by Jim C. Hines
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
PRAISE FOR THE JIG THE GOBLIN NOVELS:
‘‘In Goblin Hero, as in Goblin Quest, Hines recognizes that wisdom is most often common sense and that mouthing off to the big guy with the sword is a very bad idea.’’—Tanya Huff, author of the Blood books
‘‘Goblin Quest is a fun enjoyable read. Role reversal and gibes at the genre make Jig not only a sympathetic character, but seemingly the only sane one there for the reader to identify with. Of course, if you read this book and drive your spouse into fits of annoyance listening to you snort and giggle at the absurdity the author continually throws at poor Jig, don’t blame me. I merely said it was a great book.’’ —SFRevu
‘‘Goblin Quest is hilarious. It has a wonderful angle on some classic material that’s in the DNA of many of my generation and younger. . . . Jim Hines’ Jig is a clever character, in several senses of that term. He’s got the RPG warrior mentality nailed to the wall. He’s got a lovely sense of plot and pacing. Most of all, he has an excellent sense of fun.’’
—Jay Lake, author of Trial of Flowers
‘‘Once again, Jim C. Hines turns the fantasy world on its ear with this insightfully hilarious look at the traditional cannon fodder of the genre.’’—greenmanreview.com
‘‘[A] Clever satire . . . Reminiscent of Terry Pratchett and Robert Asprin at their best. An over-the-top tale that still manages to be genuinely touching.’’
—Romantic Times
‘‘Jim C. Hines has an uncanny ability to make his magical species co-existing inside a mountain seem plausible including residing there. With no human in sight, his characters are unique with none more inimitable than Jig. Goblin Hero is a wonderful fantasy quest tale with humor and wit normally missing with the sub-genre’s normal Tolkien grave save the universe quests.’’
—Harriet Klausner
‘‘Jim C. Hines crams the narrative with great visual and verbal jokes. You’ll be laughing out loud as frequently as I did. Hines skillfully makes these characters sympathetic . . . [and] makes us like the characters. Hines manages this with skill and panache. I closed this book hoping for more visits from Jig and his world.’’
—Sherwood Smith, author of Inda and The Fox
JIM C. HINES’
Jig the Goblin Series:
GOBLIN QUEST (Book One)
GOBLIN HERO (Book Two)
GOBLIN WAR (Book Three)
Copyright © 2008 by Jim C. Hines.
eISBN : 978-0-756-40493-2
All Rights Reserved.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1434.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
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To Jamie
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ask any writer what would happen if they ever got the opportunity to meet one of their characters in real life. Most of the time, the results would be . . . unpleasant. As authors, we aren’t very nice to our heroes.
If Jig were given the chance, I’m quite sure he would hide fire-spider eggs in my socks, stick a lizard-fish in my bed, and then feed my remains to the tunnel cats.
He has good reason for hating me, though. I’ve dragged him through not one, not two, but three different adventures, not to mention a handful of short stories. Jig and I have been through a lot together, and I don’t blame him for wanting a bit of payback.
Of course, I wouldn’t be the only target of Jig’s rage. Oh, no. Once he finished with me, he would probably go after my agent, Steve Mancino. Steve was instrumental in bringing these books to the world, so it’s perfectly understandable that Jig would want to slice him up and snack on Steve-topped pizza.
Next I imagine Jig would head to the DAW offices in New York. There he would find targets aplenty, from Sheila Gilbert to Debra Euler to the rest of the DAW family who have helped so much with the goblin books. But given what editors have to deal with on any given day, I imagine they would be more than tough enough to handle a goblin and his fire-spider.
Mel Grant, my cover artist, should also be fine. How could Jig possibly hold a grudge against someone who paints such marvelous goblins?
So Jig would instead go after my beta readers, whose feedback and suggestions for all three books have been invaluable. To Teddi Baer, Catherine Shaffer, Bill Rowland, Heather Poppink, Mike Jasper, Nicole Montgomery, and Anthony Hays, all I can say is I’m sorry.
Lastly, Jig would return for my family. I can’t imagine how I would have written these books without the love, encouragement, support, and patience of my wife Amy and my two wonderful children. Here at last Jig’s rampage would come to an end, since my daughter would insist on trying to catch Smudge in an old peanut butter jar, and my little boy would steal poor Jig’s spectacles, then tackle him.
I love that little goblin, though he would never believe it. It has been a wonderful experience to share that love with all of my readers. Thank you all. I hope you enjoy this third volume in the adventures of Jig Dragonslayer.
Recitation of the Deeds of Jig Dragonslayer (written by the goblin Relka, Founder of the Children of Shadowstar)
Relka: In the beginning, there was a muckworking runt called Jig.
Goblins: We stole his food and threw rats at him.
Relka: But destiny brought adventurers into our mountain haven. And lo, Jig set forth to combat these so-called heroes.
Goblins: Better him than us.
