Goblin Quest

by Jim C. Hines

  He never saw Straum’s tail rush through the air to smash into Jig from the side.

  The last thing Jig heard as his body crashed into a wall was Straum’s amused voice saying, “Pity, really. Had you been as cowardly as the rest of your race, you might have survived.”

  CHAPTER 17

  In the Blink of an Eye

  “You lasted longer than I thought you would, I’ll grant you that much.”

  Jig opened an eye, closed it again. He peeked out through the other one, just to be certain. Nothing had changed in the interim.

  “This isn’t Straum’s cave.”

  “You can do better than that, Jig. If you were really this thick, I can think of seven times in the past week alone when you would have died. Use your brain. Figure out where you are.”

  Jig scowled. He knew who he was talking to, if nothing else. Somehow, Tymalous Shadowstar sounded less impressive when his words weren’t reverberating inside Jig’s skull. As for where he was . . . he sat up and took a good look around.

  He noticed the sky first. Straum’s illusionary sky was nothing compared to this. There must have been hundreds of stars here. Thousands, even. He didn’t try to count, since his vision would make the task impossible.

  Except that it didn’t. Instead of round blurs of light, each star was a clear pinpoint. He could even make out individual colors. Some sparkled with a blue tinge, others appeared yellow, and several flashed red as he watched. He could see!

  He stared at his hands. For the first time, he could hold them at arm’s length and still see the layer of grime beneath his nails. Everything had come into focus. This was wonderful! He looked back into the sky, noticing one star that stood out from the others. It was a large red star, which appeared to be a half-inch wide and shone brighter than the rest. In fact, that star provided the only illumination. The red light gave everything an angry, flamelike tinge. His own skin had turned purplish.

  What had Darnak told him? Shadowstar was the God of the Autumn Star, so the Autumn Star was probably that big red one. He lowered his gaze to survey the more immediate surroundings. Whatever this place was, it needed to be torn apart and rebuilt from scratch. Crumbled walls traced a roughly rectangular outline. Scorch marks blackened parts of the walls and the floor. The floor itself was mostly dirt and clumps of yellowed grass, and only the occasional ceramic fragment gave any hint of what must have once been an impressive temple.

  There was no smell. Even the stink of sweat and blood that had followed him for days was missing. Jig glanced down at himself.

  His boots and loincloth were the same as before, only brighter, lacking any trace of grime. He didn’t even try to remember when he had last washed the loincloth.

  His body appeared whole. He couldn’t remember what had happened right before he came here, but he had expected to find himself torn in two, or at least bent at a sharp angle. Instead, he was healthy as ever.

  He tested his fingers, flexing each one individually to make sure the bones still worked. He checked the wrists and elbows next. So far, so good. As he pulled off his boots to check his toes, it occurred to him that he was stalling. Jig didn’t really want to admit he was sitting here with a god. He might have grown used to the day-to-day oddities of traveling with adventurers, but this went beyond strange.

  He cast a furtive glance at Shadowstar.

  “You’re not dead, so don’t bore me by asking. Everyone always asks me that. Right after the ‘Where am I?’ bit. You’d think they could at least come up with something more original.”

  Jig straightened, confused, and so got his first clear view of Tymalous Shadowstar. His first impression was not a flattering one. I thought gods were supposed to be . . . taller.

  “Not this god,” Shadowstar said. “Big gods make better targets.”

  Jig absolutely refused to think about what it would take to threaten a god. Another god, presumably, but he didn’t want to imagine fighting of that magnitude. Quarreling among the adventurers was more than enough for Jig. Instead, he took a closer look at Shadowstar.

  He stood only a few inches taller than Jig. He could have passed for a short, skinny human, about thirty years of age. Assuming nobody looked him in the eyes, that was. The skin around the sockets appeared normal, but they contained a blackness as deep as the night sky. Red starbursts shone from the center, reminding Jig a little of Ryslind. But unlike the wizard, Shadowstar’s eyes held no malice. As Jig stared, he felt as though he were falling into the sky itself, and his stomach gurgled in protest.

