by Jim C. Hines
Barius’s jeweled sword moved slowly through the air to point at the goblins. Behind him, Ryslind sighed. “You haven’t lost your penchant for melodrama.”
Melodramatic or not, that sword dripped blue-black goblin blood, and Jig wasn’t about to laugh.
“Answer me one question, goblins.” Barius paced back and forth, studying each of their faces. “Which of you assaulted me in your cowardly attempt to escape?”
Without thinking about the consequences, without seeing anything but the tip of that blood-soaked sword, Jig’s hand raised as if of its own will. Raised, and pointed at Porak.
“What?” Enraged, Porak lunged at Jig.
Jig squealed. Smudge leaped from his shoulder and scurried into the corner. But Porak never finished his attack.
Barius’s gloved hand caught Porak by the belt and flung him back onto the floor. He landed next to one of the bodies. Dazed, he clutched his head, and his eyes fell upon the hatchet the dead goblin had dropped. Snatching up his new weapon, Porak charged.
Jig scooped up his fire-spider and set him on his unburned shoulder as he watched Barius take one step back, then another, flicking his sword out of the way of Porak’s mad swings. On the third step, that sword dipped beneath the axe, then snapped back up to throat level. Porak either didn’t see it or was moving to fast to stop. Either way, the result was the same, and even with Jig’s poor vision, he could see blue blood spray the prince’s tunic.
The other surviving goblin yelled in panic and fled. Jig started to follow, but movement to one side made him hesitate. The wizard walked with grim purpose after the goblin.
“Stop him!” Barius yelled.
Glowing eyes glanced at Jig in passing, saw that he wasn’t moving, and snapped back to the retreating goblin. One hand flicked lazily at his quiver. An arrow floated into the air, rotated to point down the tunnel, and shot off after the goblin. Loud cursing signaled the accuracy of Ryslind’s magic.
Jig wondered why Ryslind even bothered with the bow. Perhaps killing people with magic took more energy. Or maybe the bow was simply more fun.
“What are you waiting for?” Barius demanded. “Finish him off. Slay him before he can warn his fellows.”
Ryslind shook his head. “Mage-shot such as this has a limited range.” He held up his hand before Barius could answer. “And before you protest, dear brother, I suggest you try to fling an arrow three hundred yards up a tunnel that takes at least two sharp turns, and see what you can hit.”
“But he’ll tell the others,” Barius said, his polished voice turning nasal, almost whiny. “Within the hour, we’ll face a swarm of the vile things.”
“Not bloody likely,” Darnak said from the tunnel. He stepped back into the room, dragging the elven girl by her thin wrist. “Not after the pasting we gave ’em. Ryslind just handed them one more reason to avoid us.” He surveyed the carnage, counting corpses on his fingers. “No, they won’t likely bother us again. My thinking is that we’d best be getting ready for the real monsters.”
He scowled when he saw the prince standing over Porak’s body. “And what might have happened to that one while I was gone, Barius?”
“ ’Twas an honorable fight. The prisoner grabbed an axe and attacked. I had no choice but to defend myself.”
“True,” Ryslind said. “A fair fight, despite the fact that the goblin had been shot twice. Likewise, I expect it was pure chance that my brother flung the prisoner within arm’s reach of a weapon. Most noble indeed.”
Barius whirled. “What about you? Sending magicked arrows after fleeing prisoners?”
“Simply following orders. You are the elder, after all.” His voice was flat, but Jig sensed more menace in those easy words than anything else the wizard had said so far.
Darnak sat down and stared at the ceiling. “Earthmaker, if you wanted penance out of me, why couldn’t it be something simple? Send me to move the Serpent River or chase the orcs out of the northlands. How did I offend you so that you led me here with these two louts?”
That quick prayer finished, he grabbed a leather knapsack and rummaged through the contents. Jig saw rations, clothes, a whetstone, a bedroll, a large hammer . . . the dwarf carried an entire shop on his back. “Aha.” Darnak plunged a hand into the pack and seized a length of rope. He cut off about ten feet or so, which he tossed to Barius.
