by Jim C. Hines
Worse than the pain was the grinding sensation in his chest, like rocks scraping against one another. Sometimes he had to push with all of his strength, and then something would pop into place, and he felt a surge of magic seep through his skin to bind the bones together again. “Next time I’m going to stay dead.”
Next time, you should try to duck. You think it’s easy for me, trying to find all those bits of rib and put them back together?
Jig scowled and pushed another chunk of backbone into place. His toes had begun to tingle, which he took to be a good sign. He could even wiggle his feet again.
A heady rush of power distracted him from the pain. He was fixing himself! The same as Darnak had done. Jig the goblin was doing magic.
Concentrate, fang-face.
Jig snorted indignantly. But he paid more attention to the magic. Most of the bones were back in place, though he could still feel things shifting and moving inside his body. A bizarre sensation, really. He wondered if this was anything like being pregnant. Goblin women generally gave birth to anywhere from two to five babies at a time. And Jig could feel at least three distinct places where his guts were rearranging themselves.
True, but pregnancy lasts eight months for you goblins. And you don’t have to squeeze the kids out of your—
“I’m trying to concentrate,” Jig interrupted quickly.
At the center of the room, Barius had deepened the hole. Darkness hid the inside, so Jig couldn’t tell how high it extended. Presumably he would know when Barius broke through to the surface. Jig expected a dramatic beam of sunlight if nothing else. So far there was nothing but blackness.
Straum peered into the growing hole, his tail shivering with excitement. “Yes,” he growled. “So close. To fly through real clouds again, to hunt real food. Faster, human.”
Barius’s attack came in silence. A huge spike of rock shot down from the black tunnel. He had used the rod to shape an enormous spear, one that he could release to impale Straum’s skull. The interior of the hole was dark, and Straum shouldn’t have seen the spear coming in time to protect himself.
Jig’s eyes had reverted to their nearsighted state when he left Shadowstar’s temple, so he saw nothing but a black streak heading toward the dragon’s enormous skull. Halfway there, it broke into a cloud of dust and gravel. He twisted his face away as pebbles showered his body.
Barius lay on his back, clutching his head while his face twisted with pain. Ryslind bent down and plucked the rod from his brother’s hands.
“You know, brother, if you had done as you were asked, we might have allowed you to live.” Ryslind cradled the rod like an infant. “Naturally we both expected you to betray us. You never were the smart one, were you?”
“Keep the bloody rod,” Darnak said. His hair and beard had turned gray from the dust. “You’ve got your freedom. Let me take his highness home, and we’ll not be bothering you again.”
“Ah, Darnak. Do you really think it’s so simple? My brother would insist on hunting us down. You know it as well as I. He couldn’t live with this humiliation and defeat. We’d have to kill him sooner or later. Isn’t it more efficient to finish him now and be done with it?”
Straum hadn’t yet spoken. He seemed content to let Ryslind do the talking. Or maybe he was speaking through Ryslind, Jig wasn’t sure.
Jig pressed against the wall and pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt like water, and he didn’t know if he’d fall down as soon as he took a step, but this was a far cry better than he had been a few minutes ago. Even as he waited to see Straum’s legendary temper reduce Barius to ash, a part of Jig’s mind couldn’t let go of his awe at the magic he had used to heal himself.
“A pity the rod can’t be used to slay you outright,” Ryslind said. “One of its few weaknesses. Though I suppose I could transform you into one of Straum’s children. That might be a fitting end, to serve the one you tried to murder. Not forever, of course. Only for a few centuries. Or less, if you found the strength to rebel against him. You saw what happens to those who try.”
Jig looked past them, toward the exit. If they focused on Ryslind, he could probably sneak past without being noticed. Even Straum’s dragonchild appeared distracted by Ryslind’s last comment.
After escaping from Straum’s lair, it would be a simple march through the tunnels, across the forest, and back up to his own home. Assuming his legs lasted more than two steps, he’d still have to face ogres, hobgoblins, and who knew what manner of creatures, but what did that matter? He had survived all of these things before.
