He woke to the chime of his communication stone—a clear, musical note that cut through the soft morning chaos of yawning dogs, sleepy Pack, and the first sun through the window. Fumbling for the stone, Ethan thumbed it open and pressed it to his ear.

  Gwenna’s voice crackled in his hand, low and urgent.

  “Ethan? Good, you’re up. I need you at the Guild—now. Bring anyone you trust. It’s serious.”

  Ethan promised he’d come and let the connection close, glancing around at the still-warm, half-lit inn and the scattered sleeping shapes of his new family. For a second, the old ache of leaving home threatened to creep in, but the noise and warmth of the morning chased it away. He rose, bracing himself for whatever waited in the city.

  The Pack moved through the morning streets in a tight group, silent but for the soft pad of paws and Mason’s steady footfalls. Ethan led the way, his communication stone still tucked in his pocket, Gwenna’s urgent message repeating in his head. Buster and Lyra flanked the others, eyes scanning for trouble, while Pixie jogged ahead, tail flicking. Moose lumbered at the rear, unhurried but unmissable. Even Mason, quiet and stone-faced, seemed more alert than usual.

  When they reached the Guild, Gwenna was waiting just inside the side entrance, her face set and anxious. She waved them into a back room, then locked the door behind them.

  Aldric and Mabel were already there, both hunched over a map with fresh ink marks on the edges. A stranger—tall, nervous, with the look of someone used to glancing over his shoulder—waited nearby, clutching a folder.

  Gwenna wasted no time. “Glad you made it. This is Tavrin—he’s been feeding us information from inside city offices.” She nodded at the stranger, who nodded back, visibly uncomfortable under the Pack’s collective gaze.

  She turned to the group, her voice low. “The slaver ring is moving again. They’ve been quiet ever since your last raid, Ethan—when you took down that caravan and broke their holding pens, half their leadership went into hiding. The rest scattered or lost so much gold they couldn’t bribe anyone for a while. You put a real scare into them. For a few weeks, the city was almost quiet.”

  She pointed to the docks on the map, tapping hard enough to leave a mark. “But now they’re shipping another batch—tonight or tomorrow, if their plans hold. If they get those captives to the docks, it’s over. The river runs straight out to the ocean—once they’re on a boat, they’ll be scattered across the Kingdom or sold off on other continents. No one will ever find them again.”

  Her hand curled into a fist. “We can’t trust the guards, and the city council is just as bad. I sent a courier with a communication stone to the capital, but help won’t get here before these people are gone.”

  Aldric leaned forward, voice gravelly. “We’ve got a map. Tavrin intercepted a coded message—location’s here, just off Velvet Row, west of the docks. It’s a warehouse with a hidden lower level, and they’re holding the captives there until the tide turns. The window is tight.”

  Mabel tapped the spot on the map. “Velvet Row’s crawling with guards, but half of them are on the take. If any city patrols spot us, they’ll warn the slavers before they help.”

  Buster growled. “How many are we talking?”

  “Fifteen to twenty captives, maybe more,” Tavrin replied. “Three slaver handlers, at least two hired muscle inside. More outside if they catch wind.”

  Lyra’s ears flattened. “What about escape routes? Any safe exits?”

  Aldric nodded. “There’s a service alley behind the warehouse—runs west. You’ll have to keep low and move fast. Any mistake, and the whole district’s on you.”

  Mabel’s eyes flicked to the Pack. “This isn’t Guild business, officially. If you get caught, there’s no help coming from the council. You’ll have to vanish after.”

  Pixie grinned, flashing sharp teeth. “Sounds like a challenge.”

  Moose rumbled quietly, shifting his weight and glancing at Ethan for direction.

  Gwenna folded her arms. “We can’t wait for the Kingdom. We have one shot to do this before the river’s used for smuggling them out. If you have questions, now’s the time.”

  Buster started running through numbers. “Three handlers, two muscle. What about weapons? Traps?”

  Tavrin shook his head. “No magic wards that I saw. One of them carries a mana stun-baton. The rest are crossbows, clubs, and blades. The real threat is the outside eyes.”

  Ethan studied the map, tension tightening in his chest. He looked around at his Pack and saw the readiness there. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get our people out.”

  Aldric’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “That’s why we called you.”

  The room fell into a flurry of whispered strategy. Routes were debated, rooftops marked, timings tested. Even Mason, massive and silent, pointed at the map with a careful finger and gave Ethan a solid thumbs-up.

  As the meeting wound down, Gwenna caught Ethan’s eye. “If this goes wrong—if you need a place to hide, you know where to find us.”

  “We won’t leave anyone behind,” Ethan said.

