Seizing the axe wedged on the far side, Gabrielle jerked it free with a solid pull, then slid its head through the hole and set it on the ground. Using the shaft for balance, and with Eric’s help, she was finally able to maneuver her way out of the wooden cage and land safely on the ground. Safely, here, was a relative term, since she was still in proximity of a claw-clacking demon and several dozen armed goblins. Still, she wasn’t trapped, and that was progress.
Gabrielle’s freedom nearly coincided with the demons’ leaping; she landed only moments before they took off. For an instant, she thought it was a good thing. After all, fewer demons near them meant a higher possibility of living to see the sunrise, didn’t it?
“Dragonshit,” Thistle muttered as he watched the horrid creatures crash back down to the dirt.
“What?” Eric asked.
“They’re coordinating,” Thistle explained. “The one in the center is there to draw focus and stir up chaos among the warriors. Meanwhile, the three on the outside can pick off the ones on the edges of the crowd, while still cutting off the best exit routes. This is very bad. Demons set on a random slaughter are troublesome, but can be outmaneuvered. When they’re smart enough to work together, well, let’s simply say our survival chances just got lower.”
“What do we do?” Gabrielle asked. Without thinking, she pulled the axe up from the ground and brought it to rest on her shoulder. It might not be of much use to her, but better a clumsy weapon than none at all.
“You two get clear,” Thistle ordered. “Grab any weapons or armor you see on the way out — it wouldn’t do to be picked off by wolves after escaping demons — and get out of camp.”
“And what will you be doing while we’re turning tail?” Eric asked.
“Someone has to go check on Grumph,” Thistle replied. “And I certainly draw far less attention in this crowd than you two.”
That part was true. The gnome stood nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with the goblins, meaning he could blend in easily. Two humans would stick out like, well, like a pair of humans in a crowd of goblins.
“I don’t want to leave you like that,” Eric said.
“Good sentiment; hold onto that later on when we’re back to playing our roles. This isn’t you abandoning me, though. This is you trusting me to do my job, and not making me worry about you as well. We’re a party. We each have our own tasks to fulfill,” Thistle explained.
Eric didn’t particularly like that answer, but he also didn’t foresee changing Thistle’s mind, and the longer they were here, the worse their chances of survival grew.
“Fine,” Eric agreed at last. “We meet at the clearing we passed on the way in.”
“Deal,” Thistle said, almost immediately darting off into the crowd.
“Works for me,” Gabrielle added.
“Glad we’re all agreed. Now, which way should we go to get out of here?”
“I’m going for a gap I know about on the west side of the camp.” Gabrielle pointed somewhere past the goblin warriors. “You should probably go another route. I have to pass a lot of goblins on my way. They know me and won’t attack in surprise. I can’t say the same for you. Plus, it’s probably better to go separate ways… just in case.”
Eric nodded; there was no need for explanation. They were in a very dire situation and the odds of all of them making it out were slim at best. At least going different ways meant one might find a clear path.
“Be safe,” he told her.
“You, too.”
With that, each hunkered down and began moving away as quickly and quietly as they were able to manage.
There are few sensations like staring eye to eye with a demon, nothing between you and it but a polearm that somehow felt even smaller than it had moments ago. Grumph and the beast locked eyes with each other for less than half a second, yet both could feel the weight of a lifetime in that glance. There was no need for pretense: this moment ended with one of them dead. No other outcome was possible.
That sentiment was dispelled when three arrows lodged in the demon’s back, earning a sickening twist of its rat-like head in an unnatural angle toward its attackers. Behind it stood three goblin warriors and a quartet of archers, separated from their main force. The warriors were advancing slowly, polearms extended, while the archers nocked fresh arrows into their bows.
With a series of jerking steps, the demon turned its attention toward the goblins. Evidently, it cared more for quantity than size, as Grumph was left largely forgotten, facing its rear. One of the goblin archers met his half-orc gaze and began speaking fiercely at him. Though Grumph didn’t speak Gobleck, the “shoo” hand-gestures that the goblin made sent the message quite clearly. They were going to handle this thing; he should run away quickly while the opportunity was there.
Moments earlier, staring down a demon, Grumph might have considered it. But now, watching his captors, small though they were, confront this monster on his behalf, such an idea was ludicrous. He felt no particular love for these goblins; they were merely beings who’d captured him because he was easy prey. Be that as it was, he loathed demons, and he’d be damned to see these four ravage the camp. At the very least, he would assist until the children and non-warriors escaped.
Grumph tightened his grip on the polearm and felt it creak under the pressure. He dearly wished he’d found something more substantial.
Eric, in a show of either cunning or stupidity (the difference between the two being an idea works or not) elected to go the one direction that no one was paying attention to. Creeping along, he made his way to the storage building, which was still burning, but rapidly turning into more of a smolder than an inferno. The first demon had advanced several feet forward, and was now in the process of slicing through a pair of goblins while others of the tribe slashed at it angrily. In the soft light of the fire, Eric slipped through a gap between the storage building and the rubble of what had once been a home.
The heat from the flames was strong; sweat materialized on his face as soon as he was alongside the building’s remains. It was slow going, as the gap between the two areas had been designed for only goblins to fit through. Moving through the area at all would have been impossible if the explosion hadn’t destroyed large sections of both buildings’ walls. Even with that, it took careful footing and balance as, at times, Eric had to climb from gap to gap, getting several feet off the ground. He marveled at the speed of his body, feeling, for the first time in years, the freedom of movement when not confined by that damned armor. He’d only ever taken it off for bathing and bed, activities which rarely offered the chance to stretch his limbs.
He was back on the ground, moving beside a gap in the storage building so large it accounted for at least an eighth of the wall, when he saw it. Sitting there, miraculously untouched by the explosion or the fire, resting on a pile of wrecked chests, was his sword. Not the cumbersome one he’d lifted from the paladin’s corpse, but his sword. The one his father had given him when he was a child, meant to be a training blade. The one he’d used as a guard, even though the others had laughed at him for it. The one he’d been unable to leave behind, even when packing light less than a day ago. His sword.
Without a thought, Eric reached through the hole and grabbed the hilt of his blade. It was warm, but not as hot as he’d expected, given the environment. The scabbard had melted slightly, however, the blade still pulled free with a little effort. Eric sheathed it once more, tucked it into his belt, and continued his movements toward freedom. In almost no time, he’d passed the final few hunks of rubble obscuring the way and stepped out of the narrow gap.