Goblin Quest (30 page)

“Now this is a proper dragon’s lair,” Darnak said. “Much more to my liking.” He quickly lit the lantern and retrieved his mapmaking tools. As Jig retrieved the rope, Darnak was happily pacing off the width of the tunnel.

“Twenty-five paces exactly. Figure three or four paces for clearance, but that still means a pretty good wingspan on the beast.”

The tunnel was wide, but the roof was only a few feet higher than Barius’s head. If Straum decided to come out for an early-morning flight, there was no place for the group to hide. Indeed, they’d be lucky if the dragon didn’t smash them on his way out.

“Quickly,” Barius said. “My brother cannot be far. We’ve outmarched him, and soon he will be back within our grasp.” With a tight smile, he added, “And he has kindly led me to Straum’s hoard. For that boon, perhaps I shall be lenient.”

Perhaps Straum would welcome them with open arms and present Barius with the Rod of Creation as a birthday gift, too, but Jig doubted it. He wondered if death by dragonfire would be quick. Fire was a painful way to go, but the stories said dragon breath was so hot the victim burned to ash in seconds.

“Should I stay here to watch the entrance?” Jig asked nervously. “To make sure nothing follows.”
And to run like a frightened mouse once Straum kills the rest of you.
“It’s not as though I’d be much use against the dragon,” he added, trying to sound helpful.

“You will remain with us.” The decisive tone of Barius’s voice squished Jig’s hope of survival. “If nothing else, perhaps the dragon will waste valuable seconds on you, giving us time to execute our attack. Therein lies your usefulness, goblin.”

“Oh.” After that he was too depressed to say anything else.

The tunnels grew warmer as they walked. What did a dragon’s lair look like? A creature that breathed fire would probably want to keep its home as warm as possible. Would there be bonfires and torches? Dragons were supposed to have great piles of treasure that they used as nests. Uncomfortable as it sounded, it did make a kind of sense. Perhaps dragons followed the same logic Jig used when he slept with his few belongings clutched to his stomach. People had a harder time stealing something in your sleep if they had to roll you over to get it.

Not that this technique had ever made much difference for Jig. True, no goblin had taken Jig’s possessions while he slept. They woke him up first. Being awakened and kicked out of the way by larger goblins wasn’t much of an improvement, but it did mean he knew who to get back at later.

At least they were back on good, solid rock. Far easier to run away when the ground didn’t shift beneath your feet and the roots weren’t reaching out to catch your toes.

Jig’s ears twitched. He heard something up ahead, too faint to identify. A whispery sort of sound. Too smooth and rhythmic to be voices. It was familiar, though. He fingered a fang nervously as he walked.

“I see something,” Darnak said. He raised the lantern and aimed the beam forward.

Soon Jig could see it too, a faint blue glow from farther up the tunnel. At a nod from Barius, Darnak shuttered the lantern.

Jig’s eyes were slow to adjust, but his ears made up for that. Over the past few days, he had learned to recognize every sound the group made. From the clop of Barius’s boots to the quiet flap of Riana’s soles to the ring of Darnak’s studded boots against the stone, Jig knew them all. He knew exactly where Barius was simply by listening for the prince’s nasal breath, whereas Darnak tended to grunt with every third or fourth exhalation. As they neared the source of the light, his vision improved as well.

A wide portcullis blocked the end of the tunnel. Black bars as thick as his wrist extended from the ceiling into holes in the floor. Flat iron bands ran across the bars, riveted to hold each bar in place. The bars ended in nasty-looking points, like oversize spearheads lodged several inches in the rock. Jig could envision being trapped beneath those points as the portcullis came crashing down. He winced.

“Behold,” whispered Barius. “The very resting place of the beast.”

Jig moved closer to peer through the bars. Beyond the portcullis, the tunnel opened into a large cavern, and he could see the source of the whispering noise he had heard. A glassy lake filled the far half of the cavern, and the water moved just enough to make small waves on the shore. The lake was small, more of a pond, especially compared to the lake of the lizard-fish. The waves were likewise softer, which was why Jig hadn’t recognized the sound at first.

