by Jim C. Hines
It landed in Ropak's hair. Ropak scowled and raised his club. "That was Golaka's fire-spider! You had it all along?"
Jig leapt out of the way as the club crashed into the rock behind him. Ropak spun again, then stopped. He touched one hand to his head, where flames had begun to spread through his hair.
"Get it off of me!" he screamed, a very different tone than his earlier threats. When nobody moved to help him, Ropak addressed the problem the same way he addressed every problem: he tried to smash it with his club. There was a loud, sharp thud, and Ropak dropped like a rock.
Owl rubbed his forehead. "Are all goblins this stupid?"
Jig's gut was tight, but then he saw the spider scurrying away from Ropak's still-burning scalp. He sighed with relief.
"What is that horrible thing?" Bluejay demanded. She pointed at the spider and snapped, "Kill it."
The bluejay needed no further urging. It flew straight at the spider.
"No!" Jig grabbed Ropak's club and swung as hard as he could.
He missed horribly. The momentum of the swing twisted him off-balance, and he could do nothing but watch as the bird swooped toward the spider, claws outstretched.
The fire-spider ran past its web, then turned around, almost defiantly. An instant before the bird's claws tore through the web, the spider lifted one leg and touched the nearest strand.
The web went up in flames.
The bluejay tried to swerve, but it was too late. Flaming web stuck to its wings and legs, igniting its feathers as it flew past the spider and crashed to the ground. The burning bird fluttered into the air, bouncing off of the wall in its panic. Bluejay staggered and fell. Owl drew a nasty-looking curved sword from his belt and advanced toward Jig.
This time, when Jig swung the club, he didn't miss. A single blow put the poor bluejay out of its misery and sent it hurtling into Owl's feather shirt. It, too, caught fire. Owl stumbled back, frantically trying to pat himself out, but the flames were spreading too quickly. He fled, shouting for water.
Jig tossed the club aside. He tore a scrap from Ropak's shirt and used it to scoop up the still-smoldering bird. He grabbed the fire-spider with his other hand and sprinted blindly down the tunnel. After a few steps, he realized nobody was following.
Bluejay hadn't moved. The death of her bird had apparently put her into some kind of shock. Whatever bond cloudlings shared with their birds, it had its disadvantages.
Jig wondered how long it would last. They'd post more guards, making it impossible for the hunters to get to the surface. And what would happen when the cloudlings came deeper into the tunnels, hunting down and killing every single goblin they found?
All of Jig's instincts ordered him to flee, but instead, he turned and began to creep back. He nudged Ropak's body with one toe. Ropak didn't move, so Jig gave him a good, solid kick...just to be sure.
Nothing happened. And Bluejay was still in shock. He looked around at the remaining birds, many of which were still happily hunting for grubs and other bugs by the light of Ropak's still-burning body.
Jig opened his pouch. Never taking his eyes off Bluejay, he began to sprinkle fire-spider eggs into the cracks in the walls. There had to be hundreds of the tiny eggs, each one a dull black bead. Within weeks, they would become hundreds of baby fire-spiders.
Eventually, the spiders would leave, seeking the warmth of the deeper tunnels. But that wouldn't happen until they were fully grown, and Jig doubted the cloudlings would stick around that long. Not with their precious birds going up in flames at every meal.
Jig scurried into the darkness, the burnt bird clutched tightly in one hand, his fire-spider in the other. He set the fire-spider in his hair, grimacing at the feel of smudged soot on his face and hands.
"Smudge," Jig said, testing the name. He considered something more warlike, like Birdslayer or Ropak's Bane, but Smudge just sounded right. "You'll have to stay in the pouch when we get there, Smudge. Otherwise it's back to Golaka's kitchen."
He tossed the bird from hand to hand as he walked. He had gone into cloudling tunnels and come out alive. This should earn him a bit of respect. If nothing else, it would get the bigger goblins to leave him alone for a little while.
And that was all Jig wanted.
_____
Author's Note: And now you know how Jig first met Smudge. This story was originally published as "Goblin Hero," back when I thought the second goblin book would be titled Goblin Mage.
