Goblin Quest

by Jim C. Hines

  Ran into a goblin horde and slew them all but one.

  Dragged poor Jig along to face an end most gory,

  All so Barius could prove himself the bravest son.

  He glanced up to make sure nobody had heard his mumbling. He would have to finish his song later. Assuming they lived long enough.

  His attention turned to the forest. Riana had complained that the trees weren’t real, but Jig didn’t care. He had never seen anything like them. Brown trunks, thick as his waist, rose a hundred feet into the air. The roots snaked through the dirt, tripping Jig time and again as his eyes wandered skyward.

  This must be why surface-dwellers invented boots, he decided as he picked himself up for the fourth time. Even through the oversize boots, his toes throbbed from their encounters with the roots. Were he barefoot, he would no doubt be unable to walk by now.

  Gradually Jig learned that this mock forest was less idyllic than he had assumed. For one thing, he had to walk differently. The ground sank beneath his feet, and he found himself stepping ridiculously high to try to avoid those blasted tree roots. Worse, the ground itself was soft and uneven! Soon the backs of Jig’s legs burned from climbing small hills where the dirt constantly shifted.

  He needed to rest. Sweat stung his eyes, and every step became a quest in itself. He could feel the blisters, each one the size of a small mountain. On his ankles, heels, toes . . . by now, his feet had a landscape to rival the woods around them. He also found that the boots that protected his toes had grown heavy as stones, and only the knowledge that he would be worse off barefoot kept him from flinging them into the woods.

  Despite it all, he kept his mouth shut. If he complained, Barius would only hear it as a sign of weakness. He’d probably even increase their pace. Besides, nobody else was having any trouble. Even Riana, skinny as a snake, matched Barius’s march without trouble.

  Finally, as the sunlight faded to orange, then red, Barius called a halt. He pointed to a large pair of trees.

  “We make camp here. Riana, you and the goblin will gather wood for a fire while Darnak and I discuss a plan for dispatching the dragon Straum.”

  He made Straum sound like nothing more than a nuisance. A carrion-worm to be chased out of the kitchens, rather than a creature of legend that could kill with a single breath.

  Jig kept an ear cocked back as they searched for firewood. He couldn’t hear well enough to make out what was being said, but he wanted to make sure he didn’t get turned about and lose his way. As long as he could hear their voices, he could get back to the others. How did people get around without walls to guide them? Why, he could go in any direction he chose, turn left or right at random. The trees looked alike, the ground was the same everywhere, and were it not for the low voices behind him, Jig would have been lost already.

  This must be why Darnak spends so much time on his map. If the others were as disoriented underground as Jig was here, no wonder they needed to note the way out.

  He glanced into the sky and received another shock. The sun had moved! Before, it had been directly overhead, but in the past few hours it had traveled to the very edge of the sky. How could they find their way when even the sky shifted position?

  Riana had stopped to watch a bird circle overhead. When she didn’t move, Jig looked up as well. Following the wide flight made him dizzy, and he wondered if real birds ever felt nauseous. Did Jig and the others seem as small from up there as the bird did to him? Did the bird feel free, able to go anywhere it chose?

  “I wonder what it’s like.”

  He didn’t realize he had spoken out loud until Riana spat. “I’m sure it’s great. You can fly anywhere, right up until some hunter turns his trained falcon loose to break your back and bring you down.”

  She stomped off, Jig following close behind to make sure he didn’t lose sight of her. So much for birds. When she began to gather wood, he picked a tree at random, drew his sword, and chopped at one of the lower branches. The impact jolted his fingers and forearm. Trees were tougher than he thought. He drew back for another swing.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting wood.” He saw her expression and hesitated.

  Riana shook her head with exasperation. “A fat lot of good that will do. You don’t use green wood for a fire unless you want to make a smoke-tail.”

  “A what?”

  “A smoke-tail. A signal humans use to let one another know where they’re at.” Her lips tightened. “I don’t think we want to announce ourselves to the dragon quite yet, do you?”