The shore itself was black sand that stretched almost to the tunnel. The sand sparkled like the night sky, illuminated by blue flames around the edge of the cavern, similar to the fire that had bordered the flower mosaic. Turning his attention to the cavern walls, Jig felt his mouth open in awe.

Shelves had been carved into every square inch of wall, and every shelf overflowed with . . . stuff. Jig had a hard time calling it treasure. True, many shelves glittered with gold and silver coins of all shapes and sizes, stacked into perfect cylinders. But there was far more to Straum’s hoard than mere money.

Weapons played a prominent role in the decor. Swords hung between every shelf, some taller than Jig, others slender as a blade of grass. Jig saw jeweled swords, plain swords, swords with polished steel blades, and swords of hammered bronze. He even saw one that looked like it was made of glass.
No surprise that the owner of
that
sword didn’t last long.

Another shelf was devoted to footwear. Most came in pairs, but here and there Jig saw a lone boot or sandal. For the first time he understood a little of Barius’s greed. If not for the portcullis, he would have run to the shelves and grabbed every pair he could find. Never again would he have to suffer bruised toes, blistered heels, or cracked toenails. Finding his current pair had been fortunate, but this was treasure indeed. He wondered if he would have time to search for at least one pair that fit better. Maybe those blue ones, with the furry white fringe at the top and red flames painted down the sides. That was the kind of dramatic style any goblin would kill for.

There were helmets and bows, books and gem-stones, even a long shelf devoted to what Jig took to be feathers, but Darnak quickly recognized as writing quills.

“What a load of junk,” Darnak muttered. “Aside from the gold, that is. And I could take a liking to that peacock quill there. Could make some fine maps with such a pen. Wonder what kind of nib she’s got on her?”

“Find the rod,” Barius said. “Once the rod is safely in our possession, you may help yourself to any booty you wish. But first, find the rod.”

Riana cleared her throat. “What does it look like?”

Nobody answered.

Jig fought a sudden attack of giggles. He looked at Riana, whose incredulity was plain in her wide eyes.

“You don’t know?” she asked.

“The rod was hidden here thousands of years ago. No man has seen it since, and the bards of old did not see fit to describe it in song.” Was it Jig’s imagination, or was Barius blushing? “I presumed my brother would be able to identify it through his art.”

“I’ve spotted a mess of quarterstaves there, by the waterline.” Darnak pointed. “Could your rod be mixed in with that bunch for camouflage?”

Barius rubbed his hands together like a man preparing for a feast. “Our course is simple. We must search the dragon’s lair before it returns.” He looked up and down at the portcullis, clearly offended that someone had dared impede his quest with such a mundane obstacle. As they waited for him to speak again, it became equally clear that he had no idea how to get past it.

Darnak grabbed one of the bars and gave it a tug. Pressing the side of his face to the gate, he stared up into the ceiling, where presumably the portcullis went when raised. “I’m not seeing any chains or gears up there. Mechanism must be on the other side.”

Jig frowned. If the mechanism was on the other side, and the cavern was empty, who had closed the gate? Riana was apparently thinking the same thing, because she asked, “Are we sure there’s nobody in there?” She and Jig glanced at each other and stepped backward.

“I will not be stopped by iron bars. Not when I am so close.” Barius crossed his arms in princely determination. “Darnak, open the gate.”

Darnak responded by grabbing his wineskin. He sized up the gate, but didn’t appear willing to respond without a drink to bolster his courage. As he pulled the stopper free with his teeth, another voice came from beyond the portcullis.

“Perhaps I can assist you, brother.”

“Traitor.” Barius lunged at the gate as his brother stepped into view. “Not even Father will raise a hand against me for taking your life. Not after
this
.” He shoved his crippled left hand through the bars.

Ryslind frowned. Mind-damaged or not, he had to know he wasn’t responsible for his brother’s injury. Jig tried to think of something to say, some way to distract them both.

Riana beat him to it. “He’s
inside
the lair,” she pointed out. “Ryslind must have been the one to lower the bars.”

“Indeed, that makes sense.” Barius withdrew his hand. “You may have beaten us to the treasure, but you’ll not leave this place without defeating us. Hide behind this gate for as long as you want. You cannot wait forever.”

