“Right there, where X marks the spot, Stout,” Ser Crom said.

Stout looked at the poorly etched X and swung his club. Dragonbone was a lot tougher than rock or steel and the goblin constructed strut collapsed.

Ser Crom coughed, waving the dust from his face before jotting down another scribble on his map. “See, this is why proper reconnaissance is important. Just a few more, Stout and the work will be complete.”

“Mistress will be happy.”

“Well, it isn’t everyday that one gets to lay waste to a goblin holdfast.”

Stout followed after Crom as they walked the old passages that ran beneath the goblin egg sack chambers. “Think they will hear us?”

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“Undoubtedly, but will they suspect us? I think not. As long as you don’t start singing. They hate that.”

“Why?”

“Because lamia sing and they have the same nesting grounds as goblins.” Ser Crom scratched another X in a poorly fashioned support strut. “If you please, Stout.” One swing later the strut was a heap of rubble. “There, that should do it for this passage.”

Stout glanced up as the cavern ceiling rumbled, shedding sleets of rock and earth but then it stopped. “Will it fall atop of us?”

“Not according to master Sham’s calculations. Not until the rains come and flood the underground river. Don’t worry, we’re quite safe.”

Stout nodded dully. “Master Sham is a smart man for a child.”

“Just because he’s barely twelve years old doesn’t mean he’s a child, Stout. The Tagayur people age much faster than we do, after all.”

“Like how dogs age?”

“Something like that. But never make that comparison in front of anyone else. If the masters hear you compared them to dogs, why they might do something worse than turn you into fish feed.”

“Shouldn’t call them fish, either.”

Ser Crom smacked his lips. “We should change the subject. How’re your wife and kids?”