goblin raised the blade to strike again, but the Dwarf seized his head and twisted. Kargun wrung the Goblin's neck like a farmwife with a chicken.

He tossed the body aside and drew both of his pistols and blew holes in the next two Goblins coming over. More followed in their wake. He had no more time for guns.

Kargun drew his hammer and howled. Sometime in the future his kin would find out the fates of the sons of Scoffi and their names would be added to the Book of Grudges as one more debt to extracted from Goblinkind in blood and pain.