by Jim C. Hines
“He’s a mere fairy,” Barius whispered, an uncharacteristic grin tugging his lips.
That was the wrong thing to say. The Necromancer stood up in the chair, pulling himself to his full height. Had he been on the floor, he would have been at eye-level with the prince’s knee. He waved his wand about like a sword. “A mere fairy, eh? And what’s to keep this mere fairy from mastering the dark arts? I’ll show you what real power is. I killed the old Necromancer, you know.”
He hopped down and ran at Barius. His dead bodyguards flanked him, weapons ready. Barius slipped back and raised his sword in a defensive stance, but the Necromancer slid to a halt a few feet out of range.
“This was his domain, but I took it away from him. Me! By myself. The others all died, but I lived long enough to cast a spell of dancing on him.” He giggled. “He couldn’t stop long enough to cast a spell, and that gave me time to put a knife in his eye. Horrid mess. Eye gook everywhere. Disgusting.”
“Ryslind, destroy this pest,” Barius said.
“Destroy him yourself, brother.”
Jig froze, not even breathing. No longer did Ryslind speak with two voices. The voice that remained was not Ryslind’s. Whatever had happened to the wizard when he overexerted himself, he was now as dangerous as the Necromancer. Jig hoped the others realized it, because the last thing he was going to do was face either mage himself.
“Take them,” the Necromancer said, pointing absently with his wand. The other creatures stepped out of their alcoves.
Barius’s head snapped one way, then another as they closed in. Even human arrogance had limits. With Darnak unconscious and his brother as great a danger as the Necromancer, Barius had no choice. His sword slipped through limp fingers, and he raised his hands in surrender. Two creatures grabbed his arms and forced him to his knees. Others did the same with Riana and Jig. They even grabbed Darnak’s limp body and held him in a kneeling position.
“Very good.” The Necromancer strutted before them. He still had to look up to meet their eyes. “You see, prince, your brother is . . . well, not himself today.” He giggled. “If you’re nice, I might even tell you who he is.”
“What do you want?” Barius sounded tired and beaten. Maybe reality had finally tunneled through his skull, and the prince realized he was going to die. Jig wanted to reassure him that he’d get used to the thought after a while, but decided it would be better to remain silent.
“It’s not about what I want. It’s what he wants.” The Necromancer nodded at Ryslind. Then he smirked again. “Still, nobody could complain if I kept one or two, to replace a few of my toy soldiers. The dwarf, I think. He’ll make a good warrior. And one other.” He rubbed his tiny chin.
His eyes looked from Riana to Jig and back. To Jig’s shame, all he could think was, Take the elf. Elves are stronger than goblins. They’re smarter. You don’t want me.
“The elf could be useful for the task ahead of you, but I see no reason for you to take the goblin. Leave him for me.”
“Dung!” Jig shouted. “Why me? Why not her? Why does it always have to be the goblin?” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was doing. He had shouted at the Necromancer. “Uh . . . sir,” he added quietly.
The Necromancer didn’t take offense. “You intrigue me, goblin. You were the one to figure out my little game. You were quite right, you know. Dreadfully lonely down here. Sometimes I summon one of my bats and play with it, but they die so quickly. With the lizard-fish guarding the vortex, I rarely get to talk to anyone from above. I’ve even snuck into Straum’s domain a time or two, just for the company.
“You should be honored, little goblin. You’ll be the first of your race to become one of my servants.” He gestured toward the corpses. “I’ve humans and dwarves and even an elf or two.” He lowered his voice and looked at the others, as if sharing a deep secret. “Though elves don’t take too well to being dead.”
“Neither do I,” Jig said.
The Necromancer grinned, revealing blackened gums. Seeing Jig’s stare, he explained, “Nothing much to eat down here. Had to make do on what I could conjure, and I’m afraid it wasn’t all that healthy. Rotted the teeth right out of my head. What I wouldn’t give for a crisp, juicy apple. Some days I think I’d trade all my power for one apple.”
Jig stared. “But without teeth, how would you eat it?”