He managed one shaky step before someone spotted him. Riana wasn’t as enthralled by Ryslind’s cat-and-mouse game as the rest. Her eyes constantly scanned the cave, probably waiting for the best moment to flee, just as Jig was. She jumped when she saw Jig alive and moving.
So much for that. Jig waited for her to cry out. The smartest thing would be for her to use Jig as a distraction to cover her own escape. He sighed. At least someone would make it out of here. She’d probably have a better chance at making it through the forest anyway.
The expected shout never came. Instead she watched the others to make sure they hadn’t noticed, then began to nod at him.
Not at you, dummy, came the weary voice of Tymalous Shadowstar.
Jig looked over his shoulder. Nothing there but shelves bearing Straum’s assorted junk. Some nice belt buckles, folded tabards in various stages of decay . . . oh. Jig stared at her. She couldn’t mean for him to. . . .
But she nodded harder, both at Jig’s comprehension and at the row of javelins lined up behind him.
Was she forgetting that Jig was a goblin? A half-blind one at that. He had never thrown a spear or javelin in his life.
Had he been a true adventurer, things might have been different. He could have leaped up, shouted a defiant battle cry, seized a javelin—probably that silver-tipped one with the finlike flanges—and hurled it at Straum with all his might. A true adventurer might even have wounded the dragon, assuming he managed to pierce those scales.
But Jig was a goblin, and goblins had a different approach to big, dangerous monsters. They ran away. If they were fortunate, someone else would take care of the heroism. That would either finish off the monster, or at least create enough of a commotion for the goblin to escape unscathed.
Wait a minute. Jig gave himself a mental shake. The one thing adventurers and goblins share is their ability to get into deeper trouble. Forget about what goblins would do. Forget about what an adventurer would do. I need to figure out what Jig should do.
Running away still sounded appealing. If he succeeded, that would mean leaving the others behind to die. Jig thought about each one, trying to decide if he could live with that.
Ryslind: Insane. Threatened to kill Jig numerous times. Responsible for Straum snapping Jig’s spine. Okay, he could stay here to die or live as Straum’s puppet. No problems there. Barius: Ultimately responsible for dragging Jig into this whole mess. General twit, to boot. He would probably kill Jig sooner or later on general principles. He was another one the world could do without.
Darnak: Decent fellow. Healed Jig’s wounds. Still, he hadn’t stopped either of the humans from trying to kill Jig. He had refused to kill Riana after she triggered the Necromancer’s trap, but he hadn’t tried to stop Barius from doing so. In the end, he was still the prince’s man. Jig felt a twinge of guilt about Darnak. But, Darnak hadn’t put his neck on the line when Ryslind betrayed Jig, so why should Jig risk himself for Darnak?
Riana: Dragged into this mess against her will, the same as Jig. Offered him the chance to escape, back in the beginning. He frowned. The others could stay here and die, but his conscience nagged him when he thought about leaving Riana behind. Sure, she hadn’t been terribly nice to him all the time, but she had at least begun to treat him like an equal. Besides, Jig owed her something for that finger.
Still, she was one elf. Was she really worth risking his life for?
Shadows
tar’s voice whispered to him. I expect better from you.
“A lot of good it will do if I’m dead,” Jig muttered. He glanced around. Ryslind was still toying with Barius. Darnak had turned his pleas from Ryslind to the dragon, who eyed the dwarf much as a tunnel cat might contemplate a plump mouse. Riana stood with her hands on her hips, watching Jig impatiently.
“Oh, hell.” He pushed himself up and grabbed the javelin. If you want me to try this noble stuff, you’d better help me out. The god didn’t answer. Jig shrugged. If this didn’t work, he would have ample opportunity to complain in just a few minutes.
As he pulled back to throw, his movement attracted Ryslind’s attention. The wizard opened his mouth to shout a warning. He needn’t have bothered. His link to Straum carried the message faster than words.
Jig thought he could feel another hand over his own as he threw, one which guided his aim down and to the left. The javelin became a silver line, tracing a path from his hand to Straum’s enormous eye.
Straum blinked.
The point hit the scaled eyelid and lodged there, quivering, as Straum snarled in fury.