Relka: It was a battle of great chaos and bloodshed, and Jig did kicketh the human prince right in the rocks.
Goblins: Such should be the fate of all nonbelievers.
Relka: Though he was captured again, Jig was not afraid.
Goblins: Long may his loincloth remain unsoiled.
Relka: Jig led them into darkness, where he slew hobgoblins, the Necromancer, and even the dragon Straum with no more than a broken kitchen knife.
Goblins: Hail the miracle of the wobbly blade.
Relka: Jig returned triumphant, blessed by Tymalous Shadowstar with the gift to heal our wounds, though they be many and often self-inflicted. But lo, some were displeased with Jig’s triumphs. The treacherous goblin chief Kralk sent Jig away, and none dared challenge her.
Goblins: For she was big and scary, and carried many weapons.
Relka: Guided by the light of Shadowstar, Jig descended
into the mountain. There did he discover a great threat.
Goblins: Stupid pixies!
Relka: Jig and his companions returned to leadeth his fellow goblins in battle, but Kralk refused to believe. She fought, and she fell.
Goblins: Thus did Jig teach a great lesson: Never turn your back on a hobgoblin.
Relka: Jig set out to destroyeth the pixies, but still there were some who did not believe. A single kitchen drudge attempted to steal his glory for herself.
Goblins: And lo, Jig stabbethed you in the gut.
Relka: But Jig Dragonslayer was merciful. Upon his triumphant return from battle, and after drinking too much klak beer, he did heal my wounds, pouring the light and life of the Shadowstar into my very blood.
Goblins: Praise be unto Jig Dragonslayer, high priest of Tymalous Shadowstar. Long may he heal our wounds and fight our foes.
CHAPTER 1
Starlight sparkled in silver mortar as Tymalous Autumnstar ran his fingers over the wall of his temple. The black stone was warm to the touch, constantly changing to record the prayers and gifts of his followers.
Every image and tribute ever created in his honor was here, preserved in the rock. To his right, the blood paintings of the Xantock Warrior Elves shone in the light, still wet after thousands of years. Overhead, the intricate carvings of the Undermountain Dwarf Clan spelled out their long-winded prayers.
The temple had gotten uncomfortably large over the years.
Tiny bells jingled on Autumnstar’s sleeve as he touched a starburst a child had drawn in the mud. The ebony stone mimicked her painting so perfectly he could even discern the tiny whorls and loops where her fingertips had pressed the mud. Clumsy hieroglyphs below the picture read Tell gramma I miss her and please send me a puppy.
The painting was two centuries old, and the girl had long since followed her gramma. Autumnstar’s forehead wrinkled. He had forgotten to take care of the puppy. That had been right around the start of the war, so he could probably be forgiven an oversight or two, but it still bothered him.
The temple shuddered, as if someone had taken the moon itself and smashed it against Autumnstar’s roof.
Autumnstar’s movements were slow, almost absent-minded as he raised a silver shield overhead. The second blow crumbled the ceiling to reveal the deeper darkness beyond. Mortar fell in glittering clouds as cracks spread through the walls. Stones shattered against Autumnstar’s shield, centuries of worship and idolatry reduced to rubble.
Overhead, the Autumn Star burned red, casting a bloody glow over the remains of the temple. By the time the attack slowed and the dust began to clear, the remnants of the walls came no higher than Autumnstar’s knees. He lowered his shield and used one foot to sweep some of the debris to one side. He preferred his home tidy.
The light of the Autumn Star vanished, blocked by the looming form of another god. Noc, a newly empowered death god, bent to touch a fallen shard of rock. The rock dissolved into smoke at his touch.
‘‘Show-off,’’ Autumnstar muttered.
Noc stepped over the broken wall and drew a sword of white light.
‘‘You know,’’ Autumnstar said slowly. ‘‘My temple had a door.’’
Goblin war drums wouldn’t be so bad, Jig decided, if the drummers would only stick to a consistent beat.
He squeezed between a clump of pine trees. Snow spilled from the branches, most of it sliding down the back of his cloak. The rest landed in Jig’s left ear.
Jig yelped and poked a claw into his ear, digging out the worst of the snow.
‘‘We should stay quiet,’’ Relka said behind him.
With great effort, Jig restrained himself from stabbing his fellow goblin. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and tried to ignore her.
Relka brushed snow from his back. ‘‘Don’t you like the cloak I gave you? Why don’t you use the hood?’’ She grabbed the hood before Jig could warn her. A moment later, she was cursing and shoving her singed fingers into the snow.
‘‘Because that’s where Smudge rides,’’ Jig said, his annoyance vanishing as quickly as it had come. He grinned as he reached back to stroke his pet fire-spider. Smudge was still warm, but he settled down at Jig’s touch.
‘‘But you do like the cloak, don’t you? I got it from an adventurer last month.’’ Relka sucked nervously on her lower lip, tugging it between the curved fangs of her lower jaw. She did that a lot around Jig. Between that and the bitter cold, her lips were always cracked and bleeding.
