Jig grabbed his sword and swung wildly. More by luck than any skill, the tip grazed the bat’s wing and sent it spinning out of sight beneath the bridge.
Darnak yelled something else, but Jig couldn’t hear. More bats were coming down behind him. He ran to join the others.
Only to drop through another illusionary tile. He didn’t have time to panic. One second he was running, the next he was dropping his sword and scrambling for a handhold. His fingers slipped, and then the rope jerked him to a halt. Jig clutched the rope with both hands and hoped Darnak wouldn’t follow him through. If the dwarf and all that equipment fell through the hole, Jig doubted the others would be able to support the weight.
The rope tore skin from Jig’s armpits as he dangled helplessly. Smudge flattened himself to Jig’s shoulder, legs clinging to the leather pad, and Jig could feel the heat on his cheek. “Don’t touch the rope,” he warned. The last thing he needed was for the stupid fire-spider to crawl around and set the rope on fire. Fortunately, Smudge appeared to be stiff with fear.
Something moved nearby. He couldn’t see very well since the bridge blocked most of the light, but the shifting shadows in front of him took on the ugly form of a bat, only a few feet away. Even if his sword weren’t lying useless on the bridge above, he wouldn’t have dared release his grip on the rope long enough to use it.
So the next time the bat came near, he kicked as hard as he could. His boot caught the bat’s snout, and it looped away.
The movement started him twisting. Another bat flew at him and clobbered his head with a wing. The bat’s small claws reached out but missed. Now he was spinning the other direction. Much more of this, and he’d lose what little food he had eaten. He imagined the undigested bread dropping endlessly through the darkness and wondered what the bats would make of it.
More squeals ripped at Jig’s ears. What he wouldn’t have given for another alcove to hide in. He twisted his head, trying to see where the next attack would come from.
Nothing but blackness. Which, between his own poor vision and the fact that he was looking for brown and black bats in the dark, meant very little. Wind buffeted Jig’s body as a bat flew up to land on the edge of the bridge. The smell of guano was so strong he could practically taste it.
There was a crunch, and a huge, senseless body plunged past Jig’s left side. That would be Darnak, teaching the bats the futility of a ground-based attack.
He wondered if the others would be able to pull him back. Would they even bother? With so many bats to fend off, why lower their guard long enough to rescue one goblin?
Darnak’s head poked through the illusionary tile. To Jig, it looked as if the marble had sprouted a small, hairy face. Darnak’s braided tangles hung upside down, like black moss. His mouth moved silently, and he grinned at the goblin.
Jig grinned back. He was too deaf to hear what had been said, but what did it matter? Probably boasting about the bat he had just slain.
The rope jerked up a foot, costing Jig another strip of skin.
Or maybe he was telling me to hold on.
Jig’s fingers tightened on the rope as he lurched closer toward the bridge. Another bat came at him from behind, and Jig kicked again. He missed, but it was enough to make the thing change course. Then thick fingers grabbed his wrist and yanked him onto the bridge.
Darnak nodded sharply, said something Jig couldn’t hear, and then he was off to whack another bat. Riana stood close behind Barius. The bats had apparently learned to avoid the human’s flashing sword. Ryslind waited a little way beyond, arms folded. One bat flew down behind him, only to bounce off an invisible wall. It landed on the bridge, took a few stunned steps, then teetered over the edge.
Another bat gone, but it made little difference. Jig spotted his sword sitting close to the side of the bridge. He grabbed it and turned to join the others, for all the good he could do. Bats were everywhere. The adventurers were doing a good job defending themselves, but the bats could wear them out with sheer numbers. Eventually they would all be knocked into the bottomless pit.
Jig grimaced as he recalled Darnak’s assurances. The pit wasn’t truly bottomless. So maybe if they killed enough bats, the bodies would pile up at the bottom and provide a softer landing. Not that being trapped at the bottom of a pit up to his neck in giant bat bodies was much of an improvement.
They were close to the end of the bridge. If they could make it across, they could hide in the tunnels. The bats’ wings were too wide for them to follow. The group would be safe. Safe from the bats, at least. If the Necromancer’s personal labyrinth could ever be considered
safe
.
