Goblin Quest (17 page)

Jig ignored the rest of the discussion. Several times now, Darnak had healed wounds that would have crippled a goblin. What would it be like to have that kind of power available all the time? To know that, no matter how grave the injury, a journey to the closest priest could fix you in a matter of hours?

At first the idea seemed wondrous, and Jig had to fight off a surge of jealousy. The more he thought about it, though, the more he began to question if that sort of power would necessarily be a good thing. What would bullies like Porak do if they knew their victims could recover from almost anything? Instead of tossing rodents into the muck pot, why not set Jig himself on fire? Wouldn’t it be far more entertaining to spend the afternoon playing flame-the-goblin? Especially if the victim could come back the next day, good as new and ready to play the game all over again.

But maybe gods were smarter than that. The fact that the gods had always ignored goblinkind might be a sign that they understood how much trouble a magic-wielding goblin could cause.

Darnak dug into his pack for food and came up with a new loaf of bread, which he passed around to the party. He also found several more strips of meat, as well as a small wheel of cheese. This he dusted off and cut into five pieces.

The cheese was good, if a bit strong. As before, Jig received only two pieces of the meat. He would have to endure bread again if he wanted to fill his belly.

Riana, he noticed, had taken some of her bread and tucked it into her shirt, along with a little meat. Saving something for later? That was probably a good idea. He waited until nobody was looking, then slipped one strip of meat into his boot.

The other he tore into with relish, eating half with one bite. As he swallowed, he noticed Smudge. The fire-spider quivered on Jig’s knee, and all eight eyes followed the meat in his hand.

“I don’t suppose I could interest you in some bread?” he asked, holding out a piece. Smudge actually heated up a bit as he scooted away, confirming Jig’s impression of the so-called food. “Right,” he sighed.

Resigning himself to a meal of cheese and bread, he tossed the remaining meat onto the floor. Smudge sprang. His legs landed to either side of the meat like a cage. Seconds later, the smell of burning meat drifted through the air as Smudge cooked his food.

“Enjoy it.” Jig brushed a bit of dirt off the cheese and took another bite. By alternating cheese and bread and drinking a fair amount of water, he managed to finish off the meal. But he would have given so much for just one cup of Golaka’s stew. Even day-old stew, the kind you had to skin before you ate, would have been heaven-sent.

“If I had the Rod of Creation, I’d use it to make some real food,” he decided.

“Another attack like that, and we won’t even make it to the dragon’s lair,” Darnak told him. “Let alone find the rod.”

“Will there be more traps?” Riana asked quietly. She tried to sound casual, but Jig could see the way she kept looking at the stump of her finger.

Barius coughed and rolled onto his side. “You’re the burglar of this party. What say you?”

She glared at him. “All those dead things couldn’t have come from one little trapped lock. The Necromancer could have traps everywhere. He could have armies waiting to pour out of the walls next time. Or maybe he set spells to turn us all into creatures like that. Even if we found every trick panel and poison needle, how are we going to find those traps hidden by magic?”

Her eyes kept going to the whirlpool. Jig knew what she was thinking about. She wanted to escape, to find a way back up to the surface. But she was doing everything she could to hide her fear.

As far as he could tell, nobody else had noticed. None of them showed any sign of fear, so they probably didn’t see it in others. They were adventurers, after all. Jig, on the other hand, had enough fear for the entire party.

Maybe that was what made Riana seem smarter than the others. She was no more a hero than Jig was. Of course, she was a young girl, barely more than a baby for her race, whereas Jig was a grown goblin. Why was
he
so afraid?

He didn’t bother to answer that question. He could have spent the next three hours listing reasons to be afraid, and all it would do was make him even more frightened.

“Our elven thief has a point,” Barius said. “Perhaps she begins to learn wisdom. No doubt the Necromancer’s traps litter this place like horse dung on the highway.”

“A beautiful image, prince,” Ryslind said.

Barius nodded, completely missing the sarcasm. “Brother, I think we must call upon your art once more. Can you guide us through this maze of traps and death?”

