The cavern's entrance was devoid of life, the bleating, chill wind ramming into an invisible force. An intangible wall of magic kept the heat in. It reminded Amal of the expensive ice containers an emir or satrap might keep to stave off the heat to store their drinks, only opposite on the temperature spectrum. He only felt the initial buffeting of wind at the entrance, peering in from above the entrance. The carpet peered with him, and when they ascertained the coast was clear, Amal noiselessly dropped from his perch to land on the magical item, soaring into the relative warmth and cavernous corridors of the sorcerer's cavern. 

Amal knew it a sorcerer lived here like he knew the sun rose in the east. He had delved too many tombs and labyrinths in his time to not recognize a lair. It would definitely explain the wyvern not eating Emmaline, the well carved platform, and the increase in heat. Amal crouched low on the carpet, gripping its rim and steering it through varying twists and turns, only the barest hint of a breeze betraying anything was floating around at the top of the ceiling. 

In the distance, a snickering drew Amal's attention. The two turned left, floating into a tunnel dimly lit by light from seemingly nowhere. Below was a goblin that muttered to itself, frustrated, holding incense sticks as it complained to itself. Amal didn't know it was the goblin Emmaline had turned into stone not an hour ago, but he could smell just the smallest whiff of lavender, one of the oils she liked to put on her golden hair whenever they had the opportunity to stop and rest. 

It was surprising to the goblin how silently a man weighing eighty four kilograms could simultaneously land atop him and beside him, and before the diminutive creature could even think to piss itself in fright, it was kicked right into the waiting coils of an animated carpet that wrapped about it like a constrictor, snapping the incense sticks and covering its entire body save its long, hooked nose. It struggled briefly until the glint of a dagger caused it to freeze. Even to a normal man, Amal with a fearsome gleam in his eyes was intimidating wreathed in shadow, but to a goblin, he looked like a massive daemon about to devour him. 

"Quiet," Amal said before the thing could try and screech again, muffled though it would have been. Amal placed the dagger under its nose, ever so lightly digging into the green skin of the monster. He chose to speak in reikspeil. "I'm here searching for my girlfriend. Blonde, blue eyes, big tits? Tell me where she is, and I will not hurt you. Scream, run, or not answer my question, and you will hurt more than you have ever been hurt. Do we have a deal or must I speak slower?"  

The thing nodded dumbly, and ever so slowly the carpet slackened its hold until the goblin tumbled onto the floor. 

"Zog!" It exclaimed in woe, abruptly halting what it was going to say when Amal slapped it hard across the face. 

"Silently," he warned, and the goblin nodded. 

"Yes, 'umie. Yes, just don't tell the boss." 

"Deal." Amal said. 

The goblin still looked reluctant, glancing over its shoulder as if to ascertain how far away the nearest exit was. But it wisely stayed put. "The lady git is with the boss. Two tunnels down that way," it said, pointing what Amal imagined to be west. "He wantz the humie to entertain him to see if she good wife. Now, I go?" 

"Any secret traps?" Amal pressed. 

"No, no. Only when boss expecting someone, but if you here, he not expect you, see?" The goblin asked, and Amal had to give the pathetic thing credit. He was not one to be caught by traps anyway, but he doubted if the sorcerer knew he was here, he couldn't have gotten through the door or would have been attacked by the wyvern outside. 

"Nice, this idiot's given me everything," Amal said in Arabyan, and then nodded amicably, switching languages. "Good job, little one. Now normally I would just kill you, but we had a deal. You might want to stay far away from your masters for a second. In fact..." 

Amal slammed the butt of his dagger onto the goblin's head. It's eyes crossed and it fell to the floor, alive but unconscious. When the thing awoke, if he was still even here, he would lie to it. Turning to the carpet, Amal motioned for it to come closer so he could whisper. 

"Follow behind me twenty paces. Don't show yourself unless we need to make a getaway." He told it, and the carpet waved its ruffles and floated back as Amal pushed the slumbering goblin behind a stalagmite. This way, even if other goblins found it, they would think it just lazy. Amal and his companion delved deeper into the cavern system, following the greenskin's instructions and creeping past a patrol of food bearing goblins flanked by two armed with short swords. He didn't expect there to be any more obstacles between he and the throne room, but at the center of a well-lit tunnel, two goblins armed with spears stood guard. Amal didn't dislike his chances, but he didn't want to announce himself either. At that moment, he heard a strange accent echo down the hall. 

"[b]Better but still not quite there...[/b]," it said, following by a yelp he had heard dozens of times before. 

Amal's black heart had never had a soft spot before. But somehow this woman had made a home in it and lit it up. Just hearing her voice sped his heartbeat up, and he grew angry. Peering past a grove of stalagmites, he saw the two goblins standing relatively still, though there was the occasional bickering and pushing as they each thought the other was making him less alert. He vaguely thought of calling for the carpet to help him do the same ambush as before, but the tunnel was too well lit. They would see him even if he climbed up the wall and crawled along the ceiling, so he had to improvise. 

"Oi ye bleedin' gits, Lunchin' time! Last one's a 'umie!" A high pitched voice rang out from within the caverns. "Oi you two! Ye, guarding the boss! Lunchin' time!" 

"Lunchin' time? It's early innit?" One asked the other. 

"Ye, it's chuesday innit?" The other responded, equally confused. 

"Lunchin's early, ye gits. Never 'ave I seen worse gits soddin' off for the boss." 

"Wot did ye say?" One of them asked, brandishing his spear. "Is that Filkim bak there? Show yeself!" 

"Aye its Filkim, and you can suck on me bleedin' squirtz, ay?" 

For all his urgency, Amal had to keep himself from snickering. He'd done voices before, but never had he had so much fun with them. Small footfalls announced one of the goblins was approaching, and mutterings for Filkim to 'sod off' sounded closer. Amal flipped his knife to a backhanded grip, his arm poised like a spring as the first goblin poked its head, expecting to find a small green troublemaker rather than a tall, brown one. The line of blood that spurted on the wall was a mirror to the clean cut of the goblin's falling corpse. Immediately, Amal dropped the knife and rolled, grabbing the spear as the other goblin down the end of the entrance opened its mouth to scream. Amal threw his spear five meters to pierced the back of the greenskin's mouth, causing its scream to get lost in the fountaining blood gurgles it began to make before it fell, lifeless.  

At some point, Amal had begun to sweat. He took a deep breath and wiped the perspiration from his brow before gathering his knife and the second spear, and sneaking down one more, more ornate corridor until he reached the door to the throne room. Taking a peek, he saw Emmaline approaching the throne just as her hair was finished being tied into an elaborate bun by an unseen force. Amal waited and watched, taking his time like a panther in a tree.