by Jim C. Hines
Fire-spiders twitched and crawled in response to her voice, some crawling deeper into their webs, others moving toward the source of the sound. Jig searched for Smudge, wondering if he would even know his own spider from the rest.
“We’re here,” whispered Jig, trying to block the cave from their sight. He spotted a patch of mirrored ebony on the ground near the back of the cave. That would be the pool where the fire-spiders laid their eggs.
The pixies would kill him the moment they suspected betrayal. No, that wasn’t true. Farnax already suspected him. Regardless, Jig would have to move swiftly.
He studied the webs. The majority hung near the entrance, which made sense. Few insects would survive to make it deeper into the cave. The only real gap was directly in front of the tunnel, which helped the air flow freely through the cave. That opening gave Jig his only chance. He tensed his legs, drawing them up as much as he could in the confines of the tunnel. His hands gripped the rock to either side.
“What is it?” asked Pynne.
Jig kicked her as hard as he could. He heard Farnax swear as Pynne crashed into him, and then Jig was launching himself into the cave. He stayed low to the ground, but his ear tore through one web, then he caught another with his arm.
The fire-spiders reacted instinctively, the way fire-spiders always reacted to threats. They retreated, igniting their webs as they fled. Jig crawled as fast as he could, flinging himself into the shallow pool even as his sleeve and hair went up in flames. Water hissed and steamed. Jig rolled over and squinted through streaked lenses as the pixies burst into the cave at full speed.
Farnax was first through, flying too fast to avoid the webs. His blue light nearly disappeared as he tore through the flames. His body crashed into the far side of the cave and dropped, completely engulfed.
Pynne fared slightly better. Farnax had torn enough of an opening that only her wings caught fire. She spun and flew back into the tunnel, tumbling to the ground.
Jig crawled back out, doing his best to avoid the furious fire-spiders and the remains of their webs. Up ahead Pynne was frantically trying to rip the flaming bits of web from her wings. Jig slid his sword free, holding it ahead of him.
Pynne’s light brightened when she saw him. Ignoring her smoldering wings, she raised her hands to cast a spell. Jig didn’t have room for a proper attack, but he managed to smack her arms with the flat of the blade.
Pynne screamed, clutching her arms. Jig crawled closer and pressed the tip of his blade to her chest.
“Stop!” Pynne shouted. She twisted back, breaking part of her burned wing in her desperation to avoid the sword. “Please, keep it away.” Dark burn marks covered her arm and hand where Jig had struck her.
Her right wing was mostly intact, but the left was barely half its previous size. The ragged edge glowed orange, like an ember.
Jig risked a quick glance back, to make sure Farnax was dead. He needn’t have bothered. Fire-spiders swarmed over the body, leaving only the faintest cracks of blue light visible.
He heard Pynne moving and lunged, but she twisted aside. She pointed at Jig, and his sword twisted in his hand. No, not the sword itself, but the leather wrapped around the hilt.
Pynne stumbled back. “Your blade might be death-metal, but the leather is nothing but dead flesh.” Already the tightly wound cord slithered between Jig’s fingers, loosening from the hilt and wrapping around his hand and wrist. He tried to drop the sword, but the leather dug cruelly into his skin, binding his hand in place.
“You betrayed us,” Pynne said.
“I’m a goblin.” Jig tried to grab the cord with his other hand, and nearly managed to get both hands bound to his sword. He yanked his free hand away so hard his elbow smashed into the tunnel wall.
“The queen would have honored you for your help,” said Pynne. “Instead, the last thing you feel will be your own weapon choking the life from your body. You thought this ruse would defeat us? I promise you, goblin, we will destroy every last one of your ilk.” Her face glowed with pink light as she lay back, gasping.
The cord was already coiling around his elbow. Jig shook his hand, trying to fling the sword away. The blade clanged against the rock, jarring his bones. “Wait. I thought you needed me to learn how to use magic in our world.”