“Perhaps we should rest a mite longer,” Darnak said quickly.

Remembering the wizard’s fit after they came through the whirlpool, Jig was inclined to agree.

“There must be another way to find the Necromancer and the path to Straum’s domain. Would anyone be knowing a song, a story, even a rumor about this place?” Darnak looked around hopefully. “Anything at all, no matter how strange or confusing.”

Jig spoke up hesitantly. “I know one, but it wouldn’t help.”

“Let us decide what is helpful,” Barius said. “Perhaps we can intuit some vital fact that you never stopped to consider.”

He wished he had kept quiet. “I don’t think so. It’s not much of a song.”

“Enough protests. Goblins haven’t the intellect to find those kernels of truth hidden within the old songs.”

Jig shrugged and began to sing.

 

“Enough,” Barius shouted.

Jig shifted uncomfortably. “It’s more of a children’s song, really.”

“That is the extent of your knowledge regarding our foe?” Barius had apparently recovered from his injuries, for he pushed himself up and walked over to glare at Jig. “You’ve lived here your entire life, and the best you can do is ‘Ten little goblins’?”

“What about you?” Jig shot back. He had warned the prince it was a stupid song. Why did everyone keep blaming Jig for their stupid mistakes? “You knew what you’d be facing down here. Did you bring anything to help you against the Necromancer?”

The prince’s eyes widened. One hand dropped to his belt, closer to the hilt of his sword than Jig was comfortable with. “I . . . I brought him.” Barius pointed to his brother.

“A good thing for us all that you did, too.” What was he doing? Jig couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. He had seen the prince’s temper. Why was he so eager for Barius to finish him off?

“I saw the bodies in the hall,” he continued. “Your brother killed four of those things. If he weren’t here, they would have killed you as easily as you killed my patrol. If you ask me,
Ryslind
should start leading this party before you lead us into another trap.”

Nobody moved. Over the course of Jig’s rant, Barius’s face had turned red, then purple. Jig watched him curiously. He hadn’t realized humans could change color. Perhaps they were part lizard.

Jig had never seen Barius, or any human for that matter, get this mad. Still angry people all seemed to react in the same way. Jig braced himself. Yes, here it came. Barius’s open hand caught Jig on the side of his face and knocked him to the ground.
This is growing old
, he thought as he lay on the floor, staring upward. Still, he would be an expert on ceilings by the time he was through.

“What are you doing, lad?” Darnak asked. “He’s unarmed.”

“I’m challenging this goblin to a duel,” Barius said.

“A what?” Jig turned his head toward the prince. “What’s a duel?”

Darnak raised his hands in disgust. “Have your wits deserted you, man? We’re in the home of the Necromancer, and you want to stand around fighting duels?”

“A duel,” Barius explained, ignoring the dwarf, “is a battle of honor. To the death. As the challenged party, you have the choice of weapons.”

Jig blinked. “What? Darnak, is he serious?”

“You’ve insulted my honor. Choose your weapon. Knives, swords, clubs, even quarterstaves. I saw a pair of spears we could use.” His hawkish nose wrinkled in a sneer. “Your presence has plagued this party long enough, goblin.”

Jig looked around for help. Him, fight Barius? Why not execute him outright and be done with it?

Ryslind looked bored with it all, and Darnak was shaking his head in disbelief. Riana rolled her eyes. “Men,” she muttered disgustedly. Nobody moved to intervene.

“Enough dallying,” Barius said. “Choose your weapon.” He waved his arms in large circles, presumably some sort of warm-up ritual, then practiced a few lunges against an imaginary foe.

What should he choose? As if it made a difference. The only weapon Jig had ever held more than once was a kitchen knife, and he suspected Barius was as skilled with knives as he was with the sword. Either way, Jig would soon be bleeding his life all over the nice, polished marble.

“Choose.”