  Jig forced himself to look away before he lost himself completely. As he took in the rest of the god’s appearance, he deliberately avoided that face.

  Shadowstar wore loose-fitting clothes of black silk. Strips of tiny silver bells ran down the outside of his pants and sleeves. The shirt was open at the chest, revealing a smooth, lean body. His skin wasn’t quite white, but it was pastier than that of any other being Jig had seen. His silver hair flowed to waist-level, but the hairline appeared to have receded a bit over the years. A balding god? Even gods grew old, he supposed. At least Shadowstar hadn’t acquired the swollen gut carried by most older goblins.

  “Why am I here?”

  Shadowstar grunted. “Another obvious question, but not quite as trite as it could have been.” He chuckled. “Worship is a two-way deal. I’ll help you out a bit, but it means I get first dibs on your soul when you and your body part ways. After the pounding you took from Straum, you came here.”

  “But you said I wasn’t dead yet.”

  He ignored Jig’s question. “Rule number one when dealing with dragons,” he said, extending one gloved finger. “Never look them in the eye. It’s distracting, to say the least. But seeing as how goblins don’t usually go in for dragonslaying, I understand why you hadn’t learned the rules.

  “Unfortunately for you, ignorance makes a poor shield. At this moment, your body is upside down against the wall of Straum’s lair. Your back snapped in two places when you hit, your ribs are gravel, and you’re paralyzed from about here down.” Shadowstar tapped his hand at the middle of his chest. “You also bruised your brain, which wouldn’t make a difference to the average goblin, but you’ve shown yourself to be far from average, my friend.

  “When faced with a choice between living in excruciating pain, albeit only from the nipples up, or getting a head start on death and avoiding that last bit of nastiness, you opted for the latter. This left your body in a coma and your mind and soul here with me.”

  “Oh.” Jig’s shoulders slumped. “What if Darnak heals me?” The dwarf had done it before. Maybe there was a chance Jig could still survive.

  Not that this place was so terrible. At least he was safe. He had never thought much about an afterlife. Goblins believed that once you died, your body went to the carrion-worms, and that was the end of it. He didn’t care what happened to him after he died, because he had never expected to see any of it. Goblins died, and then other goblins came along to steal their belongings and toss the body into the tunnels. He never imagined spending time with a forgotten god in the midst of a rundown temple.

  Still, while Shadowstar might be good company, Jig wasn’t ready to make this place a permanent home. Nor did he like the fact that Ryslind had beaten him. In a strange way, he had been having fun. Not that he enjoyed always hearing Death’s footsteps follow him around, and he would have chosen different company if he could, and those dead warriors had been a bit much. But skipping between Death’s fingers time after time gave him a strange, bubbling thrill in the middle of his chest. He had learned things, too. Things that could help the goblins hold their own against the other races. Or they would have, had he lived long enough to pass them on.

  When Jig spoke, it was in a soft voice, full of wonder. “I want to go back.”

  He looked hopefully at Shadowstar, but the god was shaking his head. “You can’t. Rather, you’re already there. You’ve just taken a step sideways from reality, that’s all. But I’m afra
id Darnak can’t help you. Things are about to get messy, and nobody is going to worry about a goblin they believe to be a corpse.”

  His starburst pupils bored into Jig’s eyes. He was waiting for something. Jig didn’t understand what Shadowstar expected him to do. That Darnak couldn’t help him was hard to accept. Goblins, by nature, did not ask for help. To ask for help was to make yourself vulnerable. The closest word for “trust” in the goblin tongue was a word that meant either “gullible” or “dumb as dung,” depending on context. So for Jig to admit he needed help was hard enough, even if Darnak would never know. To learn that Darnak couldn’t help was worse, because Jig knew he would have tried to heal Jig’s wounds if he could.

  That was simply who Darnak was. He might not like Jig, but he would obey the rules of Silas Earthmaker. He would obey because he wanted to, not because he had to. If nothing else, Darnak was loyal. Loyal to the princes and their father the king, loyal to his god, and loyal to his fellow adventurers.

