There was a mage named Ellnorein
Who lived in times long past.
A merrier man was rarely seen,
For he made magic last.
One day he met a lonely queen,
A lass as pure as gold.
His eye for beauty was quite keen,
So he said in this bold:
A wizard am I, whom many dread,
With power like a God.
So come with me to yonder bed
And see my mighty rod.
“Darnak, please,” shouted Barius, drowning out the dwarf’s song. “What is this dwarven nonsense of which you sing?”
“It demeans the very memory of the wizard Ellnorein,” added Ryslind.
Jig blinked. Truth be told, he had been looking forward to the next verse. Maybe he could convince Darnak to sing the rest of the song later, when the humans weren’t listening. Goblins would like this kind of song. Assuming he ever made it home to share it with them.
“Allow me,” Barius said. His voice was pure and perfect, a silver bell to Darnak’s hunting horn.
Ages past, the high gods clashed,
The skies turned black and lightning flashed.
We men were naught but pawns who fought
And oh the terror that was wrought
As war swept o’er this world so vast.
The gods chose nine from all mankind
To be wizards of the blackest kind.
They pooled their might, from darkest night
They summoned dragons to roam and fight,
And in their wake the widows pined.
The gods’ war ended, their quarrel they mended,
And mankind their victims tended.
But wizards’ greed had fed their need,
For power greater than dragon steeds.
And so another war portended.
But in that age of the bloody mage,
There came an old and tired sage,
Who raised his eyes toward blackened skies,
And spoke a spell to terrorize
Those butchers born of gods’ own rage.
The dragons fled, the nine fell dead,
The power from their broken bodies bled
Into a wand, which he had planned
To bury deep in a faraway land,
That it would stay safe once he lay dead.
Barius let his voice trail off on the final note, and his eyes closed, as if overwhelmed by the beauty of his own voice. Ryslind immediately broke in, saying, “First of all, as any tome will tell you, there were
twelve
Mage-Gods, not nine. You’re confusing Ellnorein with a completely different tale. Furthermore, that last stanza should begin, ‘The spell was spoke, their powers broke, the mages died in sickly smoke.’ ”
“Nonsense,” Barius snapped. “ ‘The spell was
spoke
?’ What bard would dare set such a clumsy rhyme to song?”
“Pah. Neither has the gut-ripping style of the dwarf version.”
Jig looked from Barius to Darnak, then to Ryslind. “So what you’re saying is that Ellnorein was a wizard?”
They stared at him.
“Did you not hear my song? The
Epic of Ellnorein
is famous. Surely even here you’ve heard of the great mage who healed the world after the God-Wars.”
Jig didn’t know what to say, so he just stood there.
Barius started to protest further, but Darnak interrupted. “The gist is this. Ellnorein was a mighty wizard, but he’s dead now. Before he went, he trapped a goodly bit of power in his wand.”
“Rod,” Ryslind corrected. “The bards said ‘wand’ to make the rhyme work. But it was a rod, about three feet long and made of simple wood.”
Darnak rolled his eyes. “So he put that power into a rod. The Rod of Creation. The power in that thing was the same magic the gods used to bring dragons into the world. According to legend, Ellnorein used it to make this whole mountain out of nothing. Pulled it out of the ground in a single day, then carved out these here tunnels to protect the rod after he was gone. Didn’t want anyone else to get their hands on it, you see. Earthmaker only knows what guards the rod today.”
“A dragon,” Jig said.
Silence.
“What . . . what did you say?” Darnak asked softly.
“A dragon,” said Ryslind. “Ironic, yet there’s a certain logic to Ellnorein’s choice. The magic used to create dragonkind could also destroy them, so what creature would have greater cause to keep the rod safe?”
Not everyone reacted to Jig’s revelation with Ryslind’s cool appreciation. Riana’s wide eyes stared at Jig in disbelief, and Darnak whistled softly.
“We knew we faced an opponent of some power,” Barius said.