I'm rather proud of the Cloudlings. They're a fun race, and this was actually the second time I had written about them. The first was in a story called "Spell of the Sparrow," which appeared in Sword & Sorceress XXI. "Spell of the Sparrow" also introduced a character named Mel Lapin,who would show up a few years later in another goblin story...
School Spirit
In her short time at Os-Webra, Veka had endured the taunts and pranks of her fellow students with tremendous grace...for a goblin. In truth, the students here were amateurs compared to the goblins back home. A spider magically hidden in one's lunch was nothing. Where Veka grew up, that would be a tasty garnish, not to mention a courtship ritual.
Still, Veka was starting to think the humans were right. She didn't belong here. The stained robe she had brought with her from the lair smelled like stale mushrooms and barely covered her bulk. Blue skin peeked out through holes in the elbows. Back home, they laughed at her for being a fat, stuck-up goblin with delusions of wizardry. Here, they laughed at her for being a goblin.
Today though, she had more to worry about than mockery—things like old curses that killed students in particularly nasty ways.
Veka rubbed one of the curved fangs on her lower jaw as she stared at the sandstone wall of the mausoleum. The newest engraving read, Theolyn of Salvati, Apprentice Magi.
Theolyn had been a few years older than Veka. According to rumor, he had used a teleportation charm to remove various organs from his own body until he died.
Veka's oversized ears twitched, tracking whispers and footsteps in the hallway. Sound traveled strangely in Os-Webra, with its open passages and high walls. Her fingers tightened around her staff.
The door swung inward. A gangly, dark-skinned boy named Jimar stepped through, followed by several of his friends. "I told you she'd be here," Jimar said. Like most humans, he was taller than Veka, though she outmassed him. His robes were the finest silk, and he claimed the blue clan scars on his face marked him as a minor noble. Veka thought he looked like he had lost a fight with a woodpecker.
"What are you doing, goblin? Looking for leftovers?"
When Theolyn died, the humans had built an enormous pyre and placed his body at the center. How was she supposed to know humans cremated their dead instead of cooking them? She had figured it out quickly enough, but not before Jimar and his ilk had spotted her standing at the pyre, fork in hand.
Veka flattened her ears and bowed her head, trying to block out the memory of their taunts. Beads and bones rattled as the tangled braids of her black hair fell across her face. Back home, she had thought the trinkets in her braids made her look mysterious. These days, her hair was hopelessly snarled, but she wasn't quite ready to cut it all off.
"Be careful, Veka," said the girl behind Jimar. Veka couldn't remember her name. "Dakhan's curse could take you next, transforming you into a hideous monster. Oh, wait...."
Veka inhaled the alien sweetness of the incense-burning braziers hanging from the walls. She tried to calm herself the way the Masters taught: Breathe in, breathe out. This was but a moment, and all moments ended.
"Theolyn was my friend, goblin," said Jimar. There was no humor in his words. Veka's ears perked, following his movements. "Letting a foul, filthy, fat monster in here is like spitting on his memory. I should—"
The end of Veka's staff cracked against Jimar's head. Jimar fell, whimpering.
All moments ended, but some needed to be helped along.
Veka gripped her staff with both hands and bared her fangs at the other h
umans. She counted four. Five, if you included Jimar. Several wore the light robes of advanced students, and they all looked angry enough to kill. Veka stepped back, wondering if they would use magic or simply rip her apart with their bare hands.
"Hey, who decided to throw a party in the mausoleum?" Veka would have known this human at once, even without the spectral gray cat that scampered at her feet. Young, cheerful, and graceful as a dancer, Melanie Lapan—Veka's roommate—slipped into the room.
"That goblin attacked me," Jimar said. "She wants to kill me!"
"We all want to kill you, Jimar." Mel reached down to help Jimar to his feet. "You're a jackass."
Jimar slapped her hand away. "This is no joke, Mel. She's a monster. Maybe the stench doesn't bother you, but wait until she slips into your cot some night for a midnight snack."
"Is that what you're worried about?" Mel laughed. "I doubt Veka would eat you. There's barely enough meat on those bones to feed a baby goblin."