“Such an abrasive manner, brother.” Ryslind grabbed two of the bars. “In truth, I did not close the gate. But I believe I can assist you nonetheless.”

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Jig could see the red glow of his eyes even through the lids. As though Ryslind’s magic was a kind of polishing agent, the iron bars began to gleam. Small ripples spread along the two bars he held.

Ryslind released his grip. Smiling at the group, he reached between the center bars and tapped each one lightly. Like the streams of water outside, the bars turned fluid and moved toward the edge of the tunnel. The flat iron crossbeams trickled to the floor. Soon, instead of an impassible gate, only a ring of black liquid ran around the end of the tunnel.

“Illusion.” He tucked his hands back into the sleeves of his robe. “To stop the weak-minded.”

Barius’s sword hissed free of its scabbard. “Steel, to stop the craven of heart.”

“Oh, my brother.” Ryslind shook his head in dismay. “So bold, yet so predictable.” His eyes flashed, and the blade of Barius’s sword vanished at the crossguard.

Barius dropped the useless hilt. “You’ve always been a coward.”

“And you’ve never learned to compromise. It’s why even the goblin beat you at your duel. Your ‘honor’ and ‘nobility’ are chains holding you back. Had the goblin offended me, I would have crushed him.”

He smiled at Jig, a reminder that the goblin
had
offended him, and that Jig could look forward to a painful death at Ryslind’s convenience. “The poor wretch would die as quickly as I would, were I to meet your challenge ‘honorably,’ sword against sword.”

With a twisted sneer, he added, “But you seem to lack a sword, brother. Here, take this instead.” He tossed a knife to Barius. Halfway between them, it twisted into a hissing snake.

Darnak’s war club knocked it aside before it could strike. The snake bounced off the tunnel wall and fell to the ground, where it became a dagger again.

Barius grabbed for the dagger. “Darnak, help me fight his foul magic.”

The dwarf looked at them both. The humans wore mirroring expressions, jaws tight and eyes narrow with determination. “No, I can’t be doing that, Barius.”

To the prince’s outraged expression, he said, “I’ve served your father for longer than you’ve been alive. I’ll not tell him how I was after killing one of his sons. And if you’ve any brains at all between the two of you, you’ll stop this nonsense. We may have found the ore, but we’ve yet to haul it from the mine, as the saying goes.”

Behind them, the sound of the waves changed. Something had disturbed their rhythm. Jig stared at the lake, noting the low shadow that broke up the reflections on the surface. It moved toward the shore, growing more distinct as it neared the sand. Ripples spread out from the disturbance. A head rose out of the water, and Jig felt a surge of fear streak from the tips of his ears down to his toes.

“Dragon,” he said. Tried to, rather. His mouth was too dry to speak.

Barius, still searching for an opening against his brother, hadn’t noticed yet. But Darnak did, and his head jerked up as he spotted the dragon sliding out of the water.

“Now there’s something I can be pummeling on,” he said. “Solve your problems quickly, boys. I’m off to tenderize myself some dragon steak.”

Barius finally saw the dragon. “We shall resolve this at a later time. For now, there is a common foe to slay.”

Twirling his club over his head, Darnak charged into the room toward the dripping dragon. Barius followed close behind, his knife looking like a joke before the dragon’s bulk.

Jig glanced at Riana. Their eyes met, and they nodded in silent agreement. Leaving the humans and dwarf to meet their respective painful deaths, they ran back down the tunnel as fast as their feet could move.

“A common foe to slay,” Riana gasped, mimicking the prince’s crystalline enunciation. “Though maybe Straum will laugh himself to death when he sees Barius’s weapon. I swear, it’s a wonder there are any humans left.”

Jig saved his energy for running, not talking. The tunnel was wide enough; he only bumped the walls twice in the darkness, neither time losing more than a bit of skin against the rock. Riana had a harder time, being less accustomed to darkness. She fell several times, cursing like a dwarf every time she scrambled back to her feet.

I should help her.
But another part of Jig’s brain overruled that idea, the part that argued,
If she’s behind me, that’s one more thing between me and the dragon
. Not terribly noble, but he and Ryslind were in agreement on the usefulness of nobility. As Barius had so aptly demonstrated time after time, nobility was the first step toward suicide.