Relka was one of the younger goblins, a kitchen drudge who worked with Golaka the chef. Her fangs were small for a goblin, and her face tended to be sweaty and streaked with soot from the cook fires. She had used an old tunnel cat bone to pin a blanket over her clothes for warmth.
Jig fingered the hole in the front of his cloak. Old blood had turned the frayed edges the color of rust where a goblin had gotten in a lucky blow with his spear. Still, even with the hole, at least the cloak was warm. Lavender wasn’t exactly Jig’s color, and he could have done without the embroidered flowers and vines running along the edges, but he wasn’t about to complain. It was warm, and even better, the material was highly flame-resistant. Even if it did smell faintly of blood.
‘‘You hate it, don’t you?’’ Relka slumped. Even her wide, pointed ears sagged.
‘‘It’s not bad,’’ Jig said grudgingly. ‘‘I like the pockets.’’
Relka beamed. Before she could speak, Jig quickly asked, ‘‘Shouldn’t you be taking me to Grell instead of fussing about a cloak?’’
Relka squeezed past him, close enough for her necklace to tangle in Jig’s sleeve. She tried to tug it free, but only managed to jab Jig’s arm.
‘‘Sorry,’’ she mumbled, her face turning a brighter shade of blue.
Her necklace was supposed to symbolize her devotion to Jig’s god, Tymalous Shadowstar. Rat bones were lashed together to form a crude starburst. Pieces of a broken kitchen knife formed a lightning bolt, the lower tip of which was currently poking Jig’s forearm.
Relka’s obsession with Jig and Shadowstar had begun when she tried to stab Jig in the back. Instead, Jig had run her through, leaving her with a nasty belly wound while he led the other goblins off to fight pixies. Relka had crawled away to hide, terrified that Jig would return to finish her off.
Which he might have done, if Tymalous Shadowstar hadn’t had this strange obsession with mercy and forgiveness. Also Relka made really good snake egg omelettes.
Jig clenched his jaw, driving his fangs into his cheeks as he waited for Relka to free her necklace. What was Grell doing outside in the first place, anyway? During a time of battle, a goblin leader traditionally stayed back where it was safe. Especially when it came to enemies like this.
The attack had begun this morning, and from what Jig had heard from the few goblins who limped back to the lair, this was no simple adventuring party.
‘‘Grell?’’ He tried to speak loudly enough for the aging chief to hear, while at the same time keeping his voice low to avoid attracting any human attention. What emerged could best be described as ‘‘quavering.’’
‘‘She said she was going to take care of the drummers,’’ Relka said.
Oh. Jig felt a moment’s sympathy for the goblin drummers. If they had caused Grell to miss her after-lunch nap, she would be even crankier than usual.
The area immediately around the goblin cave was flat, covered in small pine trees. If you walked directly away from the lair, you could go about fifteen paces before tumbling off a steep, rock-strewn drop-off.
The drummers would have taken the left path, which led along the cliffside and up toward the lake. The higher they climbed, the more people they could annoy with their drums.
The trees were denser as they approached the river. Their branches seemed determined to drop snow and needles down the back of his cloak. Trampled snow showed where goblin warriors had stormed through in search of humans to fight.
Pools of blue blood showed exactly w
here the humans had ambushed them. The bulk of the humans were still farther down the mountainside. They must have sent scouts ahead. It was a smart idea. The scouts could watch to see where the goblins were going, then report back to whoever was in charge. If they got the chance to surprise a few goblins, so much the better.
Jig didn’t bother searching for the injured goblins. There were no bodies, which meant they had probably followed typical practice and fled like frightened rats. If Jig were smarter, he would be doing the same.
But where had the humans gone?
Relka hurried past before Jig could stop her. He crouched down, waiting for her to be shot or stabbed.
Nothing happened. She was already climbing up along the riverbank, using the shrubs and small trees to pull herself along the rocks. Jig held his breath and crept after her.
‘‘It sounds like they’re near the lake,’’ Relka said. She drew a long, wickedly sharp knife. A cooking knife, from the look of it. Hopefully Golaka didn’t know Relka had swiped it.
The drums grew louder as they followed the river back to the lake. Jig started to draw his sword, then thought better of it. Given the rocky, snow-covered terrain, he’d only end up tripping over a rock and impaling himself.
They scrambled on hands and knees to the top of a rise bordering the lake. As Jig pulled himself up, he heard the ripping sound of a dying drum, followed by the squealing sound of a dying goblin. He covered his eyes against the sun’s glare. Only the edges of the lake were frozen, and the still water at the center created a second sun, reflecting the light into Jig’s eyes and blinding him doubly. The amethyst lenses of his spectacles helped, but any relief they brought was balanced by splotches of melted snow. He wiped his sleeve over the lenses, but that only smeared his vision worse.