They all turned to see a figure emerge from the brush at the far side of the clearing, right into the path of the running goblin.

"The scribe," Gebo whispered.

The goblin, who had spent most of the time while racing across the meadow looking back over his shoulder, did not see Penrod until he was almost upon him. When he finally turned and saw the young scribe, the goblin raised his sword over his head, charging at what it thought was going to be an easy kill.

Gebo and the Dragon Lord had started running toward him and the girls were yelling warnings, but Penrod stood still, a look of broken anguish on his face, until the screaming goblin was almost on top of him. Then, he quickly raised the javelin that had been thrown at him earlier in the fight and bracing his feet, gave forth his own cry of rage and frustration.

The goblin was too close to stop his advance or even change course and with a look of shocked surprise on its face, ran chest first onto the upraised javelin. His forward momentum caused the point of the weapon to burst through his back and poke out nearly two feet beyond. Penrod, who had merely acted on impulse and in shameless self defense, watched in horror as the eyes of the goblin rolled back into its head and the creature slowly sagged onto the short spear. His sword, which was still raised over its head, dropped harmlessly to the grass and the scribe, suddenly disgusted by his won desperate actions, tossed the dead thing to the ground. He was still panting heavily and wiping his hands over and over again against his robe when the rest of the group ran up to him.

"Be ye all right, lad?" asked one of the girls. He couldn't tell which one it had been.

"Good job, boy," from Gebo.

"Slow down, lad," said another of the party.

"A first kill can shake a man," someone muttered, quietly.

A first kill. 'His' first kill. Penrod shuddered.