by Jim C. Hines
Jig stared. Grell shrugged and said, “Nobody ever said ogres were bright.”
That was when the first of the ogres spread her wings. On Jig’s shoulder, Smudge grew so hot he began to glow. Jig could smell his hair burning as it curled away from the terrified spider. Jig patted out the hair with one hand, never looking away from the flying ogres.
“Unfair,” he whispered. He counted four ogres, circling lower on enormous black wings. Bat wings. The pixies had been hunting giant bats, trying to capture them alive. Somehow they had grafted the wings onto the ogres, creating flying ogres. Similar to what Pynne had done to create the snake guardian with too many heads and no tail. Jig doubted he could defeat these ogres by feeding them though. “Weren’t ogres scary enough already?”
He wondered briefly what had happened to the bats. Without their wings, they were essentially giant blind rats. Then the first ogre reached the tunnel, and Jig and Braf were leaping away to avoid a spear thrust.
Braf threw another rock, which bounced off the ogre’s wing with no apparent effect. The ogre stabbed again. Braf fell, yelping with pain.
“Are you hurt?” Jig asked.
Braf shook his head. “She missed me. I landed on my rocks, that’s all.”
Beyond the tunnel, the ogre dropped out of sight. Another appeared from above, armed with a large club. He hovered for a moment, then flung his club at Jig.
Jig’s sword dropped as he rolled out of the way. Arrows spilled from his quiver, and he nearly squashed Smudge. “Sorry,” he whispered. He tried to scoop Smudge off his shoulder, but the little fire-spider was too terrified, not to mention too hot, for Jig to move. Sucking his blistered finger, Jig turned his attention back to the ogre. He peeled away from the cave, to be replaced by yet another.
“They can’t get into the tunnel with those wings,” Jig said, gathering his fallen arrows. Their wingspan was too great, and if they stopped flapping, they would fall. “Braf, get back. They can’t come in after us.”
The new ogre scowled. He couldn’t reach Braf or Jig, but he did manage to use his spear to drag his companion’s club back out of the tunnel. Jig cursed himself for not throwing it out of range. They could have disarmed at least one of the ogres.
“Well this is an amusing little standoff,” Grell said from the darkness. “What next?”
The ogre with the club returned. This time a bright green pixie warrior rode her shoulder.
“Rock!” Jig shouted.
Braf fumbled for a stone, but the pixie was faster. He flew into the tunnel and pointed. Braf fell, fumbling at his boots and howling in pain.
The pixie turned to Jig. Jig grabbed his sword and prepared to charge, already knowing he couldn’t get there fast enough. But before Jig had taken a single step, the pixie yelped and clawed at his shoulder. Smoke spiraled as the pixie fell to the ground, where he yanked a tiny dart from his shoulder and flung it away.
Jig ran up and kicked the pixie. He slammed into the wall and slid to the ground.
“That’s mine,” Grop said, hurrying to retrieve the dart. He lowered his voice. “I use it back at the lair. The others blame it on wasps. If you tie a thin line to the dart, you can yank it away before they swat it, and nobody knows—”
Jig stepped away. Ogres hovered outside, and Jig could see other pixies streaking toward them from above and below. He turned to face the other goblins.
Braf was using Grell’s knife to pry his boot from his foot. The pixie had tried the same trick Pynne had used on Jig, constricting the leather. Braf had managed to get one foot free before it tightened too badly. The other appeared immovable. His face was tight from pain.
“I heard bones snap,” Grell said. “Can you fix him?”
Jig shook his head. “Even if I could, I can’t break the pixie’s spell on the boot.” Veka could, but she had disappeared. “You and Braf stay here. Our attack should draw them away from the tunnel. If you see an opening, try to hit a few more pixies with rocks.”
One of the goblins coughed. “Our attack?”
“I’m guessing their nest is strong enough to hold us,” Jig said. “We can jump down and—”
“You’re guessing?” repeated the goblin, Ekstal. He was another distillery worker, like Veka. Ekstal waved his sword at Jig. It was in far better shape than Jig’s weapon. The slender, double-sided blade looked as though it had been forged solely to slide through goblin throats. “You’re going to get us killed!”