  Jig stared at the tree. The leaves were green, but the wood itself was brown and rough. Wood was wood. Jig had never seen green wood, and he had no idea why the sticks Riana was picking off the ground were any better than this branch. Except, maybe, that he didn’t know how many trees he could attack before his hand grew numb.

  Seeing his indecision, Riana sighed and dropped her small pile of sticks. “Put that away,” she said impatiently. When Jig’s sword was safely back in its sheath, she pointed to the branch he had cut. “See the sap?”

  Jig squinted. By putting his face three inches from the branch, he could make out a few drops of clear liquid oozing out of the cut.

  “That’s because the branch is still alive. It’s wet inside, so it won’t burn. Gather the branches that have died and fallen off. The dryer the better.” She picked up one branch and broke it in half. “See? No sap. I’m amazed you goblins haven’t suffocated yourselves if you don’t know enough to use dry wood.”

  “There aren’t many trees in the upper tunnels,” Jig snapped. How was he supposed to know that brown wood wasn’t always brown, and that clear tree blood turned wood green? He gave the tree a disgusted look and began to grab sticks from the ground.

  “What do you burn for fuel?” Riana asked.

  “Elves.” He didn’t want to admit that, for the most part, goblins couldn’t scrounge enough fuel for fires. As for the muck, that was barely enough to keep the lair lit, let alone warm. It was all they could do to fuel a real cookfire, and even that required them to trade with the hobgoblins. Unlike goblins, hobgoblins would venture onto the surface. They took the weapons and coins the goblins had scavenged in exchange for a few bundles of wood. Just one more way to keep the goblins weak and the hobgoblins strong. Jig wondered why he had never seen it before. By taking most of the weapons, the hobgoblins kept the goblins from becoming a real threat.

  A rustling from ahead made Jig start. He dropped his sticks and grabbed his sword. “Did you hear that?”

  Riana shook her head. She did draw her dagger, though, and Jig saw fear in her eyes as she scanned the woods.

  “We could get killed out here,” Jig whispered. Why had Barius sent the two weakest people off on their own? He remembered the dead ogres. Was this another ogre, one who had avoided the creature that killed its fellows? Jig shivered. Or perhaps this was the creature itself. Having slain the ogres, was it hunting new prey?

  The woods had grown quiet. The ever-present song of distant birds died out, and the occasional rustle of leaves sounded far too loud to Jig’s ears.

  “Barius probably wants us to get killed,” Riana said, voice soft. “If we die, that’s two problems he doesn’t have to deal with anymore.” Another noise, this time a grating sound, came from the right. Like someone rubbing two sticks together, only much louder. “It sounds big.”

  Jig felt naked and exposed with no walls around him. He backed toward a large tree. The tree was a poor substitute for hard stone, but at least it would guard his back. On his last step, his heel caught on a root. His head smacked the trunk, and his sword flipped end over end and stabbed into the ground.

  The noise stopped for a second. Jig held his breath, hoping the thing hadn’t heard. Riana didn’t speak, but her eyes shot profanity that would have done a patrol captain proud.

  The beast charged. Clomping footsteps tore through the dirt and the undergrowth toward them. Jig scrambled for his sword. Before he could fi
nd it, the thing leaped over a fallen tree, straight at Riana.

  It was enormous. Sharp branched horns topped its narrow head. Rocklike hooves kicked the air with every bound.

  “Dragon!” Jig yelled. He curled into a ball and covered his head.

  Riana ducked, and the thing sprang right over her and disappeared. Jig tried to listen, to make sure it was really gone, but the pounding of his heart made it impossible to hear anything else.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. She wasn’t bleeding. Though she trembled with fear, she hadn’t been wounded.

  Jig looked closer. That wasn’t fear after all.

  The elf was laughing at him. Jig’s face grew hot. It wasn’t like he had intentionally fallen. “We should get back, in case there are more of those things.”

  “Jig, it was a deer,” she gasped. “Not a dragon. And I hope there are more. I haven’t eaten venison in years.”

  Jig blushed harder. He knew it wasn’t a dragon. Dragons had scales, not fur, and he had never heard of a brown dragon. “I didn’t see it that well,” he said sheepishly. “I panicked.”

