Chapter 209: What the Blood Woke
Northern Road, The Rocky Hill Camp
Krud's POV
The third flying horror died with a sound like wet leather tearing. It thrashed against the iron-rimmed wheel of the lead baggage wagon, its hooked beak snapping aimlessly at the dark until one of the blood-drunk guards brought a heavy iron axe down through its skull.
Greenish, foul-smelling ichor splattered across the dirt, some of it hissing against the dying embers of our cookfire.
My teeth were clicking together so hard I thought they'd crack. I wasn't fighting. Goblins like me who stand in the open during an aerial ambush end up as meat for these hatchlings.
I was wedged beneath the floorboards of the main trade cart, my fingers dug so deep into the grease-slick axle that my nails were bleeding. My lungs burned as the air in the valley was thick with the stench of violet-dark sorcery and the choking musk of the leathery-winged beasts.
