“One forty-seven, one forty-eight, one forty-nine.” He spat on the final tile as he finished his second recount. “How could I have been so far off?”
He had spread his map on the floor to better study their path. Jig peered over his shoulder, looking at the winding tunnels that led from the center of the map—this room—through various tunnels and over what must be the bridge, to judge by the small bats Darnak had drawn, and finally to a door in the upper right corner of the map. Jig didn’t know much about maps, but he knew that the door in the corner shouldn’t have led them into the room in the center.
“There’s no way we got turned about that badly.” Darnak chewed the tip of one dark braid as he paced tight circles around the map, nearly colliding with Jig. “Even if I were off four or five degrees on those turns. A right rotten trick that would be, using eighty-five-degree turns instead of solid right angles. I’ll have to remember that when I get home. I could design a nasty maze that way. But we didn’t even pass over the chasm a second time.
“And what happened to get your magic so clogged up?” he demanded of Ryslind. “You said you were taking us to the Necromancer. Unless he’s a wee fish swimming about in that column, I’m not seeing any Necromancer here.”
“As I said before, this room was blocked to me.” Ryslind’s eyes were cracks of red light as he studied the walls. “I thought it was the magic of the water that overwhelmed my spell, so I commanded my power to ignore this room and take me to the Necromancer.”
Darnak glanced down at his map once more. “Ah, hell.” So saying, he grabbed the map, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the corner. “Getting cramps in my fingers anyway.”
“Is that all you have to offer me?” Barius threw up his arms. “One hundred and thirty-two years of age, Silas Earthmaker at your side, and all you can do is complain of cramped fingers.”
He whirled on Ryslind. “As for you, my brother, what are we to make of your vaunted powers? Where is your otherworldly wisdom, great one? I was wrong to doubt you. How great your art must be, that it led us back to the very spot from which we left.”
“What if he’s right?” Jig asked. The room felt much colder to him. Colder and darker. “What if the Necromancer
is
here?”
“Ridiculous.” Barius waved one hand. “He must be hidden away, down some tunnel we neglected to explore. Only after defeating the minions do we face the master. Else what point to having minions at all?”
Jig frowned. That was a good question. Maybe this was a good time to ask for help again.
Shadowstar, am I right? Why would the Necromancer play with us like that?
He blinked as a thought occurred to him.
“Maybe . . .” It sounded ridiculous now that he started to say it out loud. Too late, though. Everyone waited for him to finish.
“Well the Necromancer isn’t a very nice person, right?” Barius rolled his eyes, and Jig hurried to finish. “Maybe he’s doing this just to be mean. Teasing us, like animals, before he kills us. He probably doesn’t get much company here, you know. He probably gets lonely.”
“A master of the dark arts lonely?” Ryslind raised both eyebrows.
Is that the answer? But if so, that would mean the Necromancer was
here
, watching us even as we argue. He probably laughed when we found ourselves back here, like it was the greatest joke in the world. But where is he watching from?
Jig’s gut tightened, and sweat ran down his back as he looked around. The room was empty, as before. Nothing but the water. No place to hide. Even with magic, it would be difficult to hide in here, with the way the light bounced off the marble panels, illuminating every corner of the room.
The panels.
Jig stared. Like the panels in the hall that disappeared when those creatures had attacked.
Riana sat by one wall, gnawing on her bread and looking bored. Ryslind looked like he was trying to use his art to find the Necromancer again, but Barius kept interrupting. Darnak had flattened his map and begun again to retrace their path. Aside from a few chuckles and Ryslind’s raised brows, they thought Jig’s idea was a waste of time. What could a goblin know? But he was right. He knew it.
“He’s behind the panels.”
Only Riana heard. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks went pale. “Are you sure?”
Before he could answer, a booming laugh came from the walls. Ryslind raised his hands, fingers twisted to hurl a spell, but he could find no target. Barius’s sword hissed free, and Darnak grabbed his club. From Jig’s shoulder came the smell of singed leather as Smudge branded eight dots onto his shoulder pad.
“Very good, little goblin.” The voice came from every part of the room at once. Not even Jig’s ears could pinpoint the speaker.
“Show yourself, Necromancer,” Barius said calmly. “Face us with honor and die like a man.”