“Tie that last one up before he runs after his friends.” With that, he began the momentous task of cramming everything back into his pack.
Jig’s hands were jerked behind his back and bound tightly enough to scrape skin from his wrists. When Barius was done, six feet of rope stretched out behind Jig like a leash. The prince grabbed the other end and dragged Jig toward the rest of the adventurers.
In passing, he kicked the body of Captain Porak. “That’s the last goblin who tried to flee from me. Keep that in mind if you’re harboring thoughts of escape.”
Jig noticed that Barius didn’t say anything about how his prisoner had escaped. He still couldn’t believe his luck at the adventurers’ mistake. If they had recognized Jig as the goblin who had escaped before, nothing would have stopped Barius from killing him.
On further thought, their mistake wasn’t as surprising as it appeared. After all, Jig wouldn’t have been able to tell the two humans apart if they weren’t dressed so differently. And to them, goblins were little more than pests. If a bug bit you, you slapped it. You didn’t stop to see whether this was the bug with the torn ear, or if it was bigger than the other bug who had been buzzing around your ear an hour before.
“Easy there,” Darnak said. “He’s a prisoner now, and the gods expect civilized treatment from folks such as us.”
“I doubt very much that they would treat us with the same courtesy,” Barius said.
Jig thought he heard the girl snort, but he wasn’t sure. Still Barius was right. If the situation had been reversed, there would have been none of this tying of the wrists or honorable combat. Goblins didn’t waste time on that nonsense. Especially when they were hungry.
“Your friend spoke Human, goblin,” said Darnak. “Do you?”
Jig nodded.
“Excellent. I’m called Brother Darnak Stone-splitter, tutor and scribe to their majesties Barius and Ryslind Wendelson, seventh and eighth sons of King Wendel and Queen Jeneve of Adenkar.” With a nod at the girl, he said, “That’s Riana.
“You try to betray us, we’ll kill you. Same holds true if you try to escape. I don’t like it, but we can’t have you running loose, telling everyone we’re here. But if you cooperate, I’ll do my best to see you’re still breathing at the end of the day.”
“Enough of this,” Barius said. “We should get moving. The rod would be in our hands already if you hadn’t been so determined to map out every inch of this underground tomb.”
“Never underestimate the usefulness of a good map,” Darnak snapped. “Try walking through the iron mines of the northern peninsula and you’ll quickly come to appreciate my quill. If you ever find your way back out, that is.”
Very tentatively, Jig asked, “Will you let me go when you find whatever it is you want?”
“Of course.”
Jig nodded as if he believed it. If it were just Darnak, he might have taken the dwarf’s word. He seemed to take this honor stuff seriously, and so far, he had argued for keeping Jig alive. Of the four adventurers, that made him Jig’s favorite. But the others clearly didn’t want a goblin around. Not that Jig blamed them. Were he in charge, his first move after the battle would have been to kill the prisoners. Much simpler that way.
Still, how hard would it be to wait until the dwarf went off on another errand? Then it was a matter of letting Jig “accidentally” get his hands on a weapon, just like Porak.
“So what is it you’re looking for?” He hoped they would say gold and treasure, but he didn’t expect anything that simple. Treasure would be so much easier to find. Jig knew where at least one goblin hid his collected coins, and there had to
be more tucked throughout the tunnels. Of all the adventuring parties who came into the mountain, most were satisfied with stealing the treasure their fallen predecessors had left behind. He could lead them to a few stashes and maybe they would let him go.
But there were a few groups for whom treasure wasn’t enough. Barius had said something about a rod. Jig had a very bad feeling that he knew what they wanted.
In a voice so respectful that Jig didn’t recognize it, Barius said, “We seek the Rod of Creation.”
CHAPTER 3
History and Harmony
“The Rod of Creation,” Jig repeated. Every goblin knew of it, but no goblin knew anything about it. Or rather, they all knew the same three things. First, the rod was ancient, powerful magic. Second, it had been hidden in this mountain ages ago to keep it safe. Finally, trying to steal the rod was an elaborate but foolproof way to commit suicide.
