by Jim C. Hines
Jig edged around her, wondering if the pixies had damaged her brain. Some of the other goblins were pointing and whispering. Jig heard muffled laughter. They hadn’t seen what Veka could do, back at the lake. He held his breath, but Veka appeared deaf to their jokes.
Praying it stayed that way, Jig crept to the edge of the tunnel. Wind blew snow and dirt into his face. The buzzing of wings warned him, but even so, when he looked out into the pit and saw the swarm of pixies darting through the darkness, he found himself wondering if he should just throw himself over the edge. At least that way he might hit one on the way down.
They had changed the pit itself. Shimmering silver bubbles, each one larger than Jig himself, covered the walls. In most places, the bubbles pressed against each other, their sides flattening where they touched. In one spot the bubbles were two or three layers thick.
As Jig watched, a pair of green pixies flew out to hover near a bare patch of rock. These were smaller than the pixies Jig had seen before, and they had only two wings, not four. Their lights faded somewhat as they touched the stone. When they drew back their hands, a thin transparent bubble followed. Ripples of color spread across the bubble’s surface as it grew. The pixies floated, motionless except for the blur of their wings, as the bubble grew. When it was as large as the others, they dropped away. The color continued to spread across the bubble’s surface, rings bouncing back and forth before gradually fading to a more uniform silver.
One of the green pixies pressed her hand against the bubble. Her hand disappeared, and the pixie squeezed through the surface and disappeared inside the silver shell. Her companion floated back, allowing the wind to carry him up until he reached another patch of bare rock.
“What is it?” Braf asked.
Jig took a deep breath. “They’re building a hive.”
The other goblins had crept up behind Jig, straining to see into the pit. A younger goblin, Grop, was leaning so far out that his shadow was visible on the roof of the tunnel. Jig grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back.
“How are we supposed to fight that?” Grop asked, rubbing his head.
“Quiet,” Jig snapped. He didn’t think anyone could hear them over the wind, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He lay down in the frost and peered up, toward the old bridge connecting the Necromancer’s tunnels. A handful of pixies buzzed around the bridge. Darker shapes resolved into ogre warriors as a pixie flew past. Wonderful.
“It gets worse,” Veka said.
Jig didn’t even blink. “Of course it does.”
She pointed down to the thickest cluster of bubbles, down where the pixie tunnel emerged from Straum’s cavern. “The queen is down there.”
“Are you sure?”
Veka nodded. “It’s hard to describe. I can feel their magic, like a wind.”
“Do you think maybe, just maybe, that could be the wind?” Slash said.
Veka ignored him. “It’s like she’s sucking the magic into herself and drawing the rest of the pixies to her. Not physically, but their magic, their minds, everything about them revolves around the queen.”
Jig adjusted his spectacles. He thought he saw a spot of pure white light below, but it was hard to be sure. What had Pynne said? None can look upon a pixie queen without loving her.
Either that light wasn’t the queen, or Jig was too far away to be affected. The only thing he felt was sheer, gut-churning fear.
“We should go back,” said Grop. “We can help the others barricade the lair and—”
“And what?” asked Jig. The pixies were moving too quickly. Look what they had accomplished in a single day. “Why didn’t they leave guards in this tunnel?”
“This crack isn’t easy to see from out there,” said Veka. “The overhang makes it look like part of the rock. The pixies aren’t telepathic. If you killed the only two who found the tunnel, they might not know about it yet. And Snixle . . . he didn’t tell anyone about me and Slash.”
“Lucky us,” Slash muttered.
Jig peeked into the pit again, trying to see how high the pixie’s world reached. Only the occasional spark marked the expanding border between their world and his own, but that border appeared to be well past the Necromancer’s old bridge. “They needed weeks to take over Straum’s cavern,” Jig whispered. At this rate their world would overtake the goblin lair within a day at most.
“We need to cut off the source of their magic,” said Veka.
“I know that,” Jig snapped. “I thought we could destroy their gateway after we killed the queen and eradicated her army of pixies. And then I figured I’d resurrect Straum the dragon and use his breath to toast my breakfast rats.”
He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Why worry about future battles when he probably wouldn’t survive this one?
“Are you sure we shouldn’t go back?” asked another of the goblins, Var.
Jig shook his head. They were spreading too quickly. If he and the others left, that hive would fill the pit by the time they returned. “The pixies are like insects,” he said. Magical bugs with ogre slaves and enough magic to conquer the whole mountain, but bugs nonetheless. “What do you do when you find wasps building a nest in the lair?”
“Burn it,” said Var.
“Knock it down and use a stick to hide it in Captain Kollock’s chamber pot,” muttered Grop.
Jig grinned despite his fear, wishing he had thought to try that. “Everything the pixies do, they do for their queen. We attack the nest, kill the queen, and their whole purpose for coming here is gone.”
Grell scratched her ear. “You know, I’ve seen wasps get pretty riled up when someone pokes their nest. Even if we manage to kill the queen, we’re still going to have an army of angry pixies after our hides.”
“We’ll have that anyway,” Jig said. He was trying very hard not to count the number of bubbles. How long would it take them to produce a pixie for every chamber in that nest? If pixies reproduced as quickly as they did everything else . . .