Even Darnak sighed at that. Jig didn’t know a lot about adventuring or quests, but even he knew that “honor” wasn’t a word that went with “necromancy.” But if Barius insisted on playing the noble hero, Jig had no complaints. Barius’s posturing made him the center of attention, as he no doubt intended. It also meant that he, not Jig, was the obvious target.
“You’ve all done very well,” the voice went on. “I thought my warriors would finish you off in the hallway. But your wizard had more power than I expected. He’s a fool, but a powerful one.”
Ryslind’s eyes burned a deeper red at that; he said nothing.
“Come, wizard. Find me if you can. I’m here, right beyond your grasp. Waiting and laughing.”
“Can you find this villain?” Barius demanded. At Ryslind’s angry nod, he snapped, “Why then do you delay?”
No, that’s what he wants!
Jig didn’t know where the thought came from, and it was too late anyway. Ryslind’s fingers straightened. He turned toward one of the panels, and fire shot from his hands.
Jig cringed and turned away as orange light brightened the room. Black smoke stung his nose, and even from behind the pillar he felt the heat against his skin. How Ryslind could touch that fire, hold it in his fingers, and control it was beyond Jig.
The flames stopped. Ryslind’s fingers curved and straightened again, and this time water shot forth, freezing instantly when it touched the wall. Flakes of snow fell from the stream as he shot more water at the icy wall.
Smudge hid behind Jig’s neck, making Jig wish he had something more substantial to hide behind. He had seen evidence of Ryslind’s power before, but never in such a raw display. Those two spells alone would wipe out a goblin patrol before they could even grab weapons.
A thick layer of white ice covered the marble panel. Ryslind sent a second line of fire into its center. As soon as the flames touched the marble, a loud crack shot through the room. The panel fell to the floor in a dozen triangular pieces that shattered upon impact. Behind the steam and smoke, one of the dead warriors drew a sword and stepped forward.
Ryslind’s lip curled into a sneer, and another blast of fire incinerated the corpse. Seconds later, only ashes remained.
“You might try toning it down a little,” Darnak said nervously. “Better to keep a bit of power in reserve, just in case.”
Ryslind either didn’t hear or didn’t care. The flames that had destroyed the corpse moved to the next panel.
How many were there? Jig counted as fast as he could. Twenty-eight panels. He didn’t know much about magic, but he doubted Ryslind could keep up this kind of magic long enough to destroy them all. Darnak appeared to have the same idea, for he was tugging Ryslind’s robe, trying to make him stop.
The wizard brushed him away with a gesture that left Darnak angrily patting wisps of flame from his beard. One hand fell to his club, and Jig watched as Darnak fought the urge to club the wizard unconscious. Jig didn’t know if that would be an improvement or not, but in the end, the dwarf decided against it. Instead, he grabbed his amulet and began to pray.
Probably trying to lend Ryslind more strength,
Jig guessed.
Ryslind made it through two more panels and destroyed two more of the creatures before collapsing in pain. This time, as Ryslind fell, so did Darnak. But where the dwarf remained on the floor clutching his head, Ryslind stood back up as swiftly as he had fallen.
“Excellent,” came the Necromancer’s voice. The rest of the marble panels vanished, and two dozen dead soldiers stepped into the room. “You proved stronger than I had guessed, wizard.”
With the panels gone, the Necromancer’s voice no longer echoed from all directions. Nor was it the deep, threatening voice they had heard before.
To Jig’s left, guarded by two well armored corpses, stood a throne. Jig had never seen a real throne before, but this could be nothing else. No gold or gems decorated this chair. It had been carved from a single piece of stone, so black that even the marble looked bright by comparison. Light vanished into the throne, sucked into shadow. The legs formed claws, and the arms ended in small animal heads. Jig couldn’t see well enough to identify them. The back of the throne rose to the top of the alcove, nearly ten feet. The Necromancer himself sat cross-legged upon purple cushions of velvet. In one hand, he held a long silver wand.
Jig smirked. He couldn’t help it. After all his fear, all the legends and songs about the terrible Necromancer, this was not what he had imagined in his nightmares. For starters, Jig had expected him to be, well, taller. For another, a dark wizard shouldn’t have large, gossamer wings. And didn’t wizards wear robes? Granted, the Necromancer’s loose trousers and vest were both black, and his bare arms did have a pale, deathlike pallor, but the effect was spoiled by the mop of brilliant blue hair that topped it all off.