  Jig grinned at that. He had thought of himself as an adventurer. At least he hadn’t gotten tangled up with traditional hero traits like loyalty or nobility. Too much of that and he’d turn into another Barius.

  His smile faded. He was still thinking like he was going to survive, and Shadowstar had made it pretty clear that wasn’t the case. Though if he was slated to die, why did Shadowstar watch him with that patient expression? Why all of the games, if he was truly stuck here?

  “You want me to live, don’t you?” Jig asked. Shadowstar shrugged noncommittally, jingling the bells along his sleeves. But his eyes literally twinkled, and Jig knew he was right. Darnak couldn’t help him, because he didn’t know Jig needed help. But Jig was a goblin, and if a goblin wanted help, he had better help himself, ’cause nobody else was likely to do it.

  “Silas Earthmaker gives Darnak magic to heal people. Can you do that for me?”

  “Maybe,” Shadowstar said, drawing the word into a long drawl. “I’ve helped my followers before, back in the days when I had any. As I mentioned, worship is a two-way thing. You haven’t yet committed to me.”

  Before Jig could argue, he held up a hand and said, “You picked out a god who would help you because he had nothing better to do. Darnak wouldn’t even have remembered my name if I hadn’t jogged his mind a bit. You wanted someone you could use, correct?”

  Jig nodded. No use lying to a god, he figured. Still, it hadn’t sounded quite so calculated when he first decided to follow Shadowstar.

  “If I help you this time, there are things you’ll need to do for me. Rules to follow, like Darnak does for Silas Earthmaker. Can you do this?”

  “Sure.”

  Apparently Jig answered too quickly. Shadowstar smiled. “Remember, you come to me when you die. Betray me, and we’ll have a very long chat once you get here.”

  Jig had heard many threats over the past few days, but Shadowstar’s cheerful warning made them sound like the work of clumsy amateurs. In a small voice, Jig said, “I can still lie to other people though, right? Telling the truth is a good way to get killed.”

  Shadowstar laughed. “Fair enough. Now, let us discuss the terms of our partnership.”

  Partnership. Awestruck, Jig watched as Tymalous Shadowstar walked toward him. Him, Jig the goblin. The runt who hid in corners and cringed when it came time to choose guards for patrol duty. This goblin was about to partner up with a god.

  What had the universe come to?

  Smudge jumped in shock when Jig turned his head. He had been peering into Jig’s mouth, presumably seeking signs of life.

  A good thing the spider had moved, because Jig bit his lip so hard he expected the fangs to pierce his cheeks. Shadowstar hadn’t warned him how much this would hurt! As he surveyed the damage, he couldn’t believe this was his body. This body had too many joints in the legs, and the chest was bumpier than it should have been. He didn’t know how his skeleton worked, but he knew he shouldn’t bend this way. To make matters worse, he was upside down, propped against the wall like a discarded doll. And why couldn’t he feel anything from the chest down?

  I told you, you’re paralyzed.

  Right. That was probably a blessing, all things considered. He had enough pain in the parts he could feel. Even moving his head made him want to vomit. Flopping onto his side was torture, and he had to lay there for over a minute before he could move again. His vision was worse than usual, too. Outlines wavered and shifted, and he thought he saw two dragons arguing with two Bariuses. That couldn’t be right. Unless he had angered Shadowstar somehow and this was his punishment.

  Relax. That’s the bump to your brain, remember? You’re going to feel a bit strange, even when we start to heal you. Especially when we start to heal you. I can give you the magic, but you have to use it. We’ll begin as soon as you’re ready.

  Jig tried to relax. The tips of his fingers grew warm, as if he had dipped them into a bucket of water. Was this magic? He could feel the sensation move through his wrists and into his arms. He pulled back involuntarily when it reached his neck. This was too much like drowning.

  Trust me.

  Back to trust again. Was Jig gullible, or simply dumb as dung? Probably a bit of both, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Shadowstar wouldn’t help him out only to drown him. He tried to relax, but he couldn’t get enough air. His chest felt tight, and he breathed faster, struggling to inhale. Why couldn’t he breathe? He heard himself panting like an animal, but the sound was growing distant. He was dying again.

