“Without your brother, we wouldn’t have come after the rod in the first place,” Darnak pointed out. “Without the elf, we’d have had a rough time getting through that first gate. And without me, you two would have killed one another before we ever made it to the mountain. We’re all needed here, and nobody’s questioning your importance.”
Jig didn’t find that reassuring. Nor did Smudge, if the waves of heat on his shoulder were any indication. He also noted that Darnak’s argument had ignored anything the goblin might have done for the group. Not that this came as a surprise.
Jig watched closely as Ryslind strode to one wall and raised his head. He studied the unbroken marble and frowned, as though insulted by its presence. The green tattoos on his hands began to glow. Once Jig thought he saw them move, like luminescent worms crawling beneath white skin.
Hands still at his side, Ryslind began to circle the room. Jig hurriedly got out of the way. So did the others, though Barius tried hard to make the move appear casual.
A few paces past Riana, the wizard stopped. “Here.” He raised one hand and pointed. Green light spread out from his finger to form a rectangle on the wall. His hand closed into a fist.
Nothing changed. Ryslind squinted at the door. “Ah.” Another beam of light struck the center of the door, revealing a narrow keyhole.
“This is the elf’s responsibility, I believe. Will there be anything more, my brother?” The light died as Ryslind walked away, but the door remained visible behind him.
Jig’s eyes widened, and his ears flattened against his head as he realized why he was suddenly so afraid of Ryslind. Ever since they came through the whirlpool, the wizard’s voice had been different. The difference was so subtle Jig hadn’t noticed at first, and he doubted any of the others could hear it at all. But each time Ryslind spoke, it was as though a second voice spoke the same words along with him.
He stroked Smudge’s head and body, trying to calm the agitated spider. Was he imagining things? Slamming into the ground on the way out of the whirlpool could have affected his hearing. Yet if that were the case, why wasn’t he hearing the same distortion when the others spoke?
Besides, he wasn’t the only one afraid of Ryslind. Even Barius regarded his brother with wary eyes, and one hand rested on his belt, close to the hilt of his sword. Whether they heard the change or not, they knew enough to be watchful.
“I will be fine,” Ryslind said wearily. “I have simply . . . overexerted myself. By the time you open the lock, I shall be myself again.”
Nobody relaxed, but Barius did wave Riana toward the door. She rolled her eyes and pulled several thin metal tools from a pack at her belt. She grabbed the lantern in passing, leaving the rest of them in shadows.
Jig heard her curse as she dried her tools. The scratch of metal against metal told him she had begun to work on the lock. But he didn’t watch. He couldn’t look away from Ryslind’s struggle.
For the human was obviously at war within himself. His fists clenched into knots, and his neck had tightened to the point where the muscles formed raised lines of skin between the neck and shoulders. Each deep, ragged breath sounded like that of a dying man.
Barius had gone to watch Riana work on the lock, but Darnak remained close by the wizard. He kept saying Ryslind’s name over and over. One hand went to the small hammer around his neck. His other reached toward Ryslind.
Ryslind’s fist shot out, and the dwarf caught it in his free hand. Between the darkness and his own poor vision, Jig couldn’t be certain, but he thought he saw the dwarf flinch.
What kind of strength did it take to do that to Darnak?
He decided he would rather not find out.
“I am . . . all right,” Ryslind whispered.
“Almost lost it there, did you?”
Ryslind didn’t answer. He turned around, and his eyes narrowed when he saw Jig watching.
Jig tried to swallow, but fear stuck in his throat like an oversize chunk of meat. He couldn’t apologize for watching. He couldn’t even break away from Ryslind’s angry gaze. The faint red lights of those eyes seemed to call to him. Even blinking had become difficult, and his eyes began to water. This was something beyond fear. His body was no longer under his control. What was Ryslind doing to him? His eyes grew dry. He could barely breathe. Was this his punishment for daring to see Ryslind’s moment of weakness?
Behind him, Riana yelped.
Ryslind looked away, and Jig gasped for breath.
“What happened?” Darnak asked.
“The silly girl triggered a trap,” Barius said angrily.