  Riana’s eyes widened, and she laughed even harder. “Jig, don’t worry. Deer are the biggest cowards out there, and they only eat plants. Not goblins.”

  She stood up and brushed dirt from her clothes. “Come on. He was probably rubbing the velvet off his antlers. I’ll show you.”

  Jig gathered up his wood and followed. He ignored her giggles, as well as her warnings about flying squirrels and other terrible surface monsters. Sure enough, they found a tree whose bark showed long gouges. Other places had been polished smooth by the deer’s antlers.

  She smirked. “Alchemists sometimes collect deer velvet. They use it for an aphrodisiac.”

  He didn’t bother to ask what an aphrodisiac was. “Riana, are deer stupid?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “But I’ve never lived in the woods. Why?”

  Jig frowned as he stared at the tree. “The deer couldn’t have heard us at first. Otherwise, if they’re as timid as you say, it would have fled. But when I fell, he came toward us. Which means something else must have scared it even more.”

  Riana’s face went still. “You’re right.”

  From behind them, a dry voice said, “Indeed you are.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Pointing Fingers

  Jig couldn’t flee. He wanted to, but several things kept him rooted in place. He could no longer hear the others back at camp, and since he had completely lost his bearings during the confusion with the deer, any attempt to run would probably lead him deeper into the woods. Also, he knew that voice.

  Recognition strengthened his desire to escape, while at the same time making him realize that trying to do so would be pointless. No matter how quickly he moved, Ryslind’s magic could strike him down. To run would only provide an easier shot at Jig’s unguarded back.

  “Ryslind?” he said, searching for the wizard’s hiding spot.

  “Did I startle you, little ones?” Ryslind asked as he stepped out from behind a large tree.

  His bonds were gone, as was his bow. To anyone who hadn’t seen the charred corpses left by Ryslind’s magic, he looked like a harmless man with odd taste in tattoos. Jig didn’t move. He still remembered Ryslind’s threats, and whereas Barius’s temper always warned Jig when to expect an attack, Ryslind would boil you in your skin without ever losing that thin smirk. Now was a time to remain very polite and nonthreatening.

  “How did you escape?” Riana asked.

  Ryslind smiled. “My brother ordered my hands and feet tied again after you left. I lay there in silence until their attention wandered.” He folded his arms behind his back and began to pace. “Barius and Darnak are naïve. They know nothing of true magic or those who use it, so they believed I was helpless.”

  Ryslind reached into his robes and flourished a short knife. “All that work to prevent me from spellcasting, and they never searched for weapons.”

  The single-edged blade curved forward like a sickle, and the handle was black bone. Too short for combat, Jig decided. For humans, at least. It was still a far cry better than the kitchen knife Jig had carried at the beginning of this escapade.

  Whatever Ryslind used it for, aside from cutting ropes, Jig didn’t want to know. There was a sinister aura about it that made him hope Ryslind wouldn’t need goblin parts for any of his spells.

  “You killed them?” Riana’s gaze didn’t leave the knife.

  “No,” Ryslind said. Regretfully? Jig couldn’t tell. “I considered it. But he is still my brother.” The knife vanished into the shadows of his robe. “I put them both to sleep. They will rest safely until the spell wears off, sometime tomorrow afternoon, or until someone disturbs the glyphs.”

  “Safe?” Riana repeated. “What if another ogre comes?”

  Ryslind smiled. His eyes searched the trees. “I imagine even the thick-skulled ogres have learned to leave us alone. If not, the lesson will be repeated.”

  Repeated by whom? Jig shivered, remembering the clawed corpses of the ogres back at the clearing. Did something watch over them even as they spoke? “You know what killed the other ogres.”

  “I know much more than you or my brother ever realized, little goblin.”

  Jig realized then why Ryslind hadn’t killed him yet. It had nothing to do with Barius being his brother, or with any sort of loyalty. No, Ryslind—or whatever had taken control of Ryslind’s mind—wanted an audience. He was like Porak, though stronger than the goblin captain had ever been. Both of them thrived on showing off their power and making others afraid.