“Jig’s right.” Veka stepped away from the others, her staff clutched tightly in both hands. “As long as the queen lives, every pixie you see will fight to the death. With her gone, they might be willing to negotiate.” Her eyes widened, as if she were surprised at the words coming from her own mouth. “Like Jig did with the hobgoblins.”
“Or they might kill us all for revenge,” said Slash.
Veka shook her head. She closed her eyes, and said, “The climax of the Hero’s journey is the battle through death. No reasonable person could hope to survive this final conflict, but the true Hero shall discover a way.” Her smile was wistful, almost sad. “This is that battle, and Jig will get you through it.”
Grell shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
Before Jig could think up something inspirational to say, Veka moved closer. Jig started to back away, but she reached out and tapped his sword arm with her staff.
“What are you—” Jig stopped in midprotest as the leather cords on his arm began to loosen. The ends slipped from his shoulder. “You mean you could have done that the whole time?”
“I’m sorry,” Veka whispered. “I didn’t . . . I couldn’t bring myself to try any magic until now. I should have, but—” She swallowed. “The spell is straightforward, even easier than controlling the lizard-fish. Just a simple command to the residual life in the leather.”
The sword dropped to the ground. Jig winced and glanced out at the pit, but the pixies didn’t appear to have noticed the sound. His fingers were still molded to the shape of the hilt, and deep wrinkles marked his arm. The flesh was so pale it was almost white, with dark lines and bruises where the skin had pinched and folded over itself. “So why didn’t you—”
That was as far as he got, and then the blood began to flow through his veins again. Jig clamped his jaw, biting back a high-pitched squeal as he fell back. With every heartbeat, a thousand hammers smashed the bones of his arm and hand. Tunnel cats chewed the joints from the insid
e out, and the skin was molten lead.
Jig stared at the frosted rock overhead until tears blurred the patterns into a field of gray. If he could have reached his sword, he would have cut off his own arm at the shoulder to stop the pain. Shadowstar?
The god couldn’t hear him, not down here. He felt fingers prying at his jaw, shoving something between his teeth: one of Grell’s sugar-knots, laced with klak beer. He bit down on the sugar-knot so hard his teeth crushed the candy inside.
“Give him a little time.” Grell’s voice sounded as if it were coming from the far end of a tunnel.
Easy for her to say. His arm felt as if it had swollen to triple its normal size, but when he opened his eyes, he found he was mistaken. It was only double.
Gradually the pain began to ebb a bit, becoming a deep prickly feeling that began at the skin and penetrated all the way to the marrow. Jig grabbed his sword with his left hand and used it like one of Grell’s canes to push himself to his feet.
“See, I told you he’d be fine,” said Grell. “So tell us how you plan to get through this battle, oh heroic one?”
Jig scowled and sucked on the crushed remains of his sugar-knot. He had been wondering the exact same thing. He could tell the other goblins weren’t happy about the situation. Goblins weren’t subtle when it came to expressing displeasure. Weapons drawn, they were moving into a rough circle, trapping Jig between the edge of the pit and a lot of sharp steel.
Jig raised his sword. His right arm was still useless, but so was the sword, really. The blade had lost another chip from the end. Old blood stained part of the hilt blue. The hilt itself was bare wood, held in place only by the dinged, worn pommel. A long string of leather dangled down to the floor. The nicked, dented edges of the blade would have a hard time cutting even the skin of a child. Unfortunately, it was all he had.
The goblins stopped. “Well?” asked one.
“Well what?”
“When do we attack?”
They weren’t preparing to kill him. They were preparing to kill pixies. They . . . they were getting ready to follow him into battle. To follow him!
He turned back to the pit, trying to flex his arm.
His hand and wrist twitched a bit. He spotted Braf watching him. Now that Jig knew what to look for, he saw past the slack-jawed expression to the way Braf’s eyes shifted from Jig to the other goblins to the pit and back, watching for threats from either side.
“Braf, what’s the best way to stir up a big wasp hive?” he asked.
Braf grinned and fished a rock out of his trousers.
“How many rocks are you carrying down there?” Jig asked with a grimace.
“Don’t ask. I’m fine as long as I don’t sit down.” He slipped past Jig and hefted the rock. “Who do you want me to hit first?”
Jig pointed to a bubble on the far side of the pit. “No, wait.” Why bother throwing rocks when Veka could use her magic to shoot them across—
He glanced around, searching the shadows. Veka was gone. So was Slash.
“What is it?” asked Grell.
“Nothing.” If he pointed out that two of their number had already slipped away, who knew how many would follow? “Wait for my signal to throw. The rest of you, back into the darkness. We don’t want to reveal our numbers yet. Braf might be able to hit two or three pixies before they figure out where the rocks are coming from. They’ll send a few up to investigate, and we’ll draw them into the tunnel. They hate it in here, and they can’t maneuver as well.”
He turned back to Braf, wishing he could talk to Tymalous Shadowstar about this plan. Annoying and condescending the god might be, but he had helped Jig through a few messes in the past. Not to mention that Shadowstar would have been able to help him heal any injuries the goblins might sustain . . . starting with Jig’s arm, which felt like one enormous blister.
