Rook gathered a few stones from the ground and placed them into his quiver just in case. That’s when he heard it, a faint whinny. Like a horse, but not exactly.

  Past Life Proficiency- activated.

  He knew exactly what that sound was. Hell, all of the conjured memories flooded into Rook. He began to remember things he never learned, the taste of foods he never ate, and the loss of friends he never personally knew. Demarcus was riding one into Thrakkamar. He backtracked to the space where Al stood watch. “I think I found a way out. Follow me.” He walked over to Mara and assisted her to her feet. Lucky for him, the potion’s effects were kicking in. Reina, on the other hand, not so much.

  They reached the other room, where Rook heard the animals. Just as he suspected, there was a stable down here with the lizard horses. Thank you, past life proficiency.

  “What are these doing so far underground?” Mara asked, craning her head at the beasts.

  “The goblins use these dragon mares to ride, they can survive long periods of time without food. It’s cruel, but it’s their intended purpose,” Rook answered, surprising the Torokin as well as himself.

  Rook grabbed a set of reins from the wall and tacked the horses up. “At least we’re in stables, I know horses.” Rook peered around, spaced evenly at each corner of the room, and down the middle were lanterns filled with arcane crystals. His mana bar reflected the positive effects of them. Oh yeah, I gotta find out how to take one of these home with me.

  Al set Reina down. “Her breathing has steadied. For now she’s safe, controlling Dawndrasil magic is dangerous to humans. When they are exposed to the smoke, they fall unconscious, become ill, and then die.

  “What psychopath makes something like that?” Rook asked, remembering the painful smoke.

  Footsteps thundered down the smoky hall on the other side of the wooden door. Al shot up and summoned the Dawn blade, sending a shiver running from the base of Rook’s spine to the roots of his hair. A deep-seated dread rose up when he looked at the blade. The fear was palpable, and he felt it deep in his bones. Demarcus must have faced one of these dawndrasil.

  He took a subconscious step backward. The longsword grabbed the darkness from within the stables and glowed bright as the full moon. Rook wasn’t a bladesmith, but even he could appreciate the beauty of the craftsmanship. The elf took a low fighting stance, ringing the sword up in front of him, as he figured a samurai would. A blind samurai, that is.

  “Prep the dragon mares, we must leave this place.”

  Rook used the moment to get his bearings. New surroundings, new challenge. What would his grandpa do? He would saddle these horses and ride them to freedom. If I remember right, there were two paths, and one went up. Peeking into the barred window of a stable door, Rook winced. What the fuck? He was almost certain that Demarcus and his companions were riding them to that black marsh.

  The ogre’s fist burst through the door as Rook finished prepping the carriage. Thank God for the Pineville Amish community nearby. If I hadn’t borrowed so many horses and buggies for joyrides, this would have taken a lot longer.

  Then the Ogre’s horned head was next into the hole.

  Rook was taken aback for the first time because this was a whole new league of ugly. One horn, one big bloodshot eye, and a mouth full of round tortilla chip-shaped teeth. Rook grabbed a handful of dirt from the stable floor and smiled. With a savage throw, he pelted it at the thing’s eye. It’s tremendous orb rapidly blinked in an effort to get the grainy bits of hay free from its wet bulb.

  “Sorry, I would throw something sharper, but I thought this was more funny,” he said to the ogre.

  “Allow me, human.” He strained in concentration. “Dawn, take you ogre bastard.” Al slashed through the empty air, sending a crescent-shaped beam of light directly into the ogre’s face. Its head wriggled for a moment, writhing in pain.

  The ogre screamed, trying to pry its head free of the newly created hole. But the horn was caught, and it couldn’t get free. Mara walked past them and nonchalantly rammed her sword into the ogre’s face, splitting its jaw down the middle.

  You have slain Marshspire Ogre Chief

  You have gained 800 experience

  You have reached level 17

  107 of 975 Experience until level 18

  +2 skill points

  Opportunity quest complete: Liberate the Mine of Struggle

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  You have killed the Marshspire Ogre Chief and appointed the Goblin ‘Raccoon’ to be the new successor.

  Kill the Thunderfist Chief and appoint a new successor

  1/1

  Quest reward

  You have gained 2000 experience

  You have reached level 18

  +1 core attribute

  975 of 1050 Experience until level 19

  He added the point to his dexterity without a second thought. The limp face lay dead in the hole like a stuffed deer mount. Its tongue drooping out of its slack jaw. We did it. Rook stared at the beast’s horn. In his guts, he knew that it was valuable. That alchemists would pay its weight in gold. How could I possibly know that? The memories of Demarcus, the other conjured, flashed in his mind. Oh, that’s how. The illumination of the sword faded, leaving the party in the enveloping darkness once again. Greed and the feeling of victory got the best of him; he sawed into the ogre’s skull, pretending he was dressing a deer. With a loud crack, the horn broke off, and he added it to his inventory.

  Opportunity Quest

  Escape the Mine of Struggle.

  You have liberated the dungeon, making it safe from the Thunderfist goblin occupiers.