By now, everyone had forgotten about Veka. Their attention was on Mel and Jimar. Veka clenched her jaw. This was her fight, not Mel's.
But Mel actually won her fights. She tried to ignore that thought.
"You'd side with her?" Jimar asked.
"She's a new student. She hasn't even earned her novice robe. Why are you so afraid of her?"
"Afraid? Of that—"
"Or could all this bluster be a mask for something deeper?" Mel asked, winking at one of the girls. "Could the fierce desert noble be smitten with our blue-skinned beauty?"
"How dare you!" Jimar's hand went to his belt.
Mel raised a black wand with a beaded grip. "Lose something?" She flicked Jimar's wand a few times. Her ghost cat started to leap and bat at the end.
"Where I come from, thieves have their hands cut off," Jimar said, his gaze never leaving the wand.
Mel gave it a twitch, and Jimar's belt unknotted itself. He tried to grab it, but missed. The belt slithered out of the room like a serpent. Mel's cat pounced after the end.
Jimar raised his hands. "You arrogant little—"
Mel pointed the wand at his chest. "Try it."
The room went silent. Though she had only been here a year, Mel had already earned the blue robe of a third-year student. The only reason she still wore a burgundy robe was because it went better with her pale skin and dark hair.
Slowly, Jimar backed down. He bowed his head and extended one hand. The other held his robe shut.
From his expression, it looked like the humiliation caused him physical pain. Either that or he was constipated. Veka still had trouble reading human expressions.
Mel slapped the wand into his hand. "Go quickly, before your belt crawls down a privy."
He left, followed by his friends, several of whom were laughing again. Mel had that effect on people. Everyone liked her. Time and again she was disciplined for some prank or minor theft, but where Veka's failings were seen as proof of her worthlessness, Mel's antics only made her more popular. The younger students worshipped her, even Jimar. After a few friendly words, and he'd be singing her praises as loudly as the rest.
Veka shoved past Mel and walked toward the door.
"You're welcome," said Mel.
"I didn't ask for your help, human."
"Sorry," Mel said. "Next time I'll let them pummel you."
Mel's cat raced back into the room. He scrambled right through Veka's leg, leaving her feeling as though she'd stepped into an icy pond. Stupid ghost cat.
"Hello, Snick." Mel snapped her fingers, and the cat leapt onto her shoulder. Mel always wore a scarf with her robe to protect her from Snick's spectral chill. "Jimar deserved a good thumping, but when you lash out, you're only proving to everyone that you're a monster."
Veka scowled. "I didn't ask for your advice either."
"What were you doing here? I didn't think you knew Theolyn."
"I wanted to know how he died," Veka said. "When you grow up in the tunnels, you have to be aware of things that can kill you."
"Dakhan's curse," Mel said. "It happens every year. Somebody gets cocky and decides he's the Prince of Os-Webra. Next thing you know, he's leaping from the wall or drowning himself in the cistern."
"Who's Dakhan?"
Mel stared. "You don't know?"
"People talk about me. They don't talk to me."
"Dakhan was a dark wizard. Os-Webra was his desert fortress centuries back, until he slept with the wrong local princess. There was a nasty war, and Dakhan was caught and executed. They dismembered him and scattered his body throughout the desert to prevent his resurrection. They say his last words were a prophecy."
Snick hopped to the ground as Mel drew up the hood of her robe. She lowered her voice and raised her shoulders. "‘One day a wizard shall come, one whom even death fears. He shall call, and I shall place upon his brow my crown of fire. The Prince of Os-Webra shall know power unimagined by man or god.'"
Mel cleared her throat. "It goes on for a while. Lots of 'shalls' and 'whoms' and such. Dakhan was a wordy bastard. The curse is one of the disadvantages to building a school in the fortress of a dead madman. On the other hand, there's plenty of magic running through these walls."
Veka licked her lips. A long-dead wizard, one who could reach out from the grave...
"Veka?" Mel grabbed her arm, momentarily serious. "Everyone who's tried to claim Dakhan's power has died. Even the Masters. You can barely cast the simplest spells. You'd be crazy to try."