“An opponent of some power?” Darnak glanced heavenward. “Lad, you’ve either got the greatest gift of understatement ever seen in a human, or else you’ve not the slightest idea what you’re talking about. You’ll be lucky if your precious sword doesn’t snap like a twig against a dragon’s scales. As for Ryslind, he may know how to toss magic about, but a dragon
is
magic. Throwing spells at one is like pissing on a forest fire. Either way, you’re going to burn. We’ll need Earthmaker’s blessing to steal the rod from one of those beasts.”
There was that name again. “Is Earthmaker another adventurer?” Jig asked.
This time it was Darnak’s turn to stare at Jig. “Is that a joke? For if so, it’s in poor taste.”
“Silas Earthmaker is his god,” Riana explained.
“Will he help you fight Straum?” When nobody answered, Jig added, “That’s the dragon’s name.”
Darnak shook his head. “Earthmaker expects every man to prove himself. He’ll not interfere in a fight, even when the odds are against us.”
“Oh. He doesn’t sound like much help.” He saw Riana cringe.
His hand resting on the handle of his club, Darnak asked, “What would you be knowing of gods, goblin?”
Jig started to answer, but closed his mouth when he saw Riana shake her head. “Nothing,” he said meekly. That seemed to satisfy the dwarf. Darnak turned back to the humans, leaving Jig to study Riana and wonder again what she was doing here. To judge by the way the others ignored her, she wasn’t a friend. She had done nothing during the fight, so she wasn’t here to help during combat. In fact, the only thing she
had
done was hide and stay out of the way. Which wasn’t a bad example for Jig to follow.
So he sat down against the wall and tried to wrap his brain around exactly what this party wanted to do. To steal the rod from Straum’s own hoard was unthinkable. As Darnak had said, their best efforts would do little more than annoy the great beast, and the most they could hope for was a swift death by flame, tooth, or talon. If the dragon was in a bad mood, he had other ways to dispose of those who annoyed him. Jig knew of tales wherein Straum had stolen the very souls of his enemies. Others he simply turned over to the Necromancer, the sorcerous master of the dead who some said dwelled beneath these very tunnels.
This would make a marvelous song: “The Raiders of Straum’s Lair and Their Long, Painful Deaths.” Goblins everywhere would sing about this quest as they ate their evening meals. Insanity. Jig had wondered about Barius’s state of mind from the moment he heard the prince speak. As for the wizard, well, all wizards were a bit crazy. That much was common knowledge. So Jig understood how these two might believe they could successfully raid Straum’s lair. But the dwarf looked sane. For a dwarf, at least. And what could have convinced an elf to throw away the virtual immortality of their race for such a futile—no, such a
stupid
—quest?
“Ellnorein placed the rod here to keep it safe?” Jig asked.
“Now you’re getting it,” Darnak answered.
“And Ellnorein was a smart man?”
“The wisest mage of his time,” Barius said. “Indeed, perhaps the wisest man in all of human history.”
“And you want to take the rod away, even though Ellnorein went to such lengths to keep you from doing that?”
“Er . . .” The dwarf glanced away.
“That is precisely our intention,” Barius said. “To rescue the rod is my quest. Tradition and honor require me to prove myself to my father the king, as well as to his subjects. My six brothers before me each undertook such a quest, but by retrieving the Rod of Creation, I shall prove myself a man of more courage and strength than the best of them.”
Jig tried to understand this. Less than half of all goblin children survived into adulthood. Scavengers claimed many, and others died the first time they ventured out of their territory. The rite of adulthood claimed plenty as well, but that tradition was a matter of survival. The goblin who couldn’t find his way through the tunnels was a danger to everyone, and bound to get himself killed sooner or later. Better sooner, so he wouldn’t take anyone else with him. But the tradition Barius described was like teaching a child to swim by throwing him into a lake full of lizard-fish.
“How many of your brothers survived these quests?” he asked.
“Four.”
“Three,” Ryslind corrected.
“Untrue. Thar survived.”
“Thar believed himself to be the god of the sea. He fought a master mage to the east,” Ryslind explained. “The mage died, but he took Thar’s mind with him. So our brother lived, but he developed the unfortunate habit of running nude through the palace, searching for his giant starfish. He drowned in the moat six months later. It seems that our god of the sea never learned to swim.”
