Skwee scratched at the scales on his head. His goblin eyes had long since adjusted to the gloom of the cave, so he didn’t have any trouble seeing, yet the wonky rock shapes of the dead-end didn’t look familiar to him at all. He’d arrived in Darkfill Cave the week before, immediately after his resurrection, and was still having trouble finding his way around. The winding cavern was supposed to be easy to navigate, with conveniently placed boxes and barricades to create a linear journey, all of which eventually circled back to the main entrance. Although you had to pull a lever on the other side so newcomers would still have to take the long way round. It was all very confusing, and yet none of the other goblin minions appeared to mind. They wandered the corridors without much awareness of where they were going, blank expressions plastered onto their pointy faces.

  Skwee wondered why they’d been sent here in the first place. There didn’t seem to be any strategic reason that they should occupy this particular cavern, but The Master had been very insistent. Something about being bait. For who or what, Skwee didn’t have the foggiest idea. There was a very shiny sword that they seemed to be guarding, but it wasn’t locked up or anything. In fact it sat on a big pedestal, right out in the open. Of course they weren’t allowed to touch it. But what good was having a powerful weapon if they couldn’t even use it to defend themselves? Maybe The Master was worried they would break it.

  This had been his third position in two months with the Dark Army and he was still desperate to fit in. “Fitting in” meant not asking too many questions and keeping your head down. After having upset The Master as an assistant, he’d been crushed into a tiny ball, promptly healed and relegated back to the lowest of the low. Level one minion. That was fine by Skwee, as he was just happy to be involved. Even if it included the most excruciating and humiliating experience of his life.

  It had been Skwee’s dream to work for an evil overlord. He’d been over the moon when his minion application had been accepted. Tears had filled his eyes as he read the letter to his brood-mother. Then he’d packed up his bindle, waved goodbye to all thirty-three siblings and left the swamp for good.

  Skwee stopped tapping his chin and turned back. This wasn’t the way. He was feeling rather peckish now as he’d been looking for the fire pit for over an hour. Maybe he should have taken the other left past the not-so-secret loot room?

  A scream echoed through the darkness. Skwee froze, heart pounding. It was unmistakably goblin.

  This was it. Time for action. Follow the steps from the training seminar.

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  He yelled, as if by instinct, ‘You’ll regret coming here, stranger!’ Then headed towards the sound.

  His little feet slapped the stone as he veered around the corner, but stopped dead at the sight of the room. Three goblins lay motionless in the cavern, green blood decorating the walls. Skwee felt the bile build in the back of his throat. His eyes darted around the emptiness as he panted, sweat dripped down his sides. There was a phrase he was supposed to use at times like this. What was it?

  ‘Must have just been the wind,’ he said with deliberation. That was it. It was a phrase to make it less embarrassing for you that there was actually no-one there. Then you were just talking to yourself. But on the off chance there was someone there, they would think you thought there was no one there. Or something like that. It made his head hurt when they’d tried to explain it to him.

  A swarm of goblins scuttled in through a side passage and scattered into the room, daggers drawn. They must have heard the commotion too. Skwee let out a sigh of relief. They would know the protocols and he could follow along.

  A shadow flickered. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

  A squeal. A goblin dropped to the floor, throat spilling blood. The flicker moved. Another goblin fell, head sliced clean off.

  Panic set in. The other goblins ran in all directions, frantically shouting the lines from training.

  ‘Die, adventurer!’

  ‘Not so cocky now, human scum!’

  ‘Must have been the wind.’

  All the while Skwee could see the fear and helplessness in their eyes. He felt it too. He didn’t want to die, not again. Not like this. The resurrection had been the second most painful experience of his life, dying being the first.

  Figures burst into the cavern. Humans clad in shining armour, weapons glowing with magical power, faces strong and confident. Skwee was in awe.

  The armoured woman pointed her mace forward. ‘Xenixala give me an enchantment of bolster before I cast my shadow rune. It’ll give me a bonus to my casting power.’

  The robed Xenixala waved a dismissive hand, ‘Oh shut up Panella.’

  ‘We discussed this before the raid!’ Panella shouted. ‘And for hell’s sake watch out for Jimmy, he’s being stealthy.’

  But Xenixala had already begun chanting, a glow sparking from her hands. She stumbled and threw her arms forward. Skwee yelped, dropped his rusty dagger and dived to the ground. The stone floor sent a sharp pain through his side as a fireball flew overhead. It exploded behind him, sending a pulsating wave of heat through the cave. Goblins screamed in agony, their faces melting as the flames engulfed them.

  Skwee rolled across the floor towards a pile of his decapitated colleagues and thrust himself under their warm, motionless bodies.

  ‘I don’t want to die,’ he whimpered to himself. ‘Oh please don’t let me die. I have so much left to take.’ Tears streamed down his cheeks, mixing with the blood of his comrades.

  He needed to stay quiet and still, but he couldn’t stop trembling. He clenched his eyes shut and thought of his brood-mother, of freshly baked rat-pie and summer mornings by the bog.

  If he had known minion life was like this, he never would have applied.