Goblin Quest (32 page)

Jig wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw
this
dragonchild’s eyes narrow with suspicion.

“See, in order to keep them interesting, I had to give them a bit of independence. Sadly, it goes to their heads from time to time. This one plans to bring me a poisoned deer and take my place as ruler.”

Before anyone could move, his head shot toward the dragonchild, who had time for one shrill scream before Straum’s jaws closed over its head with a loud crack. The headless body crumpled.

Jig began to shake. For all Straum’s bulk, he had moved faster than any creature Jig had ever seen. He watched as Straum’s tongue flicked out to clean dark blood from his teeth.

“He’ll not get any more ideas into his head,” Straum said. When nobody spoke, he added, “That was a joke.”

Jig forced himself to smile.
Yes, that was a good joke. Please don’t eat me.

“I can read their minds, you see. I never mention that detail to them. I fear they might react badly.”

“How did my brother know where that thing was going?” Barius asked. His toe nudged the headless body.

“There are many ways to grow in the magical arts,” Ryslind said. He stepped forward to stand next to Straum’s head. The dragon closed his eyes and pulled his lips back. Ryslind drew a dagger and began to clean between the huge teeth. Thankfully Jig couldn’t see well enough to identify what that stringy bit used to be.

Ryslind continued to explain as he worked. “I went off alone to seek a teacher, someone who could show me
real
power. I sent my spirit questing for the most powerful wizard around. I found Straum.”

“Thank you,” Straum said. Ryslind nodded respectfully and retreated. “Novices do that from time to time. Foolish, really. There’s a shock when two spirits touch. I understand they seek quick power, but to seek that power from me is like a small child who stands in front of a charging stallion hoping for a ride. Fortunately, this stallion decided not to trample your brother.”

“My master had grown bored once again.” Ryslind smiled. “He offered me a deal. He would give me magic that the most powerful warlock might envy.”

“Magic, yes,” Straum said. “But power was another matter. No matter how stubborn he might be, Ryslind’s power was limited. Every time he overexerted himself, he drew on my strength to help him. I’m afraid it was too much for his poor mind. Like a weak branch beneath winter snow, it snapped. What could I do but replace it with my own? I locked him away in his own mind so he wouldn’t cause any more harm. Otherwise he could have injured himself in his greed.”

“You used him, you bloody oversized snake.” Darnak kicked the corpse out of the way as he stormed toward Straum. “You killed him. Where’s my club? Earthmaker help me, I’ll crack you open like a walnut, you damned dragon.”

“I warned him,” Straum shrugged. His tongue flicked out and slapped Darnak in the face, knocking him to the sand. “But he accepted both the terms of my agreement and the risk it would involve.”

Barius grabbed Darnak’s arm before the dwarf could resume his charge. Darnak actually dragged him several yards before coming to a grudging halt.

“What were the terms?” Barius asked.

“I can’t send anyone in search of the rod. Most are too stupid, and my own children might attempt to betray me. I’ve attempted to create mindless creatures I could use as puppets, but they lack the wit to find the rod. That was why I created the Necromancer’s fountain. A simple warlock used to control those tunnels. I thought I could animate his corpse and use that in my search. I failed. The upper levels are too alien to me, and I could not find what I needed.

“I required someone who would give me control, but who retained a spark of intelligence. Someone who might discover where Ellnorein hid the rod. I found Ryslind. In exchange for my power, he offered to bring me a group of adventurers who could retrieve the Rod of Creation and set me free.”

CHAPTER 15

Stirring Up Trouble

Jig had never noticed the smell of home before. Like the smell of his own sweat, it was simply
there
. But as he crouched low against a wall, listening to the growls and curses up the tunnel, he found himself smiling at the familiar odors. The earthiness of the carrion-worm trails, the distant smoke of cooking meat, the moist, fishy smell of the lake . . . it all blended together to create
home
.

“Watch yourself, lads!” Darnak’s shout was followed by the crack of wood against flesh. A tunnel cat yowled in pain.

“That’s another one down,” Riana commented. She sat opposite Jig, her back against the wall in an almost identical position of boredom.

“How long do you think it will take?” Jig asked.

She peeked around the bend. “Looks like at least five or six more cats. How many do the hobgoblins have?”

“I’ve never tried to count them.” Jig leaned his head against the rock and closed his eyes. The tunnel split off past the tunnel cats, but there was no way to get to it until the adventurers took care of the cats. Or until the cats took care of the adventurers, he supposed. Funny, but after standing before Straum in the dragon’s lair, the huge albino cats just weren’t as frightening.

Jig crawled over to see the battle for himself. Another cat pounced, only to die on Barius’s sword. Over the generations, the cats’ eyes had grown to the size of Jig’s palm, letting them see perfectly in the faintest light. Their ears were better than his, and their noses were equally keen. Fortunately, the same inbreeding that left them mean-tempered and rapier-swift had given them weak hips. If you could avoid that first leap, as Barius had done, they tended to stumble.

Not that it mattered. The cats were silent as shadows, and few goblins ever noticed their presence before being seized by the neck, shaken, and dragged back to the cats’ nest.

Still, tunnel cats or no, Jig would much rather be here, under siege by the hobgoblins’ pets, than wandering the empty tunnels of the Necromancer’s lair. For the past two days they had searched every alcove, room, and corridor. Darnak came up with the idea that the rod might be hidden within the fountain, so the group had smashed those beautiful crystalline dragons to dust. The Necromancer’s throne had been similarly pulverized, thanks to a bit of Ryslind’s magic. But the rod was nowhere to be found.

Claws scrabbled against stone. Barius yelled. A rushing sound and a squeal of pain signaled another of Ryslind’s spells. Without a word, Jig and Riana moved a bit farther down the tunnel, trying to get away from the scent of burned fur and flesh.

