This time I ran. There wasn’t much I could do if the goblins were attacking children, for I had no weapons or allies. But maybe I could distract the goblins or something so that the kids could get away. It was thin to the extreme as far as plans went, but Mace and I agreed that we’d let the goblins pound us to death before letting them hurt a child.

A faint orange light grew brighter ahead, and I hooded my torch and slowed my pace so I didn’t run headlong into an ambush. The smoke got much worse, to the point that I had to concentrate to keep myself from coughing and giving away my position.

I finally emerged onto a cliff overlooking a small village a hundred feet below me in flames.

It sat beside an underground lake that was so big that I couldn’t see the other side. Above the lake, surrounded by house-sized stalactites, was a massive hole in the ceiling about a hundred feet across from which daylight streamed. Suspended between the stalactites were large chains holding up five mirrors, each as big as a drive-in movie screen. The mirrors were angled to catch the sunlight and shine it down onto the lake and a small village on the shore just below me. The village had dozens of stone, square buildings with thatch roofs.

Large, horizontal wheels stood on the edge of the village to my left. Each wheel was the size of old-time water wheels and had cranks that must’ve taken a dozen people to turn. Huge chains wound around the wheels and snaked their way up to the mirrors on the ceiling. Beyond the wheels lay massive black pipes, like those on a water tower, that came out of the cavern’s wall to my left and disappeared under the lake’s calm surface.

I instantly took this all in like some breathtaking fantasy painting of an underground village that you’d find in an RPG sourcebook.

Or it would’ve been breathtaking if most of the village wasn't burning. Yellow flames raged upon the thatch roofs of the buildings closest to the cliff on which I stood. Individuals the size of kids ran about in the billowing smoke. Some tried escaping the flames, some organized bucket lines from the lake to the burning buildings, and some fled toward the large pipes along the lakeshore.

I quickly realized these little creatures weren’t children, or at least not all of them. Instead, they looked like the gnomes from my RPGs. They were about three or four feet tall, had chubby bodies, pale skin, and pointed ears. Their hair was oddly styled and colored in as many varieties as there were gnomes. The colors of their clothes were just as gaudy and mismatched as their hairstyles. Their high-pitched screams sure sounded like kids, though, which unnerved me and made me all the more eager to help.

I saw movement right below me and felt my fists clench. Three giant goblins waded into the fleeing gnomes, swinging their scimitars left and right, mowing down the poor creatures like reapers with scythes. Blood sprayed, and pieces of gnomes flew everywhere, and the goblins roared their bloodlust and snorted their obnoxious laughter. The gnomes were stuck between the goblins and their fiery town, forced to choose between scimitars or burning to death.

I had to do something, even if it was just my original plan to distract the goblins. They were too far away for me to start throwing rocks at them, so I looked for a way down. The cliff wound off to the left and right, but only the right path led down to the village like a ramp. So I took the right path.

As I ran, a flash of orange caught my eye. I looked back at the goblins to see one patting a growing fire that somehow took hold of his black hair. He screamed goblin curses and tried unfurling his wings, but their thin membranes burst into flames as if oiled. He raced on foot toward the lake a few hundred paces away, stampeding the fleeing gnomes. The fire in the goblin’s hair and on his wings crawled down his back and soon enveloped him before he could get to the lake. With less than ten steps to the water, he fell to the ground as a burning heap of goblin meat.

The other two goblins either didn’t notice or didn’t care, for they kept swinging away at the poor gnomes.

An orange fireball shot toward another goblin from a square stone hut near the end of the path that I was on. The fireball enveloped the goblin quicker than the first one. His wings erupted instantly like the first goblin, and he flung himself to the ground to roll the flames out. They didn’t. He stopped moving and turned into a goblin bonfire.

His partner finally noticed what was happening and stopped to stare at the blackening goblin pile next to him. He sniffed the air and roared at the square hut that was the source of the second fireball. He forgot about the gnomes, unfurled his wings, and leaped into the air with his bloody scimitar. Another fireball streaked from the hut, but the goblin dodged it. It flew past the goblin a hundred feet before dissipating in midair.

Mace’s revulsion at the fireball told me that it was Krait’s magic. My joy over finding my friends canceled his disgust.

The ramp had another fifty paces before it got to the village level, but I wanted to get to the hut before the goblin. So, relying on Mace’s instincts—and trying not to second-guess them—I leaped off the cliff’s edge, praying at that moment that my “Expert” Rank was enough to absorb any damage from the fifteen-foot drop.

It did, and then some. I landed without pause and continued sprinting toward the hut fifty paces away.

But the goblin got there first. He flew above the hut, closed his wings, and dropped through the flimsy thatch roof. The entire roof collapsed on the goblin and whoever was inside the small dwelling.

As I approached the hut, I passed dozens of gnomes who fled along the lakeshore in the opposite direction. It was the first time I could remember seeing honest-to-God gnomes, so I couldn’t help but take a few glances at them. They all had smooth, chubby faces. The men had oddly shaped beards, and the women had incredibly thick hair wound up in large coils or spiral buns that were bigger than their actual heads. They would’ve made me smile if they hadn’t looked so terrified and grief-stricken. Some were even kicking the still smoldering body of the goblin that had succumbed to the fireball.

Which was how I noticed the goblin’s scimitar lying near its body.

Well, it’s better than my fists or a tiny dagger.

I veered away from the hut, ran to the scimitar—trying to avoid all the panicked gnomes still fleeing past me—and scooped up the massive weapon. It had the weight of a sledgehammer and didn’t look anywhere near as sharp as my Ancestral Longsword, but it would have to do.

I raced toward the hut. The goblin had indeed destroyed the roof, and I could see its head and shoulders above the roofline and wreckage. Hell, even my head rose above the walls. The goblin rampaged through the demolished little building, swinging his scimitar at something I couldn’t see.

As I sprinted for the hut, Mace’s instincts told me we were about to do something crazy. But if it worked…well, it would be a story for the ages.

Do you trust me? the instinct seemed to ask.

I got a feeling that I hadn’t known since before the accident that ended my police career—confidence. I grinned, and Mace took that as an affirmative.

A dozen feet from the hut, I used my newly awarded “10” Strength to leap up to the roofline where the stone walls still stood. My right foot landed on the wall, and I pushed. That second leap propelled me higher and forward into the center of the hut.

Right toward the goblin.

Even his back is toward me. This is going to be epic.