Bodies were starting to litter the street. I passed a few more former neighbors, and a few more former goblins, as I headed toward the next spot of commotion.
The problem was, even with magesight working for me, these little bastards were sneaky. They kept popping out of nowhere, and had I not been prepared I would have had my head bashed in (or at least a kneecap) a few times if I hadn't been careful and lucky. I slew two more gurvani with Slasher and smashed another one between the eyes with my staff (he rushed me) while Tyndal put an arrow in him, before we ran into the first live human we'd seen, Goodman Miklo, the barber.
He was holding a wooden stool in one hand and a butcher knife in the other as he fended off two of the creatures, his back to his shop and a savage grimace on his face. A third goblin on the ground at his feet told me that he had been luckier than Goodman Horlan. He fought pretty well for an untrained barber, but I knew that he couldn't hold out for long. He had a wife and three young daughters to protect, though, and I knew he'd go down before he'd retreat if I didn't intervene. Besides, we'd need his medical skills for the wounded – if any survived the night.
I decided it was a pretty good time to announce my presence with authority, the way they taught me at War College. I raised my staff and sent a very pretty and barely destructive wad of magical sparks at Miklo's attackers. It's a bandit warding spell I'd hung on the staff almost two years ago. Seconds later the gurvani were writhing on the ground in agony while their nervous systems fired randomly. It would only last a few seconds, but it was enough time for Miklo. He didn't hesitate. He carefully stabbed both of them through the neck, and then smashed the second one in the head with his stool for good measure.
Miklo stared at me in wonderment as he surveyed the dead bodies, the bloodied stool still in his hand. I nodded reassuringly, made sure he wasn't wounded or going into shock, and encouraged him to join me.
He nodded firmly, once he saw someone else was in charge, and said something to his family behind the door. I heard the heavy bar being lowered behind it. Miklo stooped to pick up a longish curved blade from the twitching gurvani's dead hands. Despite the smaller handle, it was longer and had more heft than a butcher knife, which he passed back inside to his terrified wife.
Poor Miklo moved as if through an unreal dream, his face blank. I've seen that look before – the expression of someone who has never seen violence suddenly thrust into a violent situation. I wore it myself, once.
I stopped long enough to put a cantrip – that's a small, simple, easy spell like lighting a fire or heating up water or something that you've practiced so often that you can almost do it in your sleep – that would make it nearly impossible to open his door.
"To keep your family a little safer," I explained, when he asked. "Let's collect some more and head for the bell tower," I ordered.
We collected Goodman Bru, who we found standing at the door of his harness shop with a long cheese knife freshly stained with dark blood held menacingly in his hand. Bru wasn't in a daze – he was fighting mad. He's got a reputation in Minden's Hall for hard dealing and a quick temper, and he was full of both tonight. He happily joined us, and we continued toward the village's belltower.
We saw plenty more bodies of both species along the way. I stepped over them as casually as I could – I'd learned to cultivate an indifference to casualties in Farise – and continued on, while my fellow villagers took turns crying and vomiting when they weren't fighting for their lives.
Arstol the Saddlemaker joined us next, armed with an antique, rusted sword, and then the five of us took on a large knot of the invaders who were just leaving the house of Jowdi the Jolly. They had blood on their fangs, and I didn't want to think about what they had been doing to the friendly family inside.
We blindsided them with a force and ferocity one might not expect from peaceful mountain villagers. I had to stop my little band from continuing to punish the dead gurvani's corpses and encourage them to move on – there were others to be slain that night, no need to linger over the dead. We couldn't waste time on idle vengeance. We made for a shed which gave us the illusion of cover and paused for a moment to get our bearings.
I could hear them all breathing heavily from the exertions of the fight as I again brought my magemap into view, and noted that the largest concentration of the gurvani was around the bell tower, where we were headed. There were plenty of stray goblins between them and us, but there were plenty of people, too.
Two more villagers came up behind us (and were almost accidentally shot by Tyndal) while we waited, Goodman Guris and his son Gusdal. Both held Wilderlands bows and hatchets. They slapped the others on the back and turned to me – for whatever reason – expecting orders.
I gave some. No one told me not to. But I kept it short and simple. "There are two more around this corner, then three in the house beyond that. We go as a group, and we don't leave anyone behind. Rally anyone else you see to us. Keep your eyes open for shadows. Let's go!"