“I’ve never tried to count them.” Jig leaned his head against the rock and closed his eyes. The tunnel split off past the tunnel cats, but there was no way to get to it until the adventurers took care of the cats. Or until the cats took care of the adventurers, he supposed. Funny, but after standing before Straum in the dragon’s lair, the huge albino cats just weren’t as frightening.

Jig crawled over to see the battle for himself. Another cat pounced, only to die on Barius’s sword. Over the generations, the cats’ eyes had grown to the size of Jig’s palm, letting them see perfectly in the faintest light. Their ears were better than his, and their noses were equally keen. Fortunately, the same inbreeding that left them mean-tempered and rapier-swift had given them weak hips. If you could avoid that first leap, as Barius had done, they tended to stumble.

Not that it mattered. The cats were silent as shadows, and few goblins ever noticed their presence before being seized by the neck, shaken, and dragged back to the cats’ nest.

Still, tunnel cats or no, Jig would much rather be here, under siege by the hobgoblins’ pets, than wandering the empty tunnels of the Necromancer’s lair. For the past two days they had searched every alcove, room, and corridor. Darnak came up with the idea that the rod might be hidden within the fountain, so the group had smashed those beautiful crystalline dragons to dust. The Necromancer’s throne had been similarly pulverized, thanks to a bit of Ryslind’s magic. But the rod was nowhere to be found.

Claws scrabbled against stone. Barius yelled. A rushing sound and a squeal of pain signaled another of Ryslind’s spells. Without a word, Jig and Riana moved a bit farther down the tunnel, trying to get away from the scent of burned fur and flesh.

“I almost feel sorry for them,” Riana said.

“Why?” The more tunnel cats that died, the fewer there would be left to pounce on Jig in the darkness.

“Ryslind.”

“Oh.” The wizard hadn’t spoken since they left Straum’s lair, except to cast the occasional spell. He had used a bit of magic to help them find their way through the sky, into the Necromancer’s throne room. A few bolts of fire had scared away the giant bats on the bridge. He had also incinerated a swarm of rats they found in one of the alcoves in the hallway. Jig didn’t know how much power Ryslind had at his disposal, but if he could draw energy from a five-thousand-year-old dragon, he probably wouldn’t dry up anytime soon.

“I say we charge,” Darnak shouted, sounding winded but eager. “If we can scare ’em good enough, they’ll turn tail and head straight back to their masters. We can follow them in and use the confusion to start bashing hobgoblins.”