  He lingered at the table, studying the map. Something nagged at him.

  “Before we lock this in,” he said, tapping the parchment, “do you have any maps of the sewers or tunnels below this part of the city? They’re keeping the captives in a lower level. If we can get underneath, we might avoid the alleys.”

  Tavrin shook his head. “Official plans don’t cover most of the underworks. Guards avoid them.”

  “That’s fine,” Ethan said. “I know people who don’t—the kobolds. They owe me a few favors. If we coordinate with them, we can dig in or open a path straight into the lower level.”

  Aldric grunted. “You trust them?”

  “Yes,” Ethan said. “They hate slavers, and they keep their word.”

  Mabel frowned. “Risky. But the alleys are worse.”

  “If we go underground, I can help with the digging,” Buster said.

  Gwenna nodded. “It’s a better shot than outrunning patrols.”

  They worked through contingencies until the plan held from every angle.

  Aldric pointed to the map. “Once you get them out, don’t take the main roads. Mabel and I will be waiting at the old Lancers’ flat off Cooper’s Lane.”

  “I’ll bring blankets and food,” Mabel added. “There’s a side entrance for the kobolds. Healers will be ready.”

  “We’ll post lookouts,” Gwenna said. “Communication stones only—coded phrases, short bursts.”

  Ethan ran a hand over the map. “We go tonight.”

  Aldric tapped the edge of the parchment. “Collapse the tunnel behind you. Buy time.”

  “Moose can handle that,” Buster said.

  Moose gave a deep chuff, paw thudding once.

  Aldric nodded. “Quiet and final.”

  Ethan met the eyes of Pack and Guild alike and gave a single, steady nod.

  When the meeting broke up, Ethan gathered his Pack near the door. Moose nudged his shoulder in quiet solidarity, Buster double-checked his satchel, and Pixie slipped him a small bag of dried fruit “for bribes, or emergencies.” Lyra scanned the street outside, ears flicking for trouble. Amelia waited close by, eager and anxious.

  Gwenna caught Ethan’s eye. “Keep me updated when you can. I’ll have the stone with me at all times. If anything changes, reach out right away.”

  Ethan nodded, slipping the stone into his belt. “You’ll hear from me as soon as we’re ready—or if we run into trouble.”

  He slipped out into the city with the Pack trailing after him, each step measured and purposeful, the mood all business.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Ethan led them to the nearest sewer grate he could find—a rusted iron cover half-hidden behind the market’s fish stalls. He pried it open, wincing at the smell, and peered down into the darkness. A narrow iron ladder ran the length of the shaft. It was barely wide enough for a person, let alone a pack of dogs and a golem.

  Ethan went first, boots scraping against the rungs, then waited at the bottom. Lyra followed, moving with practiced grace and pausing to make room below.

  Pixie hesitated at the edge, tail fluffed and ears pinned back. Ethan glanced up and opened his arms. “Trust me,” he said quietly. Pixie took a deep breath and dove, paws outstretched. Ethan caught her, staggered a bit, then set her down gently. She gave a huff that was equal parts pride and embarrassment, then shook herself and looked away as if it had been her plan all along.

  Buster grumbled, “No way am I trusting those rungs.” He summoned a thick twist of living vines from the satchel on his back, looped them around the ladder, and used them to lower himself down—paws braced against the wall, the vines taking his weight as he guided himself to the bottom.

  Moose surveyed the shaft, judged the drop, and simply let himself slide through the opening. As he landed, the dirt and stones in the tunnel shifted and softened—nature magic coaxing roots and moss to rise up just enough to cushion his fall. The ground barely shuddered, and Moose rumbled approval.

  Amelia eyed the ladder, then awkwardly climbed down—rung by rung, tail waving for balance, paws slipping and scrabbling but determined. Lyra was there to steady her at the bottom, nuzzling her in silent encouragement.

  When they were all finally assembled in the tunnel, Ethan counted heads and gave a nod. The Pack was a little rumpled, but no worse for wear.

  Ethan led the way, the Pack following single file as the tunnel stretched out before them, damp and echoing under the city. Water dripped from overhead pipes. Their footsteps and the soft click of claws on stone faded into the deeper hush of the underground.

  Ethan’s memory of the kobold city was hazy at best—just a rough direction, a handful of landmarks, and the way the tunnels had twisted back on themselves during his last visit. Still, he pressed on, watching for any sign: a chalk arrow, a colored scrap of cloth, or the faint smell of wood smoke and cooked root vegetables that marked kobold territory.

  Pixie’s nose twitched as she trotted beside him. “Smells like mushrooms and burnt garlic,” she whispered. “Think we’re close?”

