Then his blood ran colder still as he caught sight of the two goblins advancing toward Zarah and Narg—Gobbo and Zonk.
One of them, among the two who had torn through his soldiers with terrifying ease, Gobbo.
That wasn't good.
If those two joined the fight now, his chances were finished. He would be crushed between them, pinned with no hope of escape.
Amon made his choice. He would run.
Snarling, he swerved sideways, narrowly avoiding an arrow that hissed past his head. He slammed his staff into the ground, summoning a wall of vines behind him. The tendrils surged upward, thick and wild, just in time to intercept the fireball Narg hurled. The explosion lit the barrier, burning away the first layer, but it bought him the space he needed.
He bolted.
His feet pounded against the dirt, every muscle screaming with pain as he forced his battered body forward. But then—
Shhrrkk!