He can’t just kill me. Not with everyone watching. That means he has to play by the rules.
Jig glared at him. “If I win, will you let me carry a weapon again? And no more of your stupid ropes, either.”

Barius laughed. “Anything you like. Ask for my future barony or my firstborn child, it matters not. But ask and let us done with it.”

What would Jig do with a human newborn? Even goblins didn’t eat babies. Too little meat. Did humans typically go around swapping their children? He shook his head and decided he was better off not knowing. “Freedom and my sword. I don’t want anything else.”

“Very well.” Barius appeared close to losing his temper. His cheek twitched, and each word shot out through gritted teeth. “Select your weapon.”

“Fangs.”

Barius blinked. “What? You can’t choose fangs.”

“Why not? It’s a game goblin children play. We call it Rakachak. You bite one another on the arms and legs, and the winner is the one who goes the longest without crying.” He smiled and fingered the three-inch fangs on his lower jaw. “If you want, you can go first.”

 

Jig patted the short sword at his side, reassured by its weight. Not that it would be much use if they were attacked again. Darnak had told him about the fight, how Barius had cut down his first opponent, only to have it rise again and slash Barius’s shoulder from behind. Stabbing the creature in the throat hadn’t even inconvenienced it. Whatever these things were, they needed to be hacked apart, bludgeoned to a pulp, or dealt with by magic.
Or by a hungry fire-spider,
Jig had added silently.

Ahead, Ryslind raised his hand and brought the party to a halt. He gestured at the right wall. “Another passageway . . . here.” He spoke in the same dual-toned voice Jig had heard before.

Jig didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it. Well, he had liked watching Barius sputter and curse after Jig named his weapon for the duel. Darnak had to physically stop Barius from slicing Jig’s head from his body. Seeing the haughty prince back out of his “duel” and formally ask Jig’s forgiveness was worth almost all the pain and indignity he had endured on this quest.

Afterward, they still faced the same problem. Amidst whatever traps and tricks filled this place, how could they find the Necromancer without dying in the process? In the end, they turned again to Ryslind.

The wizard hadn’t said a word. He pulled a blue vial from his cloak and drained the contents in one swallow. A coughing fit took him, and the vial shattered on the floor. Jig watched as he doubled over and fell. He wondered if Ryslind had grabbed the wrong potion, taken something deadly instead of the potion he wanted.

Ryslind’s eyes glowed brighter than ever when he struggled back to his feet. He blinked and squinted, and finally said, “Too much magic in here. I can’t see anything. Someone lead me to the corridor.”

Darnak had taken it upon himself to grab the wizard’s arm and guide him over the corpses and into the corridor. Once there, Ryslind had begun to walk at a slow, steady pace. He stopped before the trapped tile, gestured at it with one hand, and muttered, “Don’t step here.”

“I think we’re already knowing that much,” Darnak said.

Ryslind ignored him. He pointed out two more tiles before reaching the first fork in the corridor. Without hesitation, he took the left turn. Jig wondered if Ryslind even noticed the other hallway, or if he saw anything but the path his magic showed him. He didn’t seem to see or hear the rest of the party, much to Darnak’s dismay.

“How can I make a good map if you’re racing about like a tomcat on the prowl?” He sketched as fast as he could, but Jig could see that his careful map was devolving into a few lines and arrows. “Can’t even keep track of which tiles we’re to avoid. Probably trigger every one if we have to come back this way in a hurry.”

In addition to the traps, there were a number of secret passages, like the one Ryslind had just found. Everything was constructed of the same marble panels, and from time to time Ryslind would point one out at random. Nobody knew how they were
supposed
to open, for the wizard’s magic allowed him to bypass the normal mechanism. Even as he pointed, his eyes would flash, and the panel would crash onto the ground, often breaking into thick shards from the impact.

Jig got down and crawled through the hole into the secret passageway. “They could at least make the doors taller,” he grumbled.

“You should mention that to the Necromancer when we find him,” Riana said as she followed. “I’m sure he’d love to hear architectural suggestions from a goblin.”