“Shut up!” The little fairy flew into the air and shouted. Spit sprayed Jig’s face. “You know nothing of the sacrifices I’ve made. Stupid goblin. Within an hour, I’ll give you a few sips from my beautiful fountain, and you’ll never worry about anything again. But for me, there’s always something to worry about. What if the magic wears off? What if a stronger mage comes after me?” He looked around fearfully. “What if Straum comes to take my beautiful lair?”
“I don’t think he’d fit,” Jig pointed out. “And doesn’t Straum already have a lair of his own?”
The Necromancer blinked. “I suppose so. See, that’s why I chose you. You’re a smart one.” He waved at one of the creatures. “Take the dwarf and the goblin to the fountain and drown them.”
He winked at Jig. “That way you’ll be sure to swallow some of the potion as you die. I’ve tried a lot of ways, and trust me, this is the best. Why, once I even changed a man into a fish and dropped him into the fountain. It worked, but I wound up with an undead bass. It’s no good, you know. You can’t kill an undead bass. I took him out of the water, and he flopped about for hours and hours until I finally had one of my warriors stomp on the poor thing. Laughed for days about that one, I did.”
“What are you going to do with me?” Barius asked. “With us?”
The Necromancer’s eyes sparkled merrily. “It’s a surprise.”
Unfair, Jig thought. Barius and the others would probably be taken prisoner, left in a dungeon somewhere until Riana helped them break out. That’s what always happened. No matter how secure the dungeon, the heroes always managed to escape. Luck favored adventurers, while goblins got dragged off to be drowned. Why him?
The question burned in Jig’s brain. Why was he the one to be kicked around by the prince? Why, when he tried to help Riana, did he get threatened and punched and end up with everyone hating him? How had he ended up with this doomed party, fighting dead warriors and eating bread? Bread which, as it turned out, gave him terrible gas in addition to having no taste. He hadn’t seen a proper privy in a day and a half, and this pissing in corners was a thing for beasts. Why had he been born a goblin at all? Sure, he was smart for a goblin. Look where it had brought him. Had he died with Porak and the others, at least it would have been a fast death. Why in Shadowstar’s name couldn’t things go right for him, just this once?
Why, in my name, don’t you quit whining and do something for yourself, just this once?
Jig froze. “Who said that?”
The Necromancer frowned. “What?”
Smart for a goblin. That’s what the little blue-haired one said, right? The voice in Jig’s head sighed. I see this is a relative thing.
Jig’s eyes went wide. Tymalous Shadowstar?
Well done. Perhaps there’s hope after all. Jig got the sense that the god was shaking his head. Still, a goblin follower. Have I really fallen this far? Well, what are you waiting for, goblin?
“Jig,” he said.
“What are you talking about, little goblin?” the Necromancer asked.
“My name is Jig.” He heard Shadowstar laughing in his head. “Jig! Why does everyone call me ‘goblin’? I’m Jig!”
He squirmed and bit and kicked and tried to wiggle free, but the dead hands held him fast. His arms hurt where their fingers dug into his skin, and his shoulder was beginning to burn even through Smudge’s leather pad.
“Smudge!” Jig turned and pushed Smudge with his nose. It hurt terribly. He would have a blister on his nose, and Smudge clung to the pad even tighter when he realized what Jig was doing.
“Please,” Jig said. He pushed again, harder, a
nd Smudge came free and dropped onto the creature’s arm. The Necromancer didn’t notice, and without orders, it continued to hold Jig even as its skin blackened and burned.
“What’s the problem, goblin?” the Necromancer snapped. He raised his wand.
“My name is Jig!” he screamed. He bit down on the second corpse’s hand and used his fangs to pry the fingers free. By now the muscles of the first creature were on fire, and it was a simple matter to bend the hand back. Jig was loose. He whirled on the Necromancer and drew his sword. “Jig, Jig, Jig!”
The fairy raised his wand. A line of yellow smoke shot out, and Jig’s vision sparkled. The smoke smelled fruity and sweet. Jig’s ankle flashed in pain, but nothing else happened.
The Necromancer stared at his wand. So did Jig, but only for a second. Then he leaped into the air, screaming incoherently as he flailed about with his sword.