Pynne smiled and shook her head. “You would have simplified the process immensely. But we have adapted to other worlds before. And there are always others willing to share their knowledge in exchange for the rewards you’ve thrown away.”
The end of the cord tickled Jig’s chin. He twisted his head away, but how was he supposed to avoid his own arm? The leather brushed his neck, waving like one of Smudge’s forelegs, reaching . . . reaching. . . .
Jig looked down. Only a single loop of leather remained knotted around the bare wood of his sword hilt. The leather wasn’t quite long enough to reach his throat.
Pynne realized it at the same time. She raised her hands, and Jig lunged. This time Jig was faster. His sword was nearly as long as Pynne herself. She died quickly and messily.
Jig pulled his hand back, hoping the spell would dissipate with Pynne’s death, but the only change was that the end of the cord grew still, stiff as rock. It jabbed his chin when he turned his head.
The sword rang against the rock as Jig turned to search for Smudge. So many fire-spiders, all feasting on crispy pixie. He tried to smile. Crispy Pixie would make an excellent title for a song.
“Good-bye, Smudge.” Jig backed away from the cave. Smudge was probably safer here anyway. There was plenty of food, and he was surrounded by other fire-spiders. Most importantly, he wouldn’t be anywhere near Jig when the pixies came to wipe out the goblins.
A small, dark shape broke away from the mound of spiders, scurrying toward Jig. He could see it dragging something with its rear legs, something that glowed faintly blue.
Jig grinned so hard his cheeks hurt as he set his free hand down for Smudge. The fire-spider crawled up to his shoulder pad and began to feast.
“I’m sorry about that,” said Jig. “It’s been a while since I fed you, hasn’t it?”
Come to think of it, he hadn’t eaten in quite some time either. Jig turned back around to where Pynne had collapsed. . . .
Braf, Grell, and Slash were still waiting where Jig had left them. Jig heard their voices long before he got close enough to see the light of their small fire. They were arguing loudly enough Jig was surprised a tunnel cat hadn’t eaten them all.
“I say we go after the ogres,” Slash was shouting. “They’re so busy running away with their tails between their legs they won’t notice us tagging along.”
“Ogres don’t have tails,” countered Braf. A moment later he grunted sharply, as if he had been struck with a cane.
“All it takes is for one of them to glance back, and they’ll squash us like bugs,” said Grell. “The way you smell, I’d notice you at a hundred paces.”
“What choice do we have?” asked Slash. “Head back and ask the pixies to let us through? Beg them not to hurt us, the way you goblins do when you want to pass through hobgoblin territory?”
“Jig should have let you stay dead,” Braf said. “When he gets back—”
“You think Jig’s coming back?” Slash asked, laughing. “If he’s smart, he ran like a frightened ogre. If he really tried to fight those pixies, he’s probably—”
Jig’s sword banged against the ground. He had been trying to hold it out in front of him, but the blade seemed to grow heavier with every step. “It’s me,” he called out. He could hear them shifting positions.
“What are you doing still alive?” Slash asked.
Jig could see them now, standing behind a small, foul-smelling fire. Braf had his hook-tooth out. Grell held one of her canes like a club. Slash had a rock. Jig couldn’t tell whether they had been preparing for a pixie attack, or if he had arrived just in time for them to start killing one another.
“The pixies are dead,” Jig said.
With his sword pretty much permanently attached to his arm, it would have been so easy to run Braf through. “No,” Jig snapped. “The two who were following us.”
“Looks like you had a little trouble with your sword,” Slash said. “Lost a bit of hair, too.”
Jig reached up to touch the short, singed patch of hair. Hair wasn’t supposed to feel so crunchy.
“How do we know they’re really dead?” asked Grell. “You told us the pixies were controlling Veka and the scarred simpleton here. They—”
“Hey,” said Slash. He stepped toward Grell, only to catch the butt of her cane in his throat. He turned away, gagging.
Jig pulled a bundle from inside his shirt and tossed it onto the ground between them. “Here’s your proof.”
“What’s that?” Braf asked, poking it with his hook-tooth.