“Enough,” Darnak said. He tucked his map into a long leather tube, which he slid into his belt. “We get no closer to the rod by standing here telling old tales. Goblin, which way leads to the deeper tunnels?”
Jig stopped himself before he could answer truthfully. As the saying went, truth caused more trouble than humans and hobgoblins combined. The last thing he wanted to admit was that he knew no more than they did. They wanted a guide, and a guide they would have. Anything to keep himself breathing a bit longer.
“This way,” he said, trying to sound decisive. He would have said more, but he didn’t know if he could keep his voice steady. Besides, it didn’t matter which of the three doorways they took, since all three tunnels merged anyway. Maybe this would give him time to figure out where to go once they reached hobgoblin territory.
The dwarf had said the way was cloaked in watery darkness. The only water Jig knew of was the underground lake, where the lizard-fish lived. He hoped that wasn’t where they needed to go, but considering his luck, he wouldn’t be surprised. Glancing at Smudge to make sure the fire-spider was still safe on his shoulder, Jig marched toward the doorway where he and the others had entered . . . only to be jerked short when Barius grabbed his rope and wrenched him back.
“Your enthusiasm is admirable,” Barius said wryly. “But we prefer to be prepared before charging into the shadowy bowels of the earth.”
Jig sat down and tried not to think about that image.
Darnak grabbed a lantern out of his seemingly bottomless pack and handed it to Barius. Jig stared, fascinated by the device. The lantern was a small metal box with four hinged flaps that could be left open or closed, allowing Barius to shutter the lantern completely when necessary. Or, by leaving only one flap open, the lantern could send a beam of light into the tunnels without being as obvious as a torch.
“I shall go first, accompanied by our goblin guide. Darnak will follow behind me, that he may continue to draw his map by the light of the lantern. Brother, I trust you are able to guard the rear? As well as keep an eye on our young elf, of course.”
A few scrapes of flint against steel sent sparks into the lantern to light the wick, and a yellow glow spread throughout the room. Darnak stomped out the few smoldering torches the goblins had brought with them.
“Be wary, my friends.” Barius’s brown eyes gleamed with imagined glory as he stared into the tunnel. “We have beaten the enemy’s first attack, but their resistance will only grow as we venture deeper into their nests. No doubt we will need every bit of courage, every ounce of strength, to survive.”
Jig guessed he would have gone on that way for the rest of the day if Ryslind hadn’t interrupted. “Either lead the way or hand the lantern to someone who will.”
Barius blinked. With an offended sniff, he tugged Jig along and set off into the tunnel.
Progress was much slower than Jig had expected. After an hour, they still hadn’t reached the junction of the three tunnels. Goblins in a hurry could run the distance in under ten minutes.
But goblins weren’t accompanied by a dwarven scribe, one who insisted on mapping every twist and turn, often retracing his steps so he could get a more accurate sense of the distance. By the time they finally reached the junction point, Jig wanted to scream. Bad enough to be a prisoner whose only hope at this point was to die quickly before they reached the lake. Listening to Darnak mumble to himself, “Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six . . .
no wait, there’s a turn here, better pace off the inside and outside walls . . . wonder if the tunnel narrows at all . . . nope, still six paces wide . . .” was pure torture.
Worse, as a dwarf and a teacher, Darnak apparently thought it his duty to critique the stonework as they went, and he was eager to share his observations with the others. “Mahogany obsidian, definitely magic. Someone sent enough heat through this place to melt the rock itself. Even the ceilings have a layer of the stuff. Molten rock is denser, see, so Ellnorein basically burned this place into the mountain. The dark red color comes from impurities in the rock, iron and other elements.”
He stopped to hit a small hammer against the wall. Jig jumped.
“Look there, not even a scratch. Normal obsidian flakes away and leaves a nasty edge. I’m guessing that’s magic at work again. Good thing, too. If the floor were chipped and rough like normal obsidian, it would shred your feet right through those boots.”