Ryslind pointed at Jig and clenched a fist. Invisible fingers clamped around Jig’s body, so tight he couldn’t breathe.
“Wait.” Straum’s voice held no trace of pain, even with a javelin pinning his eye closed. “Hold him. I want to see this brave goblin who somehow survived my attack. I want to see how long his courage lasts.” To the motionless dragonchild, he said, “Help me.”
The dragonchild walked slowly to Straum’s injured side, pausing only once when she passed the stained patch of sand where her fellow servant had died between the dragon’s jaws. Jig wished she would hurry. His head pounded from lack of air, and his chest felt as if Straum had sat on him.
The creature placed both hands on the javelin. Straum’s claws dug furrows in the sand. Jig looked to the others for help, but they hadn’t moved. Maybe they were smarter than Jig had realized. Smart enough to stay away from an angry dragon, at least.
The dragonchild tightened her grip and pushed, forcing the length of the javelin through Straum’s eye and into his head.
Ryslind screamed in pain. Straum’s head dropped to the floor. His tail crashed into the wall, where it reduced several shelves to splinters and destroyed a five-thousand-year-old collection of oil lamps.
Then the dragon’s body went still.
CHAPTER 18
A Fatal Misstep
Jig was not happy. Straum blinked. He blinked! I could have died!
Tymalous Shadowstar’s answer sounded grumpy. How was I supposed to know? Even I can’t see the future. Besides, you’re still alive, aren’t you?
Thanks to a dragonchild.
It was a good plan. The eye was the only vulnerable spot large enough for you to hit. If he hadn’t blinked, that shot would have gone right through the eye and pierced Straum’s oversized brain. A weakness you’ll never have to worry about, I’m glad to say.
Good, Jig answered without thinking, thus proving the god’s point.
Ryslind was curled into a ball and crying like an infant. Barius and Darnak both bent over him, while Riana watched Straum’s newly orphaned child. The dragonchild hadn’t moved at all since plunging the javelin into Straum’s eye.
Jig grabbed another spear and used it as a staff to help him walk over to the others.
“Nice throw,” Darnak said without looking up. “You might have had him, if Ryslind hadn’t spotted you. I dare say I couldn’t have done it better myself, though if you tell any dwarf I said that, I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”
He peeled Ryslind’s eyelids back and said, “He’s not dead. Don’t know what it’ll do to him though, losing Straum that sudden-like. Meaning no disrespect, but if he had any mind left, that might have broken it.”
Riana grabbed Jig’s elbow and pulled him a few steps away from the group. “You hesitated. That could have gotten you killed. What were you waiting for?” she said, her voice pitched for Jig’s ears only.
In an equally soft voice, he said, “I only had one shot. I couldn’t figure out if I should try to kill Straum or Barius.”
Riana nodded in perfect understanding. “Tough choice. I think we need to get you away from these adventurers. Deciding to go after the dragon instead of your companion . . . you’d think some of their ‘nobility’ had rubbed off.”
“Not really.” He glanced at the prince. “Straum just made a bigger target.”
The dragonchild straightened and walked toward Jig, who tightened his grip on his spear. Darnak rose behind him. The dwarf had lost his war club, but he held a large chunk of rock and looked ready to bash anything remotely threatening. On Jig’s other side, Riana drew her knife and waited.
“What happened to the one who was here before me?” A long, clawed finger pointed to the blood-soaked sand.
“Straum killed him,” Darnak answered. “Said he was getting ideas of his own, not wanting to follow his scaliness anymore.”
The dragonchild’s head drooped. “I assumed as much.”
“Straum said something about being able to read your folks’ minds,” Darnak said slowly. “That’s how he was knowing what your friend was up to.”
“Of course. Straum was ever paranoid. We have wondered if he had some magic to sense our hearts.”
Darnak frowned. “So tell us how it is that you killed him without his realizing what you had in mind?”
The dragonchild squatted down and grabbed a handful of sand. “When we were younger, a pair of ogres found our lair. The adults were hunting, and the ogres were confident in their ability to massacre mere children. They killed one of our cousins, as well as the old grandmother who had been left behind to watch for danger.”