A trap? Jig followed the dwarf to the door. Riana sat on the floor, clutching her index finger with an expression of shock. A tiny bead of blood glistened at her fingertip.
“A needle trap,” Barius said. “Probably poisoned.”
His words chipped away at Riana’s hard facade. She shot a pleading look at Darnak. “It was an accident.”
“Wait,” Jig said. “What about the potions we took, to protect us from the lizard-fish poison? Will they be enough to protect her?”
Hope and gratitude flashed in Riana’s eyes as she looked to Ryslind for the answer.
The wizard shrugged. “The potion was a short-acting one. I don’t know if it will still be effective. Nor, without knowing what poison was used, can I be certain that even a full dose would have protected her. Were I to create such a trap, the types of poison I might choose would still kill her.”
Jig stepped closer to the door. A tiny needle protruded from the lock. It reminded him of the way the lizard-fish had flicked their tongues as they attacked. “Is this sort of thing common where you come from? Hidden doors, trapped locks . . . how do you people survive from day to day?”
Barius shrugged. “Only a fool would put his faith in a simple lock.”
He wondered how many accidents came from trying to build such intricate traps. It was a strange world where the job of the locksmith could be more dangerous than that of a soldier.
Riana whimpered suddenly. Darnak gasped. “Earthmaker help us.”
Her finger had begun to shrivel, and the skin turned gray as they watched. The nail yellowed and cracked at the tip. She touched the dying flesh with her other hand. “It’s cold.”
“The Necromancer’s work, no doubt,” Barius said.
That much Jig could have figured out without the prince’s dramatic pronouncement. What he didn’t know was how to stop whatever was happening to Riana. Would this poison spread throughout her body, or would the potion be strong enough to stop it before she died? Worse, if the poison took her, what would happen to her then? The fingertip still moved like living flesh. Would she be truly dead, or would she become something worse, some kind of toy for the Necromancer? If this was a taste of the Necromancer’s power, Jig would happily stay up above with the hobgoblins and the lizard-fish.
“Can you heal her?” Jig asked.
But Darnak was already shaking his head. “It’s in the gods’ hands now.”
Jig turned to Ryslind, but words caught in his throat. Could the wizard save Riana? He had made potions to counteract the lizard-fish, after all. Seeing the shadows beneath Ryslind’s eyes, and the sweat still shining on his bald scalp, Jig decided against asking. If the overuse of Ryslind’s art had caused the fit Jig saw, the last thing he wanted to do was ask the wizard to exert himself further.
The decay spread toward the second knuckle. Riana held her hand away from her, clutching the wrist with her good hand.
“Broken bones, bloody cuts, and other wounds of honest battle, those I can heal with Earthmaker’s blessing. Poison and magic, though . . .” Darnak shook his head. “Those are beyond me.”
“Your counsel, old teacher,” Barius said. He drew the dwarf to the other side of the room and began to speak in a low whisper.
Jig perked his ears. No doubt their voices were too quiet for Ryslind to overhear, and Riana was too distraught to listen. Goblin ears were another matter. With everything he had seen in the past hour, Jig wasn’t about to let
anyone
start plotting behind his back.
“How long before the poison slays her?” Barius asked.
“It’s not the slaying that worries me. You saw her finger. Dead, but still moving. I fear what she’ll become.”
Jig nodded. He had seen the same thing. Good to know Darnak agreed with him.
“If the poison takes her, she could turn upon us. That cannot be permitted.”
“And what would you have me do about it?” Darnak sounded suspicious.
“I will distract the girl. Make her end quick and painless.”
Barius was so calm that it took Jig several heartbeats to understand what he was saying. He wanted to kill Riana! No, that wasn’t true. He wanted Darnak to do it.
“ ’Tis not in me to murder an innocent girl in cold blood,” Darnak said sternly. “Nor is it a worthy thought for a prince. I’d have expected such from the goblin, but not you.”
Jig scowled. Why would he have made such a suggestion? They didn’t listen to him anyway. Nor would he have proposed murdering Riana even if they did listen. Running away before she finished her transformation, maybe, but not murder.
“She’s no innocent,” Barius snapped. “She’s a thief. By law, she should have been imprisoned the moment she tried to rob us.”