On the other hand, at least this way Shadowstar wouldn’t be around to make snide comments if they failed. Jig raised his sword and backed into the shadows. “Do it.”
CHAPTER 14
“The gods mark their favorites. I was born with a birthmark in the shape of a flying dragon, and I became the mightiest beastlord in history. My sister wasn’t so lucky. Her birthmark looked like a lopsided bowl of raisin pudding.”
—Theodora of June, Beastmaster of the Elkonian Isles From The Path of the Hero (Wizard’s ed.)
Veka hurried through the darkness, pulling her cloak tight with one hand for warmth. She had ripped the remaining beads and bones from her staff to stop them from rattling, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave the staff itself. The thick wood was her best weapon, and who knew what creatures she might encounter on the way to Straum’s lair? She needed the staff for defense, that was all. It had nothing to do with her shattered dreams of wizardry. Nothing at all.
She slowed, searching for the crack where she had descended to the pixies’ cavern. She poked her staff at the rock as she went. Several times she nearly slipped on the frost and ice. Stupid pixies. No wonder they flew everywhere. Who could walk on all this ice?
Her cloak helped against the cold, but it did nothing to block the sensation of alien magic that permeated the air like the stench of a dead hobgoblin. The pixies’ magic was like a living wind, cutting right through her clothes to chill her skin. The pixies flew upon that magic just as much as they did the air, riding its currents and drawing power through themselves, replenishing their strength with every breath. Magic was as much a part of their diet as food and drink.
Veka could barely grasp that power long enough to channel it into a spell.
But she had done it before. Snixle had shown her the way. How many times had he taken control of her body, dictating her gestures as he struggled to master the magic of her world? Those gestures had made little sense in the beginning, but she had learned. Pixie magic was less a matter of control and more about suggestion. The slightest whisper was enough to shape that magic. Grasp too hard, and it crumbled in your fingers. But she could do it
If she could figure out how to use their magic, the pixies could do the same. That was the only explanation, the only way their world could have begun to grow so quickly. The pixies had found a way to tap into this world’s magic to feed the expansion of their own.
The only one who could have helped them do that was Snixle, and the only one he could have learned from was Veka.
This was her fault.
Muttered curses interrupted her thoughts. The sound came from behind her. She raised her staff and sniffed the air. “Slash?”
She heard him hurrying toward her. “I hate that name, you know.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I saw you slipping away from the others.”
Her shoulders slumped. “So you came to stop me from running away like a coward?”
Slash snorted. “I came to join you. If you really thought Jig had any chance at all, you would have stayed. No, the only thing that crazy runt is going to do is get himself and the rest of his little band slaughtered.”
Veka shook her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her. Jig would survive. He might even keep a few of the others alive too. Her lip trembled. How did he do it? He had magic, but hers had been stronger when they fought. She was bigger, stronger, and younger, but Jig had beaten her.
Jig had been the Hero all along, not Veka. She was simply another of Jig’s trials, an obstacle to be overcome and forgotten. She wondered if she would even rate a line in Jig’s next song.
“I’m going to destroy the gateway from the pixies’ world,” Veka whispered.
“My mistake. For a moment there I forgot that all goblins were crazy.”
“Most of the pixies will be with the queen. She’s more important than anything.” Though Veka doubted they would be foolish enough to leave the portal completely unguarded. She didn’t know if she would find pixies at Straum’s cave, but she would not enter un-challenged. Perhaps she would have to face something like the multiheaded snake creatu
re the pink pixie created in the tunnels, only without that construct’s intestinal design flaw.
She shivered as she thought about it. Before, she would have been eager to face such a challenge, but that was when she had believed herself the Hero. Now she was afraid, and she hated it.
She turned her attention back to the rock, searching for the opening. How far had she run when she fled from Jig and the ogres? She hadn’t bothered to count her steps or memorize every twist and turn, and her struggle to control her own body had further confused her sense of distance. She stopped, fighting despair. Was she even on the right side of the tunnel?
With one hand, she tried to conjure up a light, but without a source she could do nothing. Pixie magic swirled around her fingers, taunting her with her own impotence.
“So you have a way to sneak down into Straum’s lair?” Slash asked.
“There’s a crevasse, where water runs down through the rock. Snixle brought me down, before I—” She bit her lip.
“Before you came back to murder some hobgoblins?”
Veka backed away.
“That’s right, I was under the pixie’s spell too, remember?” Slash asked. “But I didn’t march into the goblin lair and start slaughtering rat-eaters. Nobody forced me to do anything. You wanted to kill those hobgoblins.”
Veka tried to remember if Slash had taken any weapons from Kralk’s old chambers. He had Braf’s broken hook-tooth, if nothing else. And in the darkness blood wouldn’t bother him one bit.
“I didn’t care about the hobgoblins,” she whispered. Let him kill her, if that was what he wanted. “I wanted to fight Jig.”
“Why?”
She started to repeat the reasons she had given to Snixle, the reasons she had repeated to herself. Because Jig had treated her like a child when she came asking for help. Because Jig would get the goblins killed, and Veka could save them. Because it was the only way.