The Necromancer started to take to the air, but Jig’s blade slashed through one wing. As he fell, he raised his wand, and fire rushed into Jig’s face.
Again Jig’s ankle felt like it had exploded, but the fire didn’t harm him. No worse than Smudge had done on many occasions, at least. But he couldn’t see with all that fire in his face. Where had the Necromancer been?
He lunged blindly, felt his blade sink into something soft, and the flames disappeared.
On the ground in front of him, the Necromancer stared in disbelief at the sword sticking out of his belly. He had dropped his wand, and both hands gingerly touched the blade, as if he couldn’t believe it was real. Only Jig was close enough to hear the Necromancer’s final tormented words.
“By a goblin?” And then he died.
Jig stepped on the fairy’s chest and pulled his sword free. He wondered briefly if fairy would taste as good as elf, but decided he wasn’t hungry enough to find out. Not when the fairy had also been a Necromancer. Who knew what potions and preservatives might be mixed in with that flesh? Besides, the fairy was a little thing, scrawny as well as short. Hardly any meat at all.
Jig turned to face the others. The Necromancer was dead. That left only two dozen dead warriors and a possessed wizard.
Jig grinned like a madman and waved his sword. “Who’s first?”
CHAPTER 11
Between Death and a Dark Pit
Two dozen dead faces stared at him. Riana’s mouth hung open in shock, and Barius looked every which way as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Ryslind’s red eyes swept over the Necromancer’s body, then locked onto Jig. He did not look happy.
Jig could think of only one thing to do. He prayed. That worked great! Thank you so much. What next?
The answer, when it came, sounded a bit put out. I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to live through it.
Oh. Some of Jig’s elation drained off at that. Some, but not all. What had Shadowstar said? Quit whining and do something for yourself for once. And he had. He had slain the Necromancer. A deed worthy of song! A song about him, Jig the goblin. Sure, the Necromancer looked harmless now, a dead fairy bleeding a puddle onto the floor. But that fairy had been the Necromancer, a two-foot-tall master of death with hideous blue hair.
The point was, Jig had done it. He had been stronger than the Necromancer’s magic. His sword had ended the Necromancer’s life. He had done it, not Barius or Darnak. It was all he could do not to giggle. He spun to face Ryslind. The dead creatures hadn’t moved, which made Ryslind the next threat to be faced.
The wizard smiled, and the ground beneath Jig fell away. No, he was floating! Even as he watched, the room start to spin, his ankle throbbed, and he fell onto his backside. He stood back up with a grimace, rubbing his bruised posterior. So much for the dramatic hero.
“What have you done?” Ryslind demanded. He tried another spell, but nothing happened. “Where did you find this protection?”
Protection? Jig remembered the pain that had come as each of the Necromancer’s spells failed. He looked down at his ankle. Inside his boot he saw the bracelet he had taken from the skeleton in the hallway. That bracelet must protect him from magic. That was why the Necromancer hadn’t been able to stop him.
That must be why the skeleton had stayed dead, while all the others had come back to fight. The bracelet couldn’t stop all magic—the stinging burns on Jig’s face told him that much. The Necromancer must have turned the bracelet’s former owner into another dead guard, and there had been just enough magic for him to walk to his alcove. There the spell had worn off, and he had died for real.
What a marvelous find. Jig was safe from magic. He looked up. Safe from magic, but not from his own foolishness. While he had been figuring out how the bracelet worked, Ryslind had strung his bow. He had an arrow nocked to the string, pointed at Jig’s chest. His eyes fell on Jig’s boot. “What have you got there, goblin?”
“Jig,” he muttered with an echo of his earlier rage. Ryslind’s fingers tightened on the bowstring, and Jig decided against another mad rush. “It’s a bracelet I found.”
“Let me have it.”
Jig saw movement behind Ryslind. If he could keep the wizard distracted, maybe someone would help him. He sat down and pulled at the boot.
“I see you, brother, so please do not try anything foolhardy.” Ryslind nodded over his shoulder, and Barius flew through the air and into the wall.
Jig started to go for his sword, but even though Ryslind wasn’t looking, the bow followed his movements. “That’s a dangerous idea, goblin.”
