Saq could not stop staring at the stump of his arm. He was dying now, he knew. He had killed enough people to know that. Most had been human or dwarven soldiers, enemies met on the battlefield. There had been a few murders as well, mostly against his fellow goblins, like that sergeant who had been determined to take more than his fair share of loot from that wizard’s hut.

He would miss his books.

It was not the loss of the arm that was going to kill Saq. The divine energy of the blade that had severed it had sealed the wound even it passed through his limb. It was the contemptuous backhand afterwards that would finish him. The blow had sent him flying twenty yards back and crashing into the ground, twisting his body into an impossible mess. Saq could feel a dangerous looseness in his ribs as he took each breath. The broken bones had not yet punctured his lungs but trying to move seemed like a bad idea. The nerve signals from his pelvis and twisted limbs suggested it might not be possible anyway.

So, Saq stared past his mostly missing arm and out at the being that had killed him. She stood ten feet tall. Aside from her size, she mostly resembled a human. Her features had a un-goblin-like symmetry, her skin was the rich reddish-brown of the northern humans, and her limbs shared their proportions. She might have been mistaken for a small giant, but that glowing sword told Saq that she was not. He had read about that sword.