“I almost feel sorry for them,” Riana said.

“Why?” The more tunnel cats that died, the fewer there would be left to pounce on Jig in the darkness.

“Ryslind.”

“Oh.” The wizard hadn’t spoken since they left Straum’s lair, except to cast the occasional spell. He had used a bit of magic to help them find their way through the sky, into the Necromancer’s throne room. A few bolts of fire had scared away the giant bats on the bridge. He had also incinerated a swarm of rats they found in one of the alcoves in the hallway. Jig didn’t know how much power Ryslind had at his disposal, but if he could draw energy from a five-thousand-year-old dragon, he probably wouldn’t dry up anytime soon.

“I say we charge,” Darnak shouted, sounding winded but eager. “If we can scare ’em good enough, they’ll turn tail and head straight back to their masters. We can follow them in and use the confusion to start bashing hobgoblins.”

Jig crawled back to take another look. Four cats lay dead, two from Ryslind’s magic, and the others from more mundane wounds. The corpses didn’t seem to deter the other cats, which were as stubborn as they were dangerous. Several more of the snarling beasts had joined their fellows and now waited for the chance to attack. Only a narrow bottleneck in the tunnel kept them from charging as a pack.

Riana scooted close to Jig’s side. The instant she started to whisper, Jig knew what she was going to ask.

“Do you know where the rod is?”

Jig bit his lip to keep from sighing. In the past few days, everyone had pulled him aside to ask if he knew the rod’s hiding place. Barius had threatened to torture him. Darnak hinted that helping to find the rod might be Jig’s only hope of getting through this alive. As for Ryslind, when he asked about the rod, Jig had sensed Straum watching him from behind that glowing gaze. Jig hadn’t been able to think of anything except Straum’s terrible jaws closing over the helpless dragonchild.

“No,” Jig answered. Didn’t they realize he would happily give them the rod if he could only go home?

He watched as Darnak and Barius charged up the tunnel, the former shouting a dwarven battle cry. They returned a few seconds later, Darnak swatting furiously at the cat that had locked its jaws onto the dwarf’s forearm. If not for his thick bracers, Darnak’s arm would have been nothing but shredded meat. He managed to hurl the cat against the wall. It whined and crawled away, dragging its paralyzed hindquarters along the ground.

Jig closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He wasn’t worried about the cats. The adventurers would win or else they wouldn’t. Either way, there wasn’t much Jig could do about it. He just wanted to be done with it.

Was he imagining things, or could he smell the faint spice of Golaka’s ever-simmering cauldron? Thinking about food made his mouth water painfully. He reached up to his shoulder and stroked Smudge’s head. The fire-spider evidently recognized home as well, for his head was high, and he kept turning around, as if searching for familiar landmarks.

Although it felt good to be home, everything seemed strange as well. Knowing his fellow goblins would likely kill him didn’t help his comfort, but there was more. Like the smells. He never would have noticed them before. The tunnels themselves felt smaller, too. Was it only because he had been beyond them, because he knew how much more there was past goblin territory?

Yet he still knew so little. He hadn’t seen all of Straum’s lair, nor had he explored much of those woods. He didn’t know where else the Necromancer’s not-really-bottomless pit might lead. He didn’t even know where the rod was. If Barius and the others were right and it was here, then Jig had lived his entire life within walking distance of one of the most powerful magical artifacts in history.

He inhaled again and remembered Straum’s description of the rod.
A seemingly innocent wooden rod, wide as a human’s thumb and a little over three feet long.
In other words, a stick. It could be anything from a piece of a door to the chief hobgoblin’s favorite tool for scratching between his toes. Magic wouldn’t detect it, and the emanations of power would appear natural to those around it, since their wills would shape the way that power manifested. Basically, the thing was next to invisible.

Barius and Darnak charged again. This time, Ryslind helped by sending several arrows past them and into the pack. Perhaps he used magic to augment his skill, for two cats whined in pain and fled. A huge male leaped at Darnak, only to fall as Barius lodged his sword between the cat’s ribs. Its spasms wrenched the sword out of Barius’s hands, and it wound up trapped beneath the cat’s dying body. Fortunately, the rest of the pack had finally seen enough. As one, they turned and fled.

“Come on, then,” Darnak yelled. “We’ll rout the mangy furballs all the way back to their masters.”

Barius had one foot on the dead tunnel cat and was trying to free his sword. His sword wouldn’t budge, so he ended up on the floor, both feet against the cat, tugging with all his might. When the sword finally did come free, Jig shook his head at the prince’s luck. At that angle, the blade had come within inches of turning the prince into a princess.

Barius didn’t notice. He scrambled to his feet and raced after Darnak, his long stride helping him close the distance.

“Come on,” Riana said wearily.

Jig hesitated as he thought about the plan Barius had shared as they left the Necromancer’s lair. It was both simple and terrible. They intended to use Ryslind’s magic and their own considerable fighting skill until every last hobgoblin died or surrendered. Which sounded fine to Jig. If the hobgoblins were out of the picture, that was one less thing for him to worry about. The only question was how long it would take. Hundreds of hobgoblins lived down that tunnel, and they wouldn’t simply line up in a neat single-file line to die. In true hobgoblin style, they would set traps, attempt ambushes, and terrorize the tunnel cats into another attack. But in the end, whether by Barius’s sword or Ryslind’s mystic fire, they
would
die.

Like goblins, the hobgoblins always lost to the heroes. Unfair as it seemed to Jig, Barius and the others were the heroes.

Jig stopped. If the hobgoblins didn’t have the rod, what would happen next?

Lantern light faded behind him as he moved toward the right branch of the tunnel, slipping into a jog, then an all-out run as he abandoned the others.