That wasn’t Ryslind. His body, yes, but not him. Jig could hear the difference, even if nobody else could. “Who are you?”
The wizard’s smile widened. “One who searches for the rod, the same as all of you. Now give me that bracelet.”
Jig sighed and went back to wrestling with his boot. He could have slipped it off easily, but he wanted time to think, and as long as Ryslind hadn’t noticed how overlarge the boots were, Jig could continue to stall. What should he do? Barius was helpless, pinned against the wall. Which wouldn’t have bothered Jig in the slightest, except that Barius had been on his way to stop Ryslind. Riana was still free, but as soon as she moved, she’d join Barius.
At least the creatures hadn’t attacked. They had no minds of their own. He remembered the one who had burned to a crisp rather than take the initiative to push Smudge off of its arm. They would stand there and wait for instructions forever, at least until the magic wore off.
Jig’s eyes fell upon the Necromancer’s silver wand. Could he use that to fight Ryslind? Sure he could, if he knew anything at all about magic. He wondered how much power remained in the wand. Maybe he could bluff. If he could get his hands on the wand, could he convince Ryslind to let him go?
Probably not. Ryslind hadn’t been afraid of the real Necromancer. What were the odds he would surrender to a goblin?
“You’re delaying,” Ryslind said.
“I’m trying!”
“Perhaps you need help.” He didn’t appear to do anything, but suddenly the Necromancer’s guards were closing around him.
Jig’s eyes widened. Ryslind wasn’t supposed to be able to control them. These were the Necromancer’s creatures. How much more unfair could things get?
“I’ve got it.” He hastily ripped off his boot and grabbed the bracelet. The skin of his ankle was a bit blackened. The bracelet had probably burned him when it tried to absorb too much magic. Still, better another burn than to end up like those mindless corpses.
“Throw it here,” Ryslind ordered.
Jig obeyed. He threw as hard as he could. And as he dove out of the way, he thought, Is it my fault Ryslind didn’t specify what to throw?
Ryslind ducked as Jig’s boot flew past his face. The creatures walked closer. Jig snatched the Necromancer’s wand and scampered back. Something buzzed past his face. Probably an arrow.
Trying not to think about how close that shot had come, he thrust the wand through the center of the bracelet.
The creatures collapsed. Jig tried to sm
ile, but his teeth were clenched too tightly from fear. Another victory for Jig.
Ryslind’s next arrow slammed into Jig’s shoulder like a fist, spinning him in a complete circle before he fell. His eyes wide, he tried to push himself back up, but his arms wouldn’t work. His cheek was wet and sticky. What was that blue stuff on the floor? Oh, right. That was his blood.
He lay there and waited for Ryslind to finish him. Would it be magic? The fire and ice he had used to blast away the walls? Or maybe he would settle for cutting Jig’s throat. Either way, Jig hoped it would be quick. The floor was cold, and the longer he waited, the more his shoulder hurt.
A hand rolled him over, and he found himself looking into Darnak’s bushy face. He tried to say something, but at that moment the pain increased tenfold. The dwarf had rolled him onto the arrow. Jig felt like someone had twisted a knife in his shoulder. He heard himself mutter something like, “Grargh.”
“Hold on, lad,” Darnak said. “The arrow was barbed, so I’m needing to break off the end. This is going to hurt.”
Going to hurt? Through teary eyes, Jig tried to see what was happening. He saw Darnak’s hand close around the back of the arrow. The shaft snapped, and the world went white for an instant. “Aach,” he whimpered.
Darnak placed a hand over Jig’s shoulder while someone else pulled the broken arrow through his back. Jig felt nauseous as he realized that he had a hole passing all the way through his body. And how much blood did he have left? That warm puddle all over the floor, that was him! He needed that stuff to stay inside his skin, not be spreading across the marble and soaking into his loincloth.
“What happened?” He had to ask three times before someone understood his pain-slurred speech.
“Darnak clubbed Ryslind on the head,” Riana said. “With all of those creatures falling, he got so angry that he stopped paying attention to the rest of us. He’s tied and gagged, so we should be safe when he wakes up.”