“He’s a mere fairy,” Barius whispered, an uncharacteristic grin tugging his lips.
That was the wrong thing to say. The Necromancer stood up in the chair, pulling himself to his full height. Had he been on the floor, he would have been at eye-level with the prince’s knee. He waved his wand about like a sword. “A mere fairy, eh? And what’s to keep this mere fairy from mastering the dark arts? I’ll show you what real power is. I killed the old Necromancer, you know.”
He hopped down and ran at Barius. His dead bodyguards flanked him, weapons ready. Barius slipped back and raised his sword in a defensive stance, but the Necromancer slid to a halt a few feet out of range.
“This was his domain, but I took it away from him. Me! By myself. The others all died, but I lived long enough to cast a spell of dancing on him.” He giggled. “He couldn’t stop long enough to cast a spell, and that gave me time to put a knife in his eye. Horrid mess. Eye gook everywhere. Disgusting.”
“Ryslind, destroy this pest,” Barius said.
“Destroy him yourself, brother.”
Jig froze, not even breathing. No longer did Ryslind speak with two voices. The voice that remained was not Ryslind’s. Whatever had happened to the wizard when he overexerted himself, he was now as dangerous as the Necromancer. Jig hoped the others realized it, because the last thing he was going to do was face either mage himself.
“Take them,” the Necromancer said, pointing absently with his wand. The other creatures stepped out of their alcoves.
Barius’s head snapped one way, then another as they closed in. Even human arrogance had limits. With Darnak unconscious and his brother as great a danger as the Necromancer, Barius had no choice. His sword slipped through limp fingers, and he raised his hands in surrender. Two creatures grabbed his arms and forced him to his knees. Others did the same with Riana and Jig. They even grabbed Darnak’s limp body and held him in a kneeling position.
“Very good.” The Necromancer strutted before them. He still had to look up to meet their eyes. “You see, prince, your brother is . . . well, not himself today.” He giggled. “If you’re nice, I might even tell you who he
is
.”
“What do you want?” Barius sounded tired and beaten. Maybe reality had finally tunneled through his skull, and the prince realized he was going to die. Jig wanted to reassure him that he’d get used to the thought after a while, but decided it would be better to remain silent.
“It’s not about what I want. It’s what
he
wants.” The Necromancer nodded at Ryslind. Then he smirked again. “Still, nobody could complain if I kept one or two, to replace a few of my toy soldiers. The dwarf, I think. He’ll make a good warrior. And one other.” He rubbed his tiny chin.
His eyes looked from Riana to Jig and back. To Jig’s shame, all he could think was,
Take the elf. Elves are stronger than goblins. They’re smarter. You don’t want me.
“The elf could be useful for the task ahead of you, but I see no reason for you to take the goblin. Leave him for me.”
“Dung!” Jig shouted. “Why me? Why not her? Why does it always have to be the goblin?” His voice trailed off as he realized what he was doing. He had shouted at the Necromancer. “Uh . . . sir,” he added quietly.
The Necromancer didn’t take offense. “You intrigue me, goblin. You were the one to figure out my little game. You were quite right, you know. Dreadfully lonely down here. Sometimes I summon one of my bats and play with it, but they die so quickly. With the lizard-fish guarding the vortex, I rarely get to talk to anyone from above. I’ve even snuck into Straum’s domain a time or two, just for the company.
“You should be honored, little goblin. You’ll be the first of your race to become one of my servants.” He gestured toward the corpses. “I’ve humans and dwarves and even an elf or two.” He lowered his voice and looked at the others, as if sharing a deep secret. “Though elves don’t take too well to being dead.”
“Neither do I,” Jig said.
The Necromancer grinned, revealing blackened gums. Seeing Jig’s stare, he explained, “Nothing much to eat down here. Had to make do on what I could conjure, and I’m afraid it wasn’t all that healthy. Rotted the teeth right out of my head. What I wouldn’t give for a crisp, juicy apple. Some days I think I’d trade all my power for one apple.”