  You’re hyperventilating. Stop it. Think about . . . whatever it is goblins do to relax. Killing and eating, or something like that.

  Jig tried to concentrate on what was happening on the other side of Straum’s lair. He forced himself to inhale and hold it for a few seconds, breaking up the frantic rhythm of his breathing. He exhaled slowly, turned his head, and tried to put Shadowstar out of his mind.

  Very little time had passed since Straum flung Jig into the wall. His conversation with the god must not have taken as long as he thought. Barius and the others still stood in front of the dragon, apparently stunned by the attack on Jig.

  Jig twitched an ear, which didn’t hurt as badly as the rest of him, and tried to listen.

  “You shouldn’t have gone and killed him, not after he found your precious rod.” That was Darnak. His protests were feeble, though. Did he expect an apology from the dragon?

  “There are things you have to learn if you’re going to live to see your five-thousandth birthday. One of the first is that when someone betrays you, you kill him. Preferably in a way that teaches a lesson to his friends.”

  That was a warning, to make sure the rest of the group cooperated. Jig wondered if Barius had noticed it. Not that he would change his plans if he had. In his own way, Barius was as loyal as Darnak. He might hate his brother, but he would still die for the chance to avenge Ryslind’s destruction.

  Jig had no problem with Barius dying. Indeed, he would have been far happier if Straum had chosen to break Barius against the wall instead of him. Barius could die happy and alone, knowing his had been an honorable end, while the rest of them crept quietly out of the lair and back to somewhere safe.

  Instead he expected Barius to get them all killed when he tried to attack Straum. Unless he managed to win. Was it possible? He was a prince and an experienced adventurer. He had the Rod of Creation.

  But Straum was an experienced dragon, and he had really big claws and a tail, as well as one of his children to guard him. Not to mention Ryslind himself, standing over there with those glowing eyes and all of Straum’s magic at his command. At one time those eyes had frightened Jig. After seeing Shadowstar, he found them an annoyance, no more. He wanted to run over and pull tiny curtains over Ryslind’s face.

  “The rock overhead is almost a quarter of a mile thick.” Straum’s wings flapped in a quick, small movement. A nervous twitch? The sound reminded Jig of rugs being shaken clean.

  “I’ll need enough room to fl
ap my wings. At least thirty paces wide. Once I’m free, you may help yourselves to anything you like from these walls.” He shifted his weight from one pair of legs to the other. “Begin.”

  Are you ready?

  “Yes.” The voice in his head had startled him into answering aloud. Luckily everyone’s eyes were on Barius. Nobody noticed the discarded goblin in the corner.

  I feel bloated, Jig complained. The magic had filled his body while he watched the others. All stuffed up and constipated.

  Please stop. Shadowstar sounded disgusted. You’ll get used to it. For now, what you want to do is place your hands over the worst injury. That would be the place where your spine takes a right-angle turn, right below the sternum.

  I know, Jig thought, annoyed. He touched the part of his chest that bulged worst. As long as he didn’t think of it as a part of his body, he could keep from throwing up.

  You’ll have to push the bones down as the magic works.

  Gross. Why does healing have to be so disgusting?

  Why do goblins have to be so fragile? Next time you’ll know better than to stand in the way of a dragon’s tail. Now when you press down, imagine the magic inside of you flowing through your hands and into the spine. You need to visualize the flow.

  The only thing flowing out of Jig’s hands was sweat. So he used that. He imagined the magic seeping through his sweat and oozing into his chest.

  Strange, but it’ll do, was Shadowstar’s reaction.

  Overhead, illuminated by the blue glow of the walls, a circular hole began to recede into the ceiling while the displaced stone formed a ring along the outside. Barius clutched the rod in both hands. His entire body had gone rigid with concentration. Everyone watched as the hole began to grow.

  That was good, because it meant they still hadn’t noticed Jig’s struggle to put his bones back into place. The pain really wasn’t too bad. True, Jig had never felt anything this excruciating, but he was sure there had to be something that could hurt more. He simply couldn’t imagine what it might be.