“Surely you’ve heard the song,” Darnak said. He had been attempting to sketch the ceiling’s design onto his map. Setting quill and parchment aside, he coughed to clear his throat, took a drink from his wineskin, and began to sing in a low, rumbling voice.
There was a mage named Ellnorein
Who lived in times long past.
A merrier man was rarely seen,
For he made magic last.
One day he met a lonely queen,
A lass as pure as gold.
His eye for beauty was quite keen,
So he said in this bold:
A wizard am I, whom many dread,
With power like a God.
So come with me to yonder bed
And see my mighty rod.
“Darnak, please,” shouted Barius, drowning out the dwarf’s song. “What is this dwarven nonsense of which you sing?”
“It demeans the very memory of the wizard Ellnorein,” added Ryslind.
Jig blinked. Truth be told, he had been looking forward to the next verse. Maybe he could convince Darnak to sing the rest of the song later, when the humans weren’t listening. Goblins would like this kind of song. Assuming he ever made it home to share it with them.
“Allow me,” Barius said. His voice was pure and perfect, a silver bell to Darnak’s hunting horn.
Ages past, the high gods clashed,
The skies turned black and lightning flashed.
We men were naught but pawns who fought
And oh the terror that was wrought
As war swept o’er this world so vast.
The gods chose nine from all mankind
To be wizards of the blackest kind.
They pooled their might, from darkest night
They summoned dragons to roam and fight,
And in their wake the widows pined.
The gods’ war ended, their quarrel they mended,
And mankind their victims tended.
But wizards’ greed had fed their need,
For power greater than dragon steeds.
And so another war portended.
But in that age of the bloody mage,
There came an old and tired sage,
Who raised his eyes toward blackened skies,
And spoke a spell to terrorize
Those butchers born of gods’ own rage.
The dragons fled, the nine fell dead,
The power from their broken bodies bled
Into a wand, which he had planned
To bury deep in a faraway land,
That it would stay safe once he lay dead.
Barius let his voice trail off on the final note, and his eyes closed, as if overwhelmed by the beauty of his own voice. Ryslind immediately broke in, saying, “First of all, as any tome will tell you, there were twelve Mage-Gods, not nine. You’re confusing Ellnorein with a completely different tale. Furthermore, that last stanza should begin, ‘The spell was spoke, their powers broke, the mages died in sickly smoke.’ ”
“Nonsense,” Barius snapped. “ ‘The spell was spoke?’ What bard would dare set such a clumsy rhyme to song?”
“Pah. Neither has the gut-ripping style of the dwarf version.”
Jig looked from Barius to Darnak, then to Ryslind. “So what you’re saying is that Ellnorein was a wizard?”
They stared at him.
“Did you not hear my song? The Epic of Ellnorein is famous. Surely even here you’ve heard of the great mage who healed the world after the God-Wars.”
Jig didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there.
Barius started to protest further, but Darnak interrupted. “The gist is this. Ellnorein was a mighty wizard, but he’s dead now. Before he went, he trapped a goodly bit of power in his wand.”
“Rod,” Ryslind corrected. “The bards said ‘wand’ to make the rhyme work. But it was a rod, about three feet long and made of simple wood.”
Darnak rolled his eyes. “So he put that power into a rod. The Rod of Creation. The power in that thing was the same magic the gods used to bring dragons into the world. According to legend, Ellnorein used it to make this whole mountain out of nothing. Pulled it out of the ground in a single day, then carved out these here tunnels to protect the rod after he was gone. Didn’t want anyone else to get their hands on it, you see. Earthmaker only knows what guards the rod today.”
“A dragon,” Jig said.
Silence.
“What . . . what did you say?” Darnak asked softly.
“A dragon,” said Ryslind. “Ironic, yet there’s a certain logic to Ellnorein’s choice. The magic used to create dragonkind could also destroy them, so what creature would have greater cause to keep the rod safe?”