“Leftovers.” Jig’s sword dragged against the ground as he walked toward Grell. His whole arm tingled with every movement, and his fingers were swollen and cold.
Consider yourself lucky. If I hadn’t strengthened the vessels and forced your blood to keep flowing through your arm, your fingers would have fallen off by now.
Jig grimaced. Given that the pixies were going to wipe them all out anyway, and the only way he could think of to get back home was more than a little unpleasant, he was having a hard time feeling lucky. “I need to borrow your knife,” he said to Grell.
Braf had already opened the bundle and stuffed a bit of glowing meat into his mouth. As Grell slapped the handle into Jig’s free hand, she said, “Going to carve up what’s left for the rest of us?”
“No,” said Jig, sitting down beside the fire. He tried to work the tip of the curved blade beneath the cords on his arm, but the leather wouldn’t budge. All he managed to do was slice his skin. He changed tactics, trying to cut the leather where it looped around the hilt. The blade didn’t even scratch it.
He knew the knife was good. The blood dripping down his arm proved that. Pynne’s magic must have hardened the leather. “Stupid pixies.” Jig was going to spend the rest of his short life with a sword stuck to his arm.
“So how do you propose we get out of here?” Slash asked.
Jig handed the knife back to Grell. “The ogres said that stench came from goblin garbage.”
Grell was the first to figure it out. “I’ve dealt with some vile messes in my time, but I’m not climbing through that.”
“Fine,” said Jig. “Stay here and wait for the pixies.” He stared at his sword, wondering if he would be able to climb the crack one-handed. Grell would certainly need help as well, assuming she changed her mind. “Braf? Slash?”
“You want us to climb through goblin filth?” asked Slash.
“I really don’t care.” Jig was too tired to argue. His sword dragged along the ground as he trudged toward the ogres’ abandoned cavern. He heard the others fall in behind him, not without a bit of muttering on Slash’s part.
A short time later, Jig realized he had given all three of them a clear shot at his back. As the smell of rotting garbage grew strong enough he could taste it in the back of his mouth, he was almost disappointed they hadn’t taken advantage of his vulnerability.
CHAPTER 10
“The astute reader may notice gaps in the old
tales, unexplained spans when the Hero disappears
from the narrative. The Hero emerges later,
more powerful and prepared for the final conflict.
Some argue these omissions are due to the highly
secretive nature of the Hero’s transformation.
Others say the storyteller simply wanted to skip
to the good parts.”
—From the introduction to Chapter 7 of The Path of the Hero (Wizard’s ed.)
Despite the awkwardness of the blade affixed to his right arm, Jig still managed to climb a goodly distance. From his own informal calculations, he had now climbed approximately twelve times the height of the entire mountain. That was what it felt like, at any rate. In reality, it couldn’t be more than thirty or forty feet from the ogres’ cavern to the goblin lair.
Jig’s sword arm hung leaden at his side. His thigh throbbed with every movement where he had sliced himself before thinking to tie the scabbard over the naked blade. He stank of rotten food, mold, and far worse things. And tiny burning stings covered his scalp and shoulders from brushing against . . . he still wasn’t sure what the nasty things were.
At least they give off light, Shadowstar offered.
True, and Jig would take a few stings over the stench of the ogres’ torches any day. He peered upward, where more strands of what appeared to be blue-white hair dangled from the filthy stone. The ends of the strands slowly changed from blue to green and back again. Jig braced himself, watching as a huge black fly approached one of the strands, drawn by the shifting light.
The instant the fly touched the end, the strand flashed, shocking the unfortunate insect. The rest of the strands shot out, coiling around its body and dragging it toward the oversize sluglike body stuck to the underside of the rock.
Shadowstar thought it must have come from the pixies’ world. Jig didn’t care where it had come from, as long as it was too busy with the fly to go after him. He had moved Smudge down into his belt pouch after the first attack. Smudge was a tough little fire-spider, but these creatures had a lot more filaments than Smudge had legs.