“Probably,” admitted Jig. He didn’t have time to argue. He glanced at Braf, who nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position.
“I’m not going out there,” shouted Ekstal. “If you try to—”
There was a sharp thud, and Ekstal’s sword dropped to the ground, followed by Ekstal himself. A bit of blood trickled down his neck where Braf’s rock had hit him.
Jig scooped up the sword and gave it an experimental swing. Much better than his own weapon. He pointed to two of the goblins. “Toss him onto the nest. Then we’ll know whether it can hold a goblin.”
The two goblins looked at one another, then at Ekstal. “Right!”
“What about the ogres?” one asked.
Jig scooped up the dead pixie. Hopefully the ogres wouldn’t realize he was dead. He flung the body out of the tunnel.
All four ogres dove, trying to catch him.
“Go,” said Jig.
Ekstal groaned. His eyes opened wide as the goblins pushed him over the edge. A high-pitched squeal echoed through the tunnel.
Jig peered down. Ekstal had nearly missed the nest. He lay at an angle, his feet pointed upward, looking as though the slightest movement would send him slipping into the abyss. Already the pixies were zooming toward the panicked goblin.
“Here!” Jig called. He started to throw Ekstal’s sword down to him, reconsidered, and tossed his own old broken sword down instead.
Ekstal caught it by the blade, which would have been a problem if the weapon hadn’t been so dull. He clawed his way back to the rock, where he stood and waved the sword with both hands.
That answered the last of Jig’s questions. Sticky as the nest was, they could still move about. “Everyone get your weapons ready. Spread out. Try to cut your way into the nest. Make them come up close to fight so you have a chance to stab them before they use their magic.”
A rock flew by his head, momentarily driving the pixies back. Below, Ekstal was frantically cutting a hole in the nest.
None of the goblins had moved. The two who had tossed Ekstal down were still standing at the edge, watching and cheering him on. Jig sighed, tucked his sword under his arm, and pushed them both down to join their frantic companion.
It took a bit of threatening, with both his sword and Braf’s rocks, but eventually the other goblins followed. Jig caught the last three before they jumped.
“You’re the smartest goblins I’ve got,” Jig said.
“Why do you say that?” asked Grop.
“You haven’t jumped yet.” Already Jig could hear shouting and screaming from below. “So you’re the ones I need with me.”
“Doing what?”
Jig swallowed and tried to sound like he knew what he was doing. “We’re going to kill the queen.”
He unstrapped his quiver and handed a few arrows to each goblin. “The tips are steel. Throw them like spears to keep the pixies back, but save one or two for when we reach the queen. We’ll have to fight our way through any guards.”
Jig put two arrows back into the quiver, keeping a third ready in his hand. Ekstal’s sword was too long and slender for his old sheath, but he forced it. A handspan of steel protruded from the bottom, but if he was careful, he should be able to avoid slicing off his own foot.
He stepped to the edge and froze. The others stood close behind, waiting for Jig’s order. Wind buffeted his face. He tried to tell himself he was waiting for the right moment, giving the other goblins time to spread around the nest. Several had already fallen into the pit, and the rest were
scrambling away and cutting into the silver bubbles as fast as they could.
He could imagine Tymalous Shadowstar’s derisive laughter as he said, Waiting for the right time? You’re cowering while the others get themselves slaughtered.
Jig shrugged. Cowering while others died was a perfectly acceptable goblin tactic. Unfortunately, once the pixies finished with the others, they would return to the tunnel.
The hive was right below, only a short jump. The others had landed safely. Well, aside from Jallark, who had leaped a bit too enthusiastically. Even Braf’s rock had stuck. Jig wasn’t going to fall. The nest would hold him.
“This is crazy,” whispered one of the remaining goblins, Noroka.
Jig agreed completely, but he forced himself to shake his head, then gave them his best conspiratorial grin. “We’re going to let the others fight pixies while we sneak down through the hive. Do you think I’d be doing this if it wasn’t the safest part of the whole plan? If you want, you can stay behind, but look what happened to poor Braf.”