Jig began to walk, testing the tiles as he went. He made it about ten feet before the rope grew taut. Darnak was still behind him, merrily crushing bat skulls and breaking bat wings. Jig could no more pull the dwarf along than drag the mountain itself.
“Come on,” Jig shouted.
Darnak yelled something back.
Jig rolled his eyes.
He can’t hear me any better than I hear him.
He grabbed the rope and pulled. Darnak tilted his head, and Jig pointed toward the tunnel.
Darnak frowned, then shook his head as understanding came. He waved his club at the bats, as if to say he wasn’t finished yet. Ignoring Jig’s pleas, he spun and leaped into the air after another bat.
Between his own bulk and that of his pack, the dwarf’s tremendous leap took him nearly six inches into the air. High enough to break a bat’s foot, but no more. As Darnak landed, the bridge vibrated beneath their feet. Jig fought the urge to go back to all fours.
So Darnak wanted to stay until the fighting was done. That could take a while. The bats showed no sign of slowing. Jig was half tempted to cut the rope and cross to the far tunnel himself. Let the adventurers enjoy the battle;
he
would enjoy some peace and quiet. Only two things stopped him. One was the knowledge that, were he to cut the rope, the next illusionary tile would send him to his death below. The other was that he didn’t know what waited for them beyond that dark opening in the far wall. With Jig’s luck, he would escape the bats but find himself surrounded by more of those fighting corpses.
Jig tugged the rope again. When he had Darnak’s attention, he pointed to Ryslind, who still waited motionlessly as bat after bat bounced off his magical shield. The dwarf didn’t understand, so Jig did his best to pantomime Ryslind’s fit from earlier. He clutched his head and walked in tight circles. One hand fluttered as if he were casting spells. Didn’t he understand? How long before Ryslind overexerted himself again? The only thing worse than another of Ryslind’s seizures would be another seizure in the middle of a fight.
This approach appeared to work. Darnak glanced at Ryslind. He grabbed a hank of his beard and worriedly twisted it around his index finger. A bat came at him from the side. Darnak knocked it senseless, but this time his heart wasn’t in it. Jig had guessed right. No matter how much Darnak enjoyed battle, his loyalty to the humans took precedence.
That was a good thing to remember. A very different attitude than goblins, most of whom would have simply cut the rope and shoved Ryslind over the edge.
Darnak nodded. He kicked the unconscious bat he had just bludgeoned off the side of the bridge and headed toward the others.
Jig glanced over to watch it fall out of sight. He shivered and hurried back to the middle of the bridge. Darnak had his map out again in his off-weapon hand. Had he been able to mark most of the trapped tiles? Jig hoped so, because he was following the dwarf’s steps as closely as he could.
They reached Barius and Riana. Darnak went through the same hand-waving that Jig had done, pausing from time to time to help them kill more bats. Barius needed less convincing than Darnak.
Moving slowly, Darnak and Barius escorted the others toward Ryslind. From there, they inched their way to the other side. The bats launched a desperate attack near the end. They flew as a group, no longer bothering with claws as they tried to physically knock the party off the bridge. It might have worked if they hadn’t picked Ryslind as their first target.
Bats bounced in all directions, like water splashing from a boulder. Jig saw Ryslind smirk as one bat spun off and crashed into the chasm wall.
A few more steps, and they were through. Once they passed into the tunnel, the bats gave up and returned to whatever they did when they weren’t attacking innocent adventurers. Well, maybe “innocent” was too strong a word.
Still, Jig wondered what sort of life there was for giant bats trapped in an endless chasm. Did they spend their days trying to find enough bugs to keep from starving? If so, no wonder they were so desperate to attack the party. This could have been their first real meal in months, or even years. Whose cruel idea had it been to trap bats in the chasm anyway? Was that part of Ellnorein’s design when he created this place? Or perhaps Straum the dragon had brought them.
How long had the bats lived here, knowing nothing beyond the walls of their pit? Then again, the same could be said of the goblins. For thousands of years, goblins had lived in their small lair, and those few who left for the outside world tended not to return. He wondered what that kind of isolation had done to them over the centuries.
As he followed the others, Jig decided he was just as happy the bats couldn’t escape their pit. He had seen enough of those black-eyed, flat-nosed faces to last a lifetime.