  Buster sniffed, then wrinkled his muzzle. “Definitely kobolds nearby. Or something that eats garbage.”

  Moose’s footsteps thudded steadily at the rear, keeping the group together. Lyra checked each side passage with a quick, quiet glance, alert for any hint of movement.

  They passed two more intersections, then paused as Ethan spotted a faded chalk mark—a spiral, just like the ones the kobolds had used as waypoints. He let out a low whistle, more hopeful than certain.

  It took another turn and a careful squeeze through a low arch before Ethan heard voices ahead—a cluster of kobold chatter echoing through the darkness. A faint, steady glow spilled from the stones ahead, painting the walls in soft, blue-green light.

  Ethan raised a hand for the Pack to pause, then stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Looking for friends,” he called softly. “It’s Ethan.”

  After a brief, tense pause, a kobold sentry stepped into the glow, eyes narrowing until he recognized Ethan. The sentry signaled to his companions, then nodded once and gestured for the group to follow.

  Relief rippled through the Pack. Ethan glanced back, met Lyra’s eyes, and gave a quick nod. With the kobolds as guides, they slipped deeper into the tunnels, heading for the heart of kobold territory—and, hopefully, a plan.

  After winding through twisting tunnels and passing more chalk-marked waypoints, the Pack stepped out into a vast underground cavern. The ceiling arched overhead—higher than a cathedral, studded with glowing stones and carved ledges. Dozens of kobolds moved between stone huts, rope bridges, and stacked crates. The air was thick with the scent of earth, cooking roots, and the faint tang of mushrooms.

  To one side, a massive lizard-crocodile—at least ten feet long, charcoal-skinned and blunt-toothed—was roasting on a spit above a bed of coals. Five kobolds worked together to turn the giant creature, calling out rhythms and swapping jokes as fat sizzled into the fire. The smell was rich and wild, smoke drifting through the cavern and mixing with the scents of root stew and baked mushrooms.

  The kobold sentry led them along a narrow path toward a raised platform at the center of the cavern, where the chieftain waited. Gritstone—broad-shouldered, old scars on her scales, a heavy bone necklace around her neck—watched the newcomers with a sharp, unwavering gaze. Two guards flanked her, posture stiff but respectful.

  Gritstone looked at Ethan and the Pack. She nodded once. “You come with pack. Why here?”

  Ethan stepped forward, glancing back once to be sure his group was close behind. He met Gritstone’s gaze. “There are slavers holding innocent people underground, below Velvet Row. We need your help to find a quiet, safe way in and out—so we can rescue them before they’re moved.”

  Kipik, brimming with pride, translated for the group—loud and earnest: “Bad men catch many. Hide people under Velvet Row. Pack need help—quiet, safe way. Go in, get out fast!”

  Gritstone’s eyes narrowed, and she nodded slowly, understanding both Ethan’s words and Kipik’s. “Velvet Row bad. Guards see all. Tunnels worse. Why you help?”

  Ethan answered, “The city’s corrupt. Most guards take bribes. The Guild can’t act. No one else is coming for these people—just us and, hopefully, you.”

  Kipik thumped his tail and echoed, “City broken. Guards want shiny-shiny. Guild hide. No help. Only Pack, only kobold. Good reason.”

  Gritstone looked the Pack over, then nodded. “Good heart. Big risk.” She jerked her chin to her runners. “Bring maps. Kipik help.”

  Several kobolds hurried over, laying patchwork tunnel charts across the stone table. Ethan unslung his map, spread it beside theirs, and they all bent close.

  Gritstone pointed with one claw. “Old sewer—here. Under Row. Not safe, but open. New tunnel—here. Not kobold. Slaver make. Bad. Weak.”

  Ethan nodded, doing his best to match her speech. “Want quiet way. Not seen. Get people. Leave. Block path after.”

  Kipik thumped his tail again. “We guide! Pack stay close. Tunnels not forgive lost. Kobolds best diggers. We block way, no one follow.”

  Pixie grinned, curiosity burning in her eyes. “How fast?”

  Kipik flashed teeth. “Fast-fast! Before big-humans eat!”

  Mason gave a big thumbs-up. Buster and Lyra shared a quiet, relieved look.

  Ethan let out a slow breath, feeling some of the tension lift. “Thank you. Good debt.”

  Gritstone grinned, showing teeth. “Pack owe, but good trade.”

  Maps and glow stones were gathered up. Kipik waved them onward, beaming. “Follow Kipik. Pack safe now. Kobolds guide best way.”

  Ethan caught Gritstone’s faint smile as they moved out. His broken kobold was rough, but here, it worked.