He reached up with his left hand and pressed his feet to either side of the rock, dragging himself a bit higher. The creature ignored him. A tiny carrion-worm scurried over Jig’s fingers, clutching a broken bit of bone in its claws as it fled. The light of the tendrils turned the worm’s white skin pale blue.
“Ouch,” shouted Slash. “I’m going to rip that hairy glowing slug apart with my bare—Ouch!”
“Keep your hands to yourself before you kill us all,” snapped Grell. They had rigged a crude rope harness to help her climb, using scraps of rope scavenged from the abandoned ogre camp. Braf and Slash both supported some of Grell’s weight, leading to numerous complaints from all involved.
“Are you sure this will take us home?” asked Braf.
“Smells like goblin filth to me,” muttered Slash.
“Quiet,” said Jig, twisting his head so his good ear was aimed upward. Footsteps, and the creak of a door.
His sword clinked against the rock as he drew himself higher. He could see light from above: not the pale, sickly light of the slugs, but the cheerful green of a goblin muck lantern. They were here. They had made it to the goblin lair. He opened his mouth to tell the others.
Broken, dripping shards of pottery showered down on them. Jig yelped as one piece jabbed the top of his head. The shards smelled of spoiled beer.
Jig pushed himself up. He dug his toes into the rock and summoned one last burst of energy to drag himself out of the pit.
He found himself staring at a young goblin girl. Before Jig could say anything, she screamed, threw her lantern at Jig’s head, and ran screaming.
Jig dropped back into the pit, barely dodging the lantern. One foot landed on Slash’s shoulder. The hobgoblin grunted and strained to keep from falling, which was probably the only thing that stopped him from flinging Jig down with the rest of the garbage.
“Sorry,” Jig muttered as he climbed back out. The muck lantern had shattered on the back wall, casting green light over the small, stuffy cave.
“At least that oversize, rat-eating wizard never made me swim through goblin trash,” Slash muttered as he followed Jig out. He turned and hauled on his rope, pulling Grell and Braf out after him.
“Where is Veka, anyway?” asked Braf.
“I wish I knew,” said Jig. He had been wondering the same thing. Pynne and Farnax hadn’t said anything about her. Maybe she was dead. She could have run afoul of a tunnel cat or rock serpent, or maybe she had tried to jump onto another giant bat and missed. Given that she was still pixie-charmed wh
en she escaped, Jig’s life would be much simpler if she were dead. That, more than anything else, convinced him she was still alive.
A heavy door blocked the only way out of the cave. Jig gave it a quick shove, but the door was barred on the outside. The goblin lair had few real doors, since the rock was too hard to work, but there were a few areas deserving of special attention. In this case a full frame had been constructed around the cave opening, secured with a batch of Golaka’s raknok paste. The sticky-sweet paste was great on fish, but more importantly, raknok was the favorite food of a kind of black mold that clung tightly to both wood and stone. After a week the frame would be secure enough to support a door. After a month an ogre could probably still rip down the door, but it would take at least four or five goblins working together to do so. Given how often goblins worked together, the door would likely stand for years.
Jig jabbed his sword tip into the crack at the edge of the frame, trying to reach the bar on the other side, but the blade was too thick.
He stared at the sword, remembering the fear on Pynne’s face as he shoved his sword at her. She had called it death-metal. The blade had left burns on her skin. If all pixies shared her vulnerability, the goblins might have a chance.
No, the only reason he had gotten close enough to kill Pynne was because they wanted him alive. The pixies wouldn’t make that mistake when they came to wipe out the goblins.
They might not attack right away, Shadowstar said. The first two pixies to venture out from the protection of their world were killed by a single goblin. They’ll be more cautious next time. You might have bought your people a little more time to prepare.
A strong hand shoved Jig aside. Slash pounded on the door. “If you don’t let us out of here now, I’ll feed your private parts to the tunnel cats!” He stepped away, searching the debris-strewn cave. “There has to be something we can use to bash this thing down. If I have to spend another moment immersed in this stench—”