“Well? Have you anything to say in your defense?” Barius strode across the room and looked down at Jig, a sneer of disgust wrinkling his aristocratic features like a prune.

A real hero would muster up something clever on which to spend his last breath. He would face death like a man, with courage. He certainly would not kick the young prince square in the vitals.

Jig was no hero. As Barius tumbled to the ground, Jig whirled and sprinted up the corridor as fast as he could. Behind him the dwarf swore, the prince moaned, and the elf giggled.

He had to catch the others. If he could reach Porak in time, they might have a chance. Because these were the tunnels Jig knew. Three of the doorways in the shiny room led down passageways that eventually merged into one. The fourth led to the surface.

From what Darnak said, they hadn’t explored the other three passages yet. They would expect Jig to return with help, but they’d expect that help to come as single mad rush.

Twelve goblins. Three passageways. That meant four goblins through each doorway. If they timed things right, the adventurers would face an attack from three directions at once. Even goblins couldn’t mess up a plan of such beauty.

He wished Porak and the others would stop singing. They would call their deaths down upon their heads if they didn’t shut up.

“Quiet!” Jig shouted as he neared the group. “Intruders. Adventurers, three of them behind me. We need to head back to the junction.” He stopped to catch his breath.

The song broke off in midchorus. “Who’s that? Jig? Running back with his tail between his legs already?”

“Jig! We thought an ogre had gotten you,” someone said, giggling.

“No, I thought a bat had mistaken him for a bug.”

A deeper voice said, “But it couldn’t be Jig. Jig would never be foolish enough to tell me what to do.”

Jig saw orange torchlight on the tunnel walls up ahead. “Porak, you don’t understand. There are intruders back there!”

As Porak came into view, Jig bit back everything else he was going to say and retreated toward the wall. He had forgotten how mean Porak got when he was drunk. He was mean sober, too, but alcohol made him even worse. Bottle in one hand, Porak stomped up the tunnel and grabbed Jig’s throat.

“Intruders or not, you don’t command here. Not unless you want to fight me for it.” He squeezed. “Well?”

Jig shook his head, feeling stupid. What had he been thinking? That Porak would be grateful for his help? That everyone would thank him for his advice and follow his plan? That wasn’t the goblin way. The goblin way was to charge in like idiots, following whoever was biggest and loudest, and in this case, drunkest. Being this close to Porak meant his every breath filled Jig’s nostrils with the scent of fungus-distilled klak beer.