Free Shadow Chaser by Alexey Pehov Page B

to rescue his precious plant from under the goat’s hooves and the Doralissian made a repulsive bleating sound as he pulled the quills out of his nose.
    By this time the fight had become universal. Everybody was fighting everybody. There were beer mugs flying through the air, aimed at any dopes who were still getting their bearings. One almost caught Marmot in the head, but he ducked just in time.
    The wailing landlord tried to halt the destruction of his property, but he got a punch in the face from one of the goats and collapsed under the bar. Another beer mug went flying into a group of students and they dashed to attack the chasseurs.
    “Harold! Stop getting under my feet!” Deler growled as he made a beeline for the next enemy. He took aim and kicked him between the legs.
    I jumped back from the table, leaving the Wild Hearts to take the bumps and the bruises, since that was their job anyway—to protect me from all sorts of unpleasantness.
    Eel, Lamplighter, and Marmot lined up in wedge formation and took on anyone who came within striking range. Eel doled out his punches sparingly and precisely, and anyone who was still standing after an encounter with the Garrakian was left for Lamplighter or Marmot to finish off.
    The ling on Marmot’s shoulder flew into a fury and squealed piercingly, trying to bite anyone he could reach with his teeth. Then, realizing that if he stayed on his master’s shoulder he would miss all the fun, Invincible jumped onto the nearest enemy and sank his teeth into his nose.
    “Harold! Out of the way!”
    Arnkh pushed me aside, grabbed one of the chasseurs by the sides of his chest, and butted him in the face. Then another met the same fate. And another. The bald head of the warrior from the Border Kingdom was a truly fearsome weapon.
    But there’s always a ballista for every dragon. One of the stonemasons crept up on Arnkh from behind and smashed him over the head with a bottle that shattered into smithereens. Arnkh swayed on his feet and the stonemason, encouraged by his initial success, swung back his fist with the broken bottle.
    Kli-Kli darted out from under the table and kicked the enemy on the knee with all his might. The stonemason dropped his weapon, cursed wildly, and tried to grab Kli-Kli by the scruff of the neck, but the nimble goblin slipped between the man’s legs and gave the stonemason a hefty kick up the backside.
    I added my own modest contribution with a sweet punch to his stomach. The enemy doubled over and Kli-Kli promptly repeated his blow to the fifth point, while I chopped him in the throat with the side of my hand. The lad rolled his eyes up resentfully and collapsed on the floor.
    “Are you all right?” I asked Arnkh, holding him by the shoulder just to be on the safe side.
    “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Who did that to me?”
    “There he is!” said Kli-Kli, pointing to the man lying on the floor.
    “Give him a kick for me, please,” said Arnkh, wincing, and Kli-Kli promptly did just as his comrade asked.
    “It’s getting too hot around here. Time to be leaving,” said Lamplighter. He had a huge black eye.
    “Screw that!” Deler panted as he fought off two Doralissians at the same time with a chair. “The real fun’s only just beginning! Are you just going to watch or is someone going to help me with these goats?”
    “You’ll pay-ay for calling us goa-oats!” one of the Doralissians bleated, bringing his fist down on the short dwarf’s head.
    Deler skipped aside, smashed the chair into the ribs of the Doralissian who was trying to hit him, and jumped back out of the way, yielding his position to the “heavy cavalry” in the form of five bellicose chasseurs. The lads in red and white hung on the Doralissians’ shoulders like bunches of grapes and set about pummeling their faces with military thoroughness.
    A free space had opened up around Eel—no one else wanted to risk going up against the Garrakian. Maybe I just imagined it, but the warrior