“General Rudd didn’t need to steer the goblins this way,” Chekwe said. “They already planned on coming here.”
“Cut the head off the snake and the body dies,” Hunter spat. “They know that much, at least.”
He scanned the remains of a barricade. Two wagons had been tipped over to create a barrier, but those were now on fire. Six or seven orange-jacketed soldiers lay, horribly mutilated, in crimson lakes of blood. A dozen or more goblins were crumpled in the street as well, soaked in their own black blood.
“What the hell…” Chekwe pointed with his ax at one of the fallen soldiers. The man’s torso was torn open, his ribs broken and splayed outward as if he had burst open. His face was a charred wreck, though he lay ten strides from the nearest burning wagon. “Quamforsake my little green soul,