With that, Jig sat down on the edge, put his arrow in his mouth, and before he could stop to think about what he was doing, pushed off. Fear locked his jaw as he fell, and he bit clean through the arrow. The short drop felt like an eternity, and he was certain he had somehow missed the nest. He would fall forever into the bottomless pit, unless one of the pixies was kind enough to kill him in passing.
His feet hit the nest. Jig spat splinters of wood from his mouth and tried to make himself start breathing again.
The silver bubble felt like warm clay, sinking beneath his weight and sticking to his boots. The smell reminded him of burned mushrooms. Some of the fog rose from the nest itself, the warm surface interacting with the cold, damp air. With one hand pressed to the icy wall of the pit, Jig made his way to the next bubble. He looked up. “Hurry!”
Nothing happened at first. Then he heard the distinctive sound of a cane smacking a goblin skull. Grop dropped down a moment later, rubbing his head.
Several pixies were already streaking toward them. Jig hurried to the next bubble. He could see where some of the goblins had cut their way into the hive. The punctured cells sagged and wiggled as the goblins moved about. Farther on the pixies had added a second layer of bubbles, thickening the hive. If Jig could reach that point, the extra layer might help to conceal him.
On the far side of the pit, a goblin poked his head out of a damaged bubble and threw his knife at an unsuspecting worker pixie. The pixie fell. The goblin’s gleeful expression vanished as pixies and ogres swarmed toward him.
Jig drew one of his two remaining arrows and threw it at the closest pixie. The pixie veered away, and Jig hopped to the next bubble, landing beside the smashed body of one of his goblins. Peeling the goblin from the bubble, Jig flung him onto the head of an unsuspecting pixie below.
The goblins who had gone first all appeared to have followed Jig’s instructions, spreading out and taking cover in the hive. They were doing quite well for goblins, which meant they weren’t all dead yet. From what Jig could see, almost half were still alive and fighting.
One of the goblins crouched within a broken bubble, fighting a pixie. As Jig watched, the pixie flew away, and an ogre soared in to take its place. Instead of trying to escape, the goblin actually tried something heroic. He raised his sword and swung for the ogre’s head.
The ogre took the blow on the shoulder without slowing. His body smashed the goblin against the rock. That was what happened to goblins who tried to be heroes.
So what am I doing here? The ogre dove away from the gruesome remains of the goblin, then swooped up again, apparently unaffected by the collision. He was coming directly at Jig. Jig drew his remaining arrow and waited. The ogre drew closer . . . closer. . . .
Jig feinted with the arrow, then leaped to the next bubble. The ogre hit the rock headfirst and fell back, clutching his scalp. The impact didn’t seem to have stopped him, reinforcing Jig’s private theory that ogre skulls were stone all the way through.
It did make the ogre an easy target, though. Grop threw one of his arrows. The point lodged in the ogre’s wing, and he screamed and moved away, flapping his other wing harder to keep from falling.
Jig jumped one more time, and he was there. This part of the hive was firmer, supported by the second layer of bubbles. Praying this would work, he reversed his grip on the arrow and shoved the head into the silver surface.
Sour air rushed from the puncture. The walls were thicker than they looked. He could probably push his thumb into the hole, and his claw would just reach the other side. The wall sizzled and smoked where the arrowhead touched. Moving as fast and as carefully as he could, Jig carved an opening wide enough for him to squeeze inside.
This was too much for Smudge. The fire-spider raced down over Jig’s chest, smoke rising with each step, and stopped near his pouch. He turned, all eight eyes pleading for Jig to open his hiding place. Jig loosened the laces with one finger to let Smudge scurry inside.
Sweat dripped down his face as Jig crouched within the bubble. These chambers might be quite cozy for a pixie, but Jig barely fit. He jabbed his arrow into the floor, punching through to the next one. The air was warm and damp, like the breath of a dragon with an infected tooth.
Purging that image from his mind, Jig prepared to cut through to the next cell. He bent down, and the end of his sword pierced the side of the bubble.
Jig grabbed his sheath, pulling the blade back, but the damage was done. A long, smoking gash opened into the next bubble, where a bleary-eyed yellow pixie was stirring. Apparently when pixies slept, they slept hard. The pixie blinked, horror replacing weariness as he spotted Jig. Jig drew back the arrow to throw, just as the pixie’s light flared. The wooden shaft crumbled, and the feathers of the fletching twined together and tried to fly away.