A lifetime, or at least until Jig and the others came back on their way out and had to cross the bridge again. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it might have. What were the odds that they would survive to make it past both the Necromancer and the dragon? His chances of seeing the bridge again were slim, so why worry about the bats?
His hearing returned slowly, bringing with it a splitting headache, as if Smudge had crawled into his ear and set his brain afire. Maybe there was an advantage to the humans’ tiny ears after all. Neither they nor the dwarf seemed to suffer any after-effects of the deafening shrieks that still occasionally echoed up the tunnel after them. Even Riana’s slender ears would have been considered small and malformed by any goblin.
Darnak had healed him before, Jig remembered. Would he and Silas Earthmaker be able to do anything for this headache? More importantly, would they bother? Probably not, he decided.
What kind of god is going to waste his time and power on a goblin?
Another shriek fanned the fire in Jig’s head to a white-hot blaze, and he reconsidered.
What’s the worst the gods could do? Strike me down for asking? At least that would make the pain stop.
Jig hurried up to Darnak. His hand was out to tug the dwarf’s sleeve when, up ahead, Ryslind stumbled.
The wizard dropped to his knees and pressed the palms of his hands against his ears. The tattoos on his hands writhed in the light.
A strange pressure filled the air, and Jig’s skin tingled.
“Get back and leave me alone,” Ryslind yelled.
Barius, who had been hurrying to his brother’s side, stopped at once. Riana backed off until she had put Barius between herself and Ryslind.
“Get away!” Ryslind ordered.
Personally, Jig thought that was the wisest suggestion either of the humans had made so far. So naturally Barius began to argue.
“What’s that? Abandon my quest? Surely you jest, brother.” Barius folded his arms. His foot tapped impatiently on the marble floor. “If this is no more than a feeble ploy to frighten me off and allow
you
to seize the rod, I shall be most incensed.”
Ryslind snarled, a sound more animal than human. His red eyes fixed on his brother.
“Not good,” Darnak mumbled. His pack slid to the ground, nearly smashing Jig’s foot. He noticed the goblin standing there and handed him the lantern. “Hold this and stay out of the way.”
“What can we do?” Jig asked, headache forgotten. He didn’t know what was going on, but he sensed that it was bad. Darnak looked grim, his mouth tight. As the dwarf had displayed nothing but merriment at an onslaught of giant bats, that was enough to worry Jig a great deal.
“You can shut your flap and let me work,” said Darnak. He grabbed his holy amulet and dropped to one knee. “Come on, Earthmaker. I know I’ve asked a lot lately, but if you’d be giving us a hand again, I’d be mighty grateful.”
He was praying, Jig realized. He listened closer. Goblins didn’t pray. They had no use for gods, a disinterest matched only by the gods’ disdain for goblins. If they cared for us, goblins figured, they’d help us win a fight or two from time to time. Since the only time the goblins won a fight was when they outnumbered the enemy by at least five to one, they assumed that the gods, like everything else, were the enemy.
On those few occasions that goblins got the upper hand, their victims had been known to pray for help or mercy from their gods. Generally this was taken as a weakness, an opportunity to slip in and stab them in the back. But having seen Darnak work his magic before, Jig perked his ears as the dwarf talked to his god. He sounded almost like he was having a normal conversation, albeit a one-sided one. Did the god respond? Jig moved closer, hoping that maybe if he listened hard enough, he might hear Earthmaker answer.
“The idiot boy strained himself again,” Darnak said quietly. “If ’twere up to me, I’d say he dug his own tunnel, so let him find his own way out. But you know I can’t be doing that. I’m sworn to protect them, and he’d kill us all in his madness.”
He sniffed in what could have been amusement. “You wouldn’t let your humble servant die of dark magic, would you? Give me an honest fight, at good odds, not this invisible art that slips past an honest blade like smoke.”
Jig swallowed. Darnak worried that Ryslind was going to kill them? Maybe he was exaggerating in order to persuade the god. Jig used to say he was starving to try to con a bit more food from Golaka. Somehow, though, he doubted Darnak would do that. And since Golaka had never believed Jig, why would a god be any more gullible?