Not everyone reacted to Jig’s revelation with Ryslind’s cool appreciation. Riana’s wide eyes stared at Jig in disbelief, and Darnak whistled softly.
“We knew we faced an opponent of some power,” Barius said.
“An opponent of some power?” Darnak glanced heavenward. “Lad, you’ve either got the greatest gift of understatement ever seen in a human, or else you’ve not the slightest idea what you’re talking about. You’ll be lucky if your precious sword doesn’t snap like a twig against a dragon’s scales. As for Ryslind, he may know how to toss magic about, but a dragon is magic. Throwing spells at one is like pissing on a forest fire. Either way, you’re going to burn. We’ll need Earthmaker’s blessing to steal the rod from one of those beasts.”
There was that name again. “Is Earthmaker another adventurer?” Jig asked.
This time it was Darnak’s turn to stare at Jig. “Is that a joke? For if so, it’s in poor taste.”
“Silas Earthmaker is his god,” Riana explained.
“Will he help you fight Straum?” When nobody answered, Jig added, “That’s the dragon’s name.”
Darnak shook his head. “Earthmaker expects every man to prove himself. He’ll not interfere in a fight, even when the odds are against us.”
“Oh. He doesn’t sound like much help.” He saw Riana cringe.
His hand resting on the handle of his club, Darnak asked, “What would you be knowing of gods, goblin?”
Jig started to answer, but closed his mouth when he saw Riana shake her head. “Nothing,” he said meekly. That seemed to satisfy the dwarf. Darnak turned back to the humans, leaving Jig to study Riana and wonder again what she was doing here. To judge by the way the others ignored her, she wasn’t a friend. She had done nothing during the fight, so she wasn’t here to help during combat. In fact, the only thing she had done was hide and stay out of the way. Which wasn’t a bad example for Jig to follow.
So he sat down against the wall and tried to wrap his brain around exactly what this party wanted to do. To steal the rod from Straum’s own hoard was unthinkable. As Darnak had said, their best efforts would do little more than annoy the great beast, and the most they could hope for was a swift death by flame, tooth, or talon. If the dragon was in a bad mood, he had other ways to dispose of those who annoyed him. Jig knew of tales wherein Straum had stolen the very souls of his enemies. Others he simply
turned over to the Necromancer, the sorcerous master of the dead who some said dwelled beneath these very tunnels.
This would make a marvelous song: “The Raiders of Straum’s Lair and Their Long, Painful Deaths.” Goblins everywhere would sing about this quest as they ate their evening meals. Insanity. Jig had wondered about Barius’s state of mind from the moment he heard the prince speak. As for the wizard, well, all wizards were a bit crazy. That much was common knowledge. So Jig understood how these two might believe they could successfully raid Straum’s lair. But the dwarf looked sane. For a dwarf, at least. And what could have convinced an elf to throw away the virtual immortality of their race for such a futile—no, such a stupid—quest?
“Ellnorein placed the rod here to keep it safe?” Jig asked.
“Now you’re getting it,” Darnak answered.
“And Ellnorein was a smart man?”
“The wisest mage of his time,” Barius said. “Indeed, perhaps the wisest man in all of human history.”
“And you want to take the rod away, even though Ellnorein went to such lengths to keep you from doing that?”
“Er . . .” The dwarf glanced away.
“That is precisely our intention,” Barius said. “To rescue the rod is my quest. Tradition and honor require me to prove myself to my father the king, as well as to his subjects. My six brothers before me each undertook such a quest, but by retrieving the Rod of Creation, I shall prove myself a man of more courage and strength than the best of them.”
Jig tried to understand this. Less than half of all goblin children survived into adulthood. Scavengers claimed many, and others died the first time they ventured out of their territory. The rite of adulthood claimed plenty as well, but that tradition was a matter of survival. The goblin who couldn’t find his way through the tunnels was a danger to everyone, and bound to get himself killed sooner or later. Better sooner, so he wouldn’t take anyone else with him. But the tradition Barius described was like teaching a child to swim by throwing him into a lake full of lizard-fish.