Veka shook herself free. "I cast a fair levitation charm."
"I'm sure that will be a great comfort when Dakhan's curse turns you inside out."
"Don't worry. I'm a goblin, remember?" Veka said. "We survive by running away from danger, not inviting it to kill us."
She slipped out of the room, her mind racing. Forget the stupid prophecy. Who wanted to wear a crown of fire anyway? Veka was more interested in the way Dakhan could still reach out after his death. He had been cut up and scattered to the desert, and he still survived to murder students.
That was a trick any goblin could appreciate.
* * *
Unfortunately, the only way Veka could think of to uncover whatever magic Dakhan had used to defeat death was to summon him. Given Theolyn's messy fate, she wasn't about to try it herself.
That was what roommates were for.
During dinner, she bribed one of the older students to share the spell for conjuring Dakhan. At first he laughed at her. Then he tried to scoff and laugh at the same time, and ended up coughing for several minutes. His face was still red as he wrote out the runes in exchange for Veka's dessert. Dessert, and the thought that Os-Webra would soon be rid of its lone nonhuman student.
Veka kept her ears flat, ignoring their jibes as she hurried away. She had what she wanted.
Mel always stayed out with her friends after dinner, which meant Veka had time to strip Mel's bed and prepare the spell. For close to an hour, Veka crouched with her knife, carefully etching the runes of conjuration into the sandstone beneath Mel's mattress.
Most students at Os-Webra had expensive, ornate knives with handles carved of unicorn horn or a dragon's tooth, and engraved blades of mystical metal for spellcasting. The sheaths were even worse, brimming with beads and bells and other knickknacks. They dressed their weapons like little dolls.
Veka's knife was a goblin weapon, a piece of steel rubbed with a rock until it was sharp enough to kill, with leather wrapped around the handle.
She pressed her finger against the tip, then smeared blue blood into the runes. Blood of life to lure death.
Her plan was perfect. Mel would face Dakhan, and Veka would trace Dakhan's spell back to its source.
She busied herself with her spellbook, pretending to study when Mel finally arrived. She was sure she would be able to stop Mel from killing herself. Almost sure.
Six hours later, Mel was snoring on her bed, and Veka was no longer sure about anything.
Mel showed no sign of possession. The m
oonlight had crept across half the floor, and it was all Veka could do to stifle her own yawns.
She glared at Mel. What was the problem? Did Mel have some sort of magical ward to protect her?
More likely, Veka had messed up the runes. She lay back and sighed. Their beds were little more than holes carved into the stone walls, so that only a lip of stone protruded. The hard rock reminded her of home, but the reddish brown sandstone was so different from the obsidian walls of her lair.
Veka looked up at the ceiling, remembering those first awful days at Os-Webra. She had barely been able to convince the Masters to let her stay, even after giving them the meager coins she had swiped from some of the other goblins back home. And nobody wanted to room with her, especially after word spread of how human food affected her. Her stomach still gurgled at the mere thought of that dry, nasty stuff humans called bread.
The other goblins had said she was crazy to come here. A goblin becoming a wizard? What madness. Next thing you knew, rats would be demanding knighthood.
And they were right. She could barely follow the spells in her books, let alone cast them. Her potions turned into pasty sludge. Her runework was, in the words of Master Lia, "like the scratching of a diseased jackal."
She was a joke, and she didn't belong. She closed her eyes. The worst thing was, sooner or later, Mel would find the runes beneath her mattress. Mel could be very forgiving of most things, but something like this....
Of course, there was a good chance Veka's runes would be so incomprehensible that Mel wouldn't realize what she had tried to do. It was bittersweet comfort at best.
* * *
Veka awoke to the sensation of needle-thin icicles jabbing her armpit. She jerked away so hard she fell out of bed. Her hip and elbow smacked the floor. Stupid humans, building their beds so high off the ground. Snick pounced after her, planting his feet squarely within her chest.
Veka squirmed and batted her hands through Snick's head until he got up. "I'm going to track down the biggest, meanest hunting dog I can find. Then I'm going to kill it so its ghost can spend eternity chasing yours."