  Maps and glow stones were gathered up. Kipik waved them onward, beaming—then paused, raising a claw.

  “Wait, Pack-friend. Short time. We bring best warriors, best diggers. You need strong help. Kobolds fast.” He turned and barked orders to a knot of runners, who scattered at once, darting between huts and stone bridges.

  Gritstone watched the Pack, approving. “Kobold clan help much. Many strong, good dig.”

  Ethan nodded, quiet gratitude in his voice. “Thank you, Kipik. We’ll be ready.”

  Kipik grinned. “You wait here. We come quick.” Already, the sound of hurried footsteps and clattering tools echoed across the cavern as kobold teams assembled.

  Pixie, watching, murmured, “They’re better at this than half the Guild.”

  Moose rumbled low, clearly impressed, while Buster checked his own gear, tail flicking with anticipation.

  Ethan stepped aside and pressed the communication stone to his palm, focusing. Gwenna’s voice answered almost instantly.

  “We’re in. The kobolds are gathering warriors and diggers now,” Ethan reported.

  Gwenna replied, her voice low but energized, “Perfect timing. Tavrin and I are getting ready to release a few slimes near the warehouse. They’re the slow, harmless kind—nothing for the city folk to worry about, just a mess. We’ve got them in a barrel with a loose lid, so they’ll ooze out after we’re clear. It’s like setting a timer. Once the slimes are loose, most of the guards will be pulled outside to deal with the chaos.

  It’ll cause enough noise and confusion to keep eyes off the warehouse, and if anything goes sideways, it buys you breathing room—the city’s going to be focused on slimes, not on a missing door or a shadow in the alleys. It also gives the Guild a perfect excuse to be seen in the area—if anyone asks, we’re just helping with the slime problem. Adventurers can move through the district without anyone thinking twice, and the patrols will be too busy to wonder why the Guild is around at all.

  I’ll send you a message on the stone the moment it starts. Wait for my signal before you move. If anything changes, I’ll update you immediately.”

  “Understood,” Ethan replied, relief and anticipation sharpening his focus. He tucked the stone away and rejoined the Pack.

  It wasn’t long before a small group of tough-looking kobold warriors—each carrying stone-tipped spears, thick clubs, or old shields—lined up at the platform, joined by a half-dozen wiry diggers with ropes, picks, and pouches of soft blue glow stones. Kipik returned, bouncing on his toes. “All ready. We go fast. You follow Kipik now!”

  Gritstone gave Ethan a final nod. “You safe in tunnels. We show good way.”

  Ethan caught a last look at the cavern—a giant lizard-crocodile roasting on the spit, kobolds working in teams, runners darting past with tools and glow stones, the whole city alive and ready for action.

  He nodded, feeling the Pack steady around him. When Kipik beckoned, they slipped into the shadows of the tunnels—every step measured, the mission clear.

  The tunnels twisted and narrowed as Kipik led the Pack and the kobold team deeper underground. The blue-green glow of their stones shimmered over fresh scratch marks and the uneven edges of new digging. The air smelled damp, with a faint tang of churned earth and old root.

  As they rounded a final bend, Ethan blinked in surprise: a line of kobolds—mud-spattered, still panting—were just emerging from a freshly dug tunnel, each rolling or dragging barrels and sacks full of loose dirt. A few wiped their snouts, exchanging grins and bits of banter as they passed Kipik and the Pack.

  Ethan couldn’t help staring. “You finished this just now?”

  Kipik flashed a toothy grin. “Kobolds dig quiet, dig fast. Good at hiding. City not know. We work while Pack talk with Big-Boss.”

  One of the diggers, a young kobold covered head to toe in dust, hauled the last barrel out and gave a tiny salute. “All clear, Kipik. Only thin dirt left.”

  Kipik ducked into the new passage and motioned for Ethan to follow. The tunnel here was fresh, the marks of shovels and clawed hands obvious in the loose soil. At the very end, just a thin, packed wall of dirt separated them from their goal.

  Ethan ran a hand along the tunnel wall, still half in awe. “You’re incredible. No wonder nobody ever finds you down here.”

  Kipik puffed his chest. “Kobold secret: always digging. Always listening. No one see, no one hear.”

  A wiry kobold pressed an ear against the last thin wall and nodded. “Quiet. Ready when Pack ready.”

  Ethan gathered his group close and nodded to Kipik. “We wait for the signal. When it’s time, you break through. We’re right behind you.”

  Kipik’s tail thumped the ground, excitement in every line of his posture. “Pack safe with kobold. We close tunnel after. No one follow.”