“Imprisoned, aye.” He took another swig from his wineskin. “But not executed. Your father would have my head if—”
“My father is not here with us. In his absence, my word is as law.”
Darnak fell silent. Jig risked a glance back to see what was happening. Both had their arms crossed, and Darnak was shaking his head.
Jig also noticed Ryslind leaning against the wall, looking bored. His lips curled slightly, hinting at amusement. He probably couldn’t hear what was being discussed as well as Jig, but that didn’t matter. He knew Darnak and his brother, and he must have deduced what Barius wanted to do. He only waited to hear who would win the argument.
“I’ll not do it,” Darnak said finally. “I’ll not kill a girl in cold blood. Not even for you.”
Jig nodded with satisfaction. Only an instant passed, though, before he realized what the dwarf had not said. He’d not kill Riana, but he wouldn’t stop Barius from doing so, either. Jig looked again, and saw Barius walking toward Riana. His hands were empty, but his face was carefully expressionless. Ryslind fell into step behind his brother.
“Riana, give me your hand,” Jig whispered. She obeyed, too scared to argue.
Jig rolled his eyes. “The other one.”
Trembling, she held out her poisoned hand. The decay had taken over most of the finger, with only a thin ring of healthy skin above the knuckle. Jig studied it closely, folding her other fingers back so he could see better.
“What’s going to happen?” Fresh tears dripped down her cheek, making her look like a young child.
“How old are you?” Jig asked absently.
“Sixteen.”
He stared. “But I thought elves lived to be hundreds of years. Even thousands.”
That earned a small, brave grin. “You think we’re born with centuries already behind us? That’d be hell on the mother.”
He shook his head, confused. Of course there were young elves. It was only that none of the songs or stories ever mentioned them, so Jig had never stopped to imagine an elf less than a century old. Elves were ancient beings who had lived through events other races only knew of as distant history. That was what made them so hard to kill. How did you beat someone with that much experience?
“Riana,” Barius called. “We must speak of your injury.”
“They’re going to let me die, aren’t they?”
“No,” he said. An honest, if misleading answer. They wouldn’t
let
her die. All that remained to be seen was whether Barius or his brother would do the actual killing. Jig wagered it would be Ryslind.
When Riana started to move toward the humans, Jig tightened his grip and pulled her off balance. With his other hand, he drew his sword and placed it at the base of her wounded finger. She looked back, eyes wide with fear and betrayal.
Jig didn’t have time to explain. Before she could speak, he pulled the blade toward himself as hard as he could.
Which was harder than necessary, as it turned out. The poison must have weakened the bone, or else the blade was sharper than Jig was used to. His sword sliced through the finger, then continued on to slash Jig’s own forearm.
Riana stared, shocked, at the blood leaking from the stump of her finger.
Jig watched his own blood drip from the long cut in his arm. All of his strength drained away. His legs threatened to give out, and the sword slipped from his fingers. Pain and shock spread from his arm throughout his body. He looked to Riana, mouth open to speak, but words failed him.
Her eyes narrowed, and with her good hand, she punched him in the nose. As he staggered back into the wall, Jig realized that at least one of the legends was true: Elves were much stronger than they appeared.
Jig probed his throbbing nose. Blood dripped from both nostrils, but the nose itself didn’t feel broken. “Gak,” he said as blood ran down the back of his throat. “Disgusting.” Even worse than Ryslind’s potion. He sat down and rested his head between his knees, using one hand to pinch his nose shut.
Hot footsteps on his back brought him back to alertness. What was Smudge running away from?
He looked up, and when his eyes focused, he found himself staring at the tip of Barius’s sword. As he had noted earlier, it was a masterful work of weaponscraft. The blade was perfectly straight, and three narrow grooves ran the length of the sword. To make it lighter, Jig guessed. Which no doubt made it easier for Barius to keep it leveled at Jig’s heart.
“We should have slain you from the outset, goblin.”
“Me?” Jig asked.
Stupid question. How many other goblins do you see down here?
“I turn my back but for a few brief moments, and you draw steel against your own companions.”