Soon, Nape was snoring and Canker paced about, bored and agitated. He kicked at stones, poked at the dog’s remains with the butt end of his poleaxe and nosed through the outsheds. When he finally shuffled into the hut, Deglan wasted no time. Careful, cleverly timed plans had their place, but also too many details that could go wrong. Sometimes, it was better to simply move.

He darted out from the tree line, bent low and felt the Earth release its ward. Keeping his eyes fixed on the sleeping goblin, Deglan plucked the spear from the collier’s back on the run. Nape’s eyes popped open the instant before the spear head pierced his throat, bursting out the back of his neck to imbed in the woman’s corpse behind. Nape’s cry of surprise died in the ruin of his jugular, his hands jerked up to the spear shaft, but the spasms of his dying fingers would not allow him a proper grip. His frothy tongue pushed forward, flecking blood into the air as he gagged on a foot of metal. The wound hissed and burned around the broad iron head, the pumping blood steaming as it flowed down Nape’s chest. Deglan gave the haft a sharp twist and wrenched the spear free. Nape vomited a torrent of thick crimson and went limp. A quick glance to the door of the hut showed no signs of Canker. Deglan caught Nape’s ankle and dragged him into the trees, dumping the spear in the brush alongside the corpse. Snatching the shapeless cap from Nape’s head, Deglan donned it with repressed revulsion. Wordlessly, he asked the collier’s wife for forgiveness and lay down.

It was some moments before he heard the door to the hut creak open and Canker’s heel-dragging steps. Deglan kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep and tried not to think about the heavy poleaxe that was doubtless in the goblin’s hand.

“Found some turnips in’ere,” Canker said as he approached. “And some beans. What say to a little pottage, eh? I fancy we…bugger me!” The footsteps stopped abruptly and there came the dull thuds of dropped turnips. Deglan willed his heart to calm and stretched slowly, opening his eyes lazily.

“Sounds grand.”

Canker’s mouth went from gaping to tight lipped and back again. The poleaxe was nowhere in sight. The goblin’s hands hovered empty near his waist, clutching turnips that were no longer there.

“Well,” Deglan said. “Fetch some water.”

Canker blinked and the air pushed around in his throat with half formed words.

“N-nn-nuh-Nape?” he finally manged.

“What?” Deglan aimed his voice for mild irritation and hit ignorant anger. “Fetch the water, I said.”

“Fire claim me,” Canker stammered. “Please don’ drowned me!”