  Both of which, Jig admitted to himself, he had accomplished quite nicely. Ryslind was far better at it than Porak was. Especially the fear part. Ryslind sane was enough to twist Jig’s stomach. Ryslind with this second, strange voice, and the glow of his eyes brighter than ever . . . if Jig had been a fire-spider, the entire forest would be aflame by now. Fortunately, Smudge had restrained himself to singeing his leather pad.

  “You’re going after the rod, aren’t you?” Riana crossed her arms and cocked her head.

  Ryslind nodded. “Barius would take the rod back to our father. Oh, he would receive everything he had ever hoped for. There would be a celebration, with dancing and musicians and all the glory Barius wanted. Until the next morning, when the people’s attention turned elsewhere and left him more bitter and empty than before. In the meantime, the rod would be tucked into some vault and left to gather dust, locked away as if it were naught but a mere trinket.

  “My brother is like a crow who steals a gold necklace for its pretty sparkle, with no understanding of its real value. Much as I hate to snatch the necklace from my brother’s beak, I think I can find a better use for its power.”

  He pointed a finger at one of the trees. The tattoos on his hand pulsed once, and a thick branch began to twist like a serpent. Small twigs fell from the main branch, and the bark peeled away like dead skin. With a loud crack, the smooth branch tumbled free and flew to Ryslind’s hand.

  He brushed a few last flakes of bark off of the pale staff. “If you are wise, you will leave.”

  “How?” Riana demanded. She jerked her head toward the sky. “Are we supposed to fly out of here?”

  Ryslind scowled. He grabbed one of the smaller sticks. “Watch.” He threw the stick into the air. It whirled end over end for twenty feet, then shot back to earth. Jig heard nothing, but it appeared as though the stick had collided with something solid. It landed somewhere to their left.

  Jig stared.

  Seeing that they didn’t understand, Ryslind sighed and picked up another stick. He repeated his demonstration. “What you see is the stick hitting the roof of the cavern.”

  “What cavern?” Jig asked.

  “And you killed the Necromancer,” Ryslind said in wonder. “Did you really believe an entire sky existed beneath the mountain? That those clouds are real? You fell less than thirty feet, yet you accept the existence of those birds
soaring hundreds of feet in the air. It’s illusion, all of it. A powerful illusion, but no more. Which means the pit we came through is still there, if you have the wit to find it again. If not. . . .” He stabbed the end of his staff into the dirt.

  Before Jig could work up the courage to ask more questions, Ryslind walked off into the woods. Jig rubbed his eyes and wished for a set of those elven lenses Riana had mentioned. For it looked like Ryslind’s feet passed through the roots that had snagged Jig’s boots time after time. He wondered if Shadowstar could provide the same magic for Jig.

  “We should stop him,” Riana said. She had her dagger out, and she glared in the direction Ryslind had gone.

  “Why?” Personally, Jig thought that going back home was a lovely idea. He thought about Golaka’s famous peppered dwarf roast, finding a corner to himself where he could feed Smudge and where the only bullies were goblins, not wizards and princes and dwarves . . . he could almost smell the smoke of the cookfire. “I say we go find the way out.”

  Riana rolled her eyes. “So we make our way to the Necromancer’s little throne room. What then?”

  Jig started to answer, then his mouth clapped shut. Ryslind was the only one who could get them past the lizard-fish . . . which Ryslind knew perfectly well. “Okay, so he’s still playing with us,” Jig said slowly. “What’s your plan for stopping him?”

  Now it was Riana’s turn to hesitate. “We could sneak up on him,” she said. “Like Darnak told us, against a wizard, we just have to be fast enough to kill him before he can cast a spell.”

  “But this is Ryslind.”

  “Why are you so frightened of him? Everyone dies sooner or later. If you stab him in the heart, he’ll die like everything else.”

  “Not everyone dies,” Jig muttered. “Some of them turn into walking corpses.”

  “Jig, stop being such a coward. You killed the Necromancer, right?”

  “I was lucky.”

  She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against a tree. “Lucky or not, you did it. There’s two of us. If we don’t kill him, who knows what he’ll do. He’s only human, right?”