Wet clumps of sand fell to the ground. “We leaped on the nearest ogre. Our claws and teeth are sharpest when we’re young. I doubt the beast felt anything as I tore open his stomach. The second fled, only to encounter the hunting party. He died . . . slowly.”
Jig glanced at the creature’s hands. Those claws might not be as sharp as they used to be, but they still looked powerful enough to rip a goblin in half.
“He and I were mated several years later.” Glancing back at Straum’s body, she said, “As you said, Straum knew our thoughts. But when I realized my mate was dead, I stopped thinking. I simply acted.”
Her eyes turned back to Jig. “What should we do now?”
Jig blinked. She was asking him? The others looked as confused as Jig felt. Except for Barius. He looked angry.
“You ask this miserable coward for advice?” he said with a derogatory wave toward Jig.
Jig agreed completely with the sentiment, though he might not have said it in those words. “Me?” he squeaked.
“I lead this party,” Barius said. “I brought us here to slay Straum.”
The dragonchild’s eyes narrowed. “You failed. Without this goblin, Straum would still live, and all of us would have died.” With a flick of a black tongue, she turned back to Jig. “We . . . we don’t know how to live on our own.” Her head lowered, and that elongated, scale-covered face managed to convey a sense of embarrassment. “The others will be scared to go on without Straum.”
Jig’s ears picked up urgent whispers from either side.
“We can use them to help carry our treasure to the surface,” Barius said. “Imagine returning home with a retinue of these creatures as an escort. Instruct them to begin gathering the gold and jewels.”
At the same instant, Riana was saying, “Ask if they’ll come with us. They could protect us.” Jig didn’t think “us” included the humans or the dwarf.
Darnak said nothing. A low groan from Ryslind had sent the dwarf running to his side like a worried mother.
What advice could Jig possibly give the dragonchildren? Don’t let a nervous fire-spider perch in your hair. If you’re going to annoy a wizard, make sure you kill him when you’re finished. Never steal a chef’s spoon. He had nothing to offe
r Straum’s orphans.
He tilted his head, hoping for divine help, but Shadowstar apparently thought Jig should figure this one out on his own. All he picked up was a faint sense of amusement.
“Go home,” he said. “Go back to your family.”
The creature cocked her head. “But we have no home, not without Straum.”
“Don’t throw this chance away, goblin,” Barius said warningly. He took a step closer, menace plain in his balled fists. He didn’t manage a second step. The dragonchild slipped between Jig and the prince. One hand seized Barius by the shirt and lifted him off the ground before anyone else could move.
Jig grinned. He could get used to this. But it wouldn’t work. Even if he could persuade the dragonchildren to follow him around as guards, like Riana suggested, he didn’t think he could ever learn to tolerate the musty smell of dragon.
“You should leave,” he repeated. “Find another home. There’s a ladder in the clearing at the center of the woods. Another ladder in the throne room above will take you to the upper tunnels. Darnak will give you a map to lead you out of the mountain. You’ll have a whole world to choose from.”
“You’re wanting me to give up my map?” From Darnak’s expression, Jig might as well have asked him to shave his beard. But a glance at Barius, still dangling helplessly, silenced any protests. “Ach. Take it. I can draw it again from memory when we return.”
For a long time, the creature said nothing. Jig began to wonder if he had said the wrong thing. Maybe they wouldn’t want to leave.
“An entire world, you say?”
“I’ve never seen it myself, but I hear it’s pretty big.”
The creature nodded, her long neck exaggerating the gesture. “Thank you.”
She dropped the prince and walked over to Darnak, who handed over his map. A few minutes later, she was gone, leaving Jig to collapse as the excitement wore off and his legs gave out.
Barius didn’t kill him, though it was a close thing. There was a limit to how much humiliation the prince could tolerate, and Jig had obviously pushed far beyond those limits. Being told that a goblin had done more to kill Straum than the prince himself had been the breaking point, and finding himself helpless in the dragonchild’s strong grip had added humiliation to rage. As soon as the creature left, Barius lunged to his feet with murder in his eyes.