  Objective: Using your wits, escape the mine of struggle (beginner dungeon). 0/1

  Rewards

  1200 experience

  Class skillbook (random)

  * * *

  How do I get out of this? Rook looked around the stables. The goblin’s scaly horses whinnied and scraped at the ground with their hooves. They are itching to go. I wonder if they’ll listen to a human?

  “By the Dawn. If you keep waiting here, we’re all going to die,” Al remarked, with a scoff.

  “We? Is there a mouse in your pocket?” Rook asked with a smile.

  “I tire of your strange human metaphors.” The snide elf chuckled, staring off in the distance.

  Unsure if they’d even hold Mara, Rook decided this action was better than no action. He grabbed one of the hanging reins. The studded leather was cracked from overuse. I wonder if I still have it. It had been almost eight years since he’d ridden, and even longer since he’d dealt with a horse. His grandfather taught him how to ride, but a goblin horse. For all he knew, the horse here in Centrulia was going to breathe fire or some other horrible thing. For that matter, if these were common in Centrulia, then Yorthon may have flying mounts they could use one day. Rook’s mouth was bitter with excitement

  His cheeks flushed. “Help me out, I need to rein these horses and strap them to the cart.”

  “Got it,” Mara said, finishing the tack in a practiced speed. Seeming to notice Rook’s face, she smiled. “I had to work jobs as a ferrier and smith to keep the shop running.

  Rook checked the reins on the dragon mares as they chomped noisily on their bits in anticipation. The reins were tight, Rook placed Reina in the goblin wagon, and Mara crouched over her with a great deal more confidence in the wagon than he had. Wagon? More of a big, glorified wheelbarrow. Al took the front seat, looking at a parchment.

  “What’s that?” Rook asked, hoping he was wrong.

  “Do they not have maps of what small, poor human place you come from?” Al responded with a scowl.

  Rook frowned. He was right. “We do have maps. However, a blind man looking at a map is ridiculous even by my standards, and I’m in the Army.”

  “I’m an elf man, don’t make me out to be a human man.”

  A blind navigator, I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea. The late-night TV show about all the ways to die popped into his head. Way to die number 899, directions from a blind man. Rook looked at the scarred plank serving as the bench and warily sat. I’d better not get a splinter in my ass. The dragon mares tossed their heads this way and that, snorting with displeasure.

  “Just get us to the forest entrance, and you can come back to the stables.” Rook gripped the reins.

  “They are wary of humans, and now there are two in their wagon. What do you expect?” the elf questioned.

  Before Rook had a chance to respond, the doors to the stables flew open, flooding the place with blue light. The dragon mares plummeted into the crowd of angry goblins waiting just outside. Not everyone is pleased that we killed the ogre chief. The Thunderfist tribe waved black feathered spears at the wagon. All around them was the skeleton of a town, long since abandoned and destroyed. Frames of buildings, no more than sparse planks and boards, jutted from piles of rubble. Thunderfist goblins appeared in window sills, from behind piles of trash and rubble. They passed an enforcer clawing his way free from a hidden tunnel in a side wall.

  “We’re passing through the crystal mining town.”

  The cart bounced through potholes in the town’s road. The mare skillfully threaded through the piles of litter in their way. There’s just shit everywhere. He checked his mana, sighing contentedly at the reassuring blinking of the crystal’s manipulation. Risking a glance, Rook gazed up at the crystal vein on the ceiling above. The blue crystals pulsed like twinkling stars of sheer power. Power that, for whatever reason, was available to him. I have to get one of those crystals and carry it with me. There has to be a way. Rook checked around; there wasn’t a vein in sight on the floor. All around the town, there were mine carts, ropes, and pulleys. However, in a goblin-infested dungeon, using the equipment was most likely going to get him killed. A pothole broke his daydreaming.

  “Where are we going?” Rook asked at a three-sided fork in the road.

  “To the left,” Al answered, checking the map.

  He was still wearing a blindfold. Eyes working or not, he had to see that this was crazy. Rook sucked in a breath. Pulling the cracked reins tight and the dragon mares reluctantly made the turn, trampling two unlucky goblins. Without missing a hoofbeat, the mares continued, unbothered by the death of the two goblins. I guess lions don’t care about the deaths of sheep, or something like that. They continued into the gloom of the tunnel. Lord, please don’t let me fall into a dark chasm.

  “Right!” Al yelled.

  Rook choked up on the reins and pulled his right hand to his chin, and the dragon mares roared with displeasure but abided. The cart tipped, and he heard Reina roll once like a log in the back.

  “What’s going on!” Reina yelled over the echoing clomping. Mara helped her sit up and grab hold of the bench.

  “We’re getting out of here. Did I ever tell you I am glad you’re ok?!” Rook answered.

  “You humans with your frail constitutions,” Al said.

  Nobody was talking to you. That pang of despair returned in full force. Rook spotted multiple enforcers standing ahead, no more than two hundred meters, pulling a rope tight across the wagon’s path.

  “They’re going to trip us with that rope!” Rook bellowed over the roar of noise.

  A bitter pang of guilt settled in his gut. How could I trust this elf to lead us to the exit?