‘You’ve done it now, Fletcher, you complete idiot,’ Didric exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘There are a dozen slaves here. How do you expect the Celestial Corps to fly all of us out now?’
Fletcher’s heart sank as understanding dawned on him. Didric could be right. The rescue party would be well on its way by now, and there would be no time for reinforcements.
Didric shoved the slave to the opposite tunnel, where Rufus was still cradling his mother. The others followed, cringing away as Didric aimed a kick at them.
‘There will be enough demons to carry them,’ Fletcher said, more hopeful than certain.
‘There will be three to a demon, if you’re wrong,’ Didric growled. ‘How are they supposed to outrun the Wyverns with all that weight on their backs? I can tell you now, I won’t be taking one of them on my ride.’
‘We’ll deal with that later, Didric,’ Malik ordered from across the room. ‘They land in five minutes. Get back to work.’
‘I’ll get back to work when I’m good and—’ Didric began, but stopped as his eye caught sight of something near to the entrance.
Fletcher turned to see a grey torso squirming out of an egg, clawing apart the translucent sack that coated it. Beside it, another egg fell on its side, then a grey fist punched through its outer layer and scrabbled at the ground.
The newborn goblin’s eyes turned to them, pale globes that swivelled back and forth. It opened its mouth and gave an ear-splitting shriek, the cry echoing around the cave and down the tunnel. Cress put an arrow through its skull.
More eggs began to shake and split, hundreds of them, scattered around the ground they stood on. An answering call came echoing down the tunnel – a tumult of screeches that set Fletcher’s teeth on edge. The slumbering goblins had woken.
‘Burn them. Burn them all!’ Othello bellowed. He unleashed a whirlwind of flame that billowed through the nearest pile of eggs. It tore through them like rice paper, shrivelling and charring them until they were no more than withered black sacks. The rest of the team followed suit. Lightning bolts crackled throughout the cavern, eggs exploding left and right, splattering the air with their mangled contents.
‘Sylva, your vial – I’m out of mana!’ Fletcher yelled, as the first goblin charged out of the tunnel, brandishing a war club. Sylva hurled the vial from across the room and Fletcher caught it by the tips of his fingers. In the same moment, he parried the goblin’s flailing club.
Athena swooped in and buried her claws in the goblin’s head. It spun away, squealing, giving Fletcher time to gulp down the bottle. It tasted sickly sweet, like honeyed lavender water.
The mana spilled from his core like a tide of white light, roiling through his veins and down his connection to Athena and Ignatius. Supercharged, Fletcher blasted a ball of fire through the goblin’s chest.
Almost immediately, the pulses of mana began to drain from Ignatius, but Fletcher had had enough of the disobedient Salamander.
‘That’s it! You’re getting out of there.’ He whipped a kinetic lasso into the lake and tugged the demon out, sending him tumbling through the air to land steaming at his feet.
Ignatius shook his head, as if to dislodge an unwanted thought. The demon seemed larger somehow, but there was no time for a thorough examination. More goblins erupted from the tunnel, screeching their war cries, and the bass roar of orcs echoed behind them.
‘Back to the pyramid,’ Fletcher ordered, sending a crackle of lightning through the frontrunners. As he turned, a newborn goblin gripped his ankle, tripping him to the floor. Ignatius slashed its face to the bone with a swipe of his claws and it spun away, squealing.
Then they were up and running. As he neared the entrance, Fletcher saw the others were well ahead, with Othello and Sylva acting as rearguard.
A kinetic ball blurred over his shoulder, the yelp of the downed goblin behind dangerously close. Othello arced another over Fletcher’s head, the explosive force showering him with soil and screams. He glanced back to see the first wave of goblins in disarray, many of them screeching in agony as they burned in the lava they had been blasted into.
‘Come on,’ Sylva yelled as Fletcher sprinted by.
The three barrelled headlong down the tunnel, with Ignatius and Athena scampering behind. Ahead, Sariel and Solomon waited at the base of the pillar. The others were well on their way up the stairs, Jeffrey included.
‘Up, up!’ Fletcher yelled, and they sprinted up the steps. It would not take long for the goblins to regroup.
Solomon went first, for he was the slowest, his stumpy legs struggling to mount the steep steps. Fletcher and Sylva protected the rear, while Othello removed the blunderbuss from his holster and aimed it at the tunnel entrance.
‘What do you see, Fletcher?’ Sylva asked breathlessly, as they backed up the stairs. ‘Are we gonna have a welcoming committee at the top?’