Jig squeezed through the opening and punched the pixie in the face. The pixie bounced off of the far side of the chamber. Jig grabbed him by the wings and threw him against the flattened part of the bubble, the side that clung to the rock. As the pixie collapsed, Jig realized he was grinning. He liked being bigger than the enemy for once.
The nest muffled sound well enough he could barely hear the battle outside. No wonder this one hadn’t woken up. He wondered how many more sleeping pixies they would encounter.
The bubble shook slightly as Grop dropped into the one behind him.
“Are the others still coming?” Jig asked.
“Var got pixie charmed and tried to stab me in the back, but Noroka tossed her into the pit.” He scowled. “Or maybe she wasn’t pixie charmed. Var never did like me that much.”
Jig shook his head. If he was remembering right, they had a long way to go before they reached the thickest part of the nest, where he hoped to find the queen. He looked at his lone remaining arrow, then at his sword. The arrowhead was small enough to control, but the sword was faster.
He was a goblin. Caution was for those who actually expected to survive a battle. Jig returned the arrow to his quiver and climbed back into Grop’s chamber. Squeezing past the other goblin, he drew his sword and slashed a hole in the far side. He lost his balance and fell. His sword opened a huge hole in the floor. The chamber below held another two-winged pixie, but Jig impaled him as he plunged downward.
Jig grinned. Sure he was down to three goblins against the pixie queen and all her guards, but in the meantime, this was how goblins should fight. Sneaking around, pouncing by surprise, and stopping only for a very quick snack.
One problem with cutting through the inside of a pixie nest was that you had no way to know when you reached the bottom.
No, that wasn’t true. There was one way.
Jig rolled away from the gash in the floor, pressing his body against the rock and gasping so hard he nearly passed out. He rested his sword across his chest, making sure the steel came nowhere near the walls of the bubble. His shook so hard he could barely hold on. From below, the wind of the bottomless pit fluttered the
edges of the gash.
He tried to tell himself he wouldn’t have fallen through. The hole might be big enough for his leg, but not his whole body. “Don’t come down!” he whispered to Grop and Noroka.
Grop poked his head down from the chamber overhead. Jig could see Noroka settling in above him. “Now what?”
Now he had to figure out where they were. He pulled out his remaining arrow and poked a tiny hole in the wall of the bubble, widening it just enough to see. He pressed his eye to the wall.
Only a handful of goblins still fought. Jig saw an orange pixie swoop in to cast a spell, then tumble to the side. Jig hadn’t seen the rock that hit him, but he was relieved to know Braf had survived so far.
The queen was easy enough to find: a point of brilliant white light, orbited by pixies of every color. The white light perched in the center of a cluster of bubbles, a rounded area of smaller bubbles that bulged from the rest of the hive. Jig closed his eyes, hoping that one brief glimpse wouldn’t be enough to enchant him. He didn’t feel particularly loving.
“The pixies say all who look upon their queen will love her, so don’t wait,” Jig said, turning back to Grop and Noroka. “We’re going to cut our way through the hive until we’re close enough to attack. If we’re lucky, we’ll have one chance before she enchants us.”
“And if we’re not lucky?” asked Noroka.
One of the surviving goblins from the fighting above chose that moment to go tumbling past, screaming.
“Any other questions?” Jig stood up and began cutting a path to the next bubble. He used his arrow, unwilling to risk a mistake.
Noroka and Grop both had several arrows left. Grop had already proven his aim with that dart. A thrown arrow didn’t have the force to penetrate deeply, but as they had seen with the flying ogre, even a weak hit was enough. As long as the steel lodged in the queen’s flesh, they might actually succeed.
A few bubbles over, Jig poked another hole to gauge their progress. He tried not to look directly at the queen, judging her location from the shadows and the other pixies. It looked like the pixies had taken over a small cave to use as the queen’s chamber. An ogre stood at the edge, two warrior pixies perched on her shoulders. Other pixies sat on the bubbles above the cave, like tiny, glowing gargoyles.