Jig’s Bright Idea
The lantern died as it hit the ground, and Jig counted himself lucky to avoid the same fate. He couldn’t tell how far they dropped, but he landed on his heels with a jolt that threatened to crack everything from his ankles up to his shoulders and sent him tumbling onto the rock-littered ground. With his arms still tied, he kicked like an upended spider before getting back to his feet.
Still, he couldn’t complain. Darnak, yanked backward by the weight of his pack, had landed hard on his backside. If that weren’t enough, he wound up with Ryslind’s knee square in his gut. At least that was how Jig interpreted the grunting and swearing from that side of the pit.
“Where are we? What happened?” Barius sounded close to panic. So much for the fearless prince. Even children knew better than to openly barge into hobgoblin territory. Barius was beginning to remind Jig of a very young goblin he had once known. Upon being told not to touch the fire in the fire bowls, this goblin had not only raced to the nearest flame, she had attempted to
taste
it. She hadn’t survived childhood, and Jig wondered how Barius had managed to do so.
Darnak probably had to follow him everywhere, telling him not to eat the pretty fire.
“What happened is we fell into a damned trap,” Darnak snapped.
“How was I to know?”
“The goblin tried to warn you,” Riana said angrily.
“The goblin wanted nothing more than to flee,” Barius argued. “He said nothing of any trap.”
I didn’t tell you not to hold your sword by the pointy end, either.
Jig held his tongue and scooted away from the others. Barius had let go of Jig’s rope in the fall, and right now the last thing Jig wanted was to let the prince get his hands on Jig’s throat.
Ryslind ignored the others. “If this rock is magically strong, Ellnorein himself must have created this pit five thousand years ago,” he said reverently.
Riana spat. “Smells like piss and mud down here.”
Jig’s fingers touched metal, and he froze. Slowly he traced the outline of a pitted, broken sword. If it still had any edge to it, he might be able to free himself from this rope. A quick rub of the blade told Jig luck was with him. Ignoring his now-bleeding finger, he began to saw the knot against the sword’s edge.
The awkward angle sent new cramps through his arms, and twice the sword slipped away. The others were arguing too loudly to notice the noise. Another accidental cut told him the edge was sharper near the hilt. With that knowledge, Jig eventually managed to free himself.
He had to clamp both hands over his mouth to keep from screaming. Blood pounded into his limbs like hot acid. He gripped his fangs and rocked back and forth, trying not to cry. The pain was so great he didn’t immediately notice when Smudge found him and crawled up his leg. The fire-spider made it to Jig’s thigh before he felt the tiny, burning footsteps.
What was Smudge afraid of? He couldn’t see, but he looked in the direction of the broken sword. As the pain receded, his brain started to work again. What had happened to the owner of that sword? The fall wasn’t enough to kill. Even Jig had survived the drop. Surely a hobgoblin trap would be more than a simple pit.
“Where’s the lantern?” he asked softly.
Barius and the dwarf were still arguing. He didn’t want to interrupt and draw their anger toward him, but. . . .
“Shut up,” Riana yelled.
Their voices stopped, and for a moment the pit was so quiet Jig could hear them all breathing. His ears swiveled, searching. There was something else. A clicking, scraping sound.
“The lantern?” Riana asked.
“It slipped free in the fall,” Barius said.
At the same instant, Jig whispered, “Something else is down here.”
This time everyone heard him.
“And here we sit, arguing like children. Earthmaker help us, we’ve been waiting like lambs at slaughter.”
On their hands and knees, they began to scour the dirt. Jig’s cut fingers stung, and he jabbed himself in the palm with what felt like a splinter of bone. The owner of the sword? It did nothing to help his fear. Smudge had grown so hot Jig had to set him on the ground.
“Stay close,” Jig whispered. The waves of heat beside his leg told him the spider had obeyed.
“I have the lantern,” Barius said triumphantly. Jig could hear him scrounging for something. Sparks flew, surprisingly bright, as the prince scraped flint against the steel guard of his dagger.
The sounds Jig heard were growing louder. There were dozens of them, whatever they were.
“I hear it too,” Riana said.
Barius paused. “I hear nothing.”
Jig wasn’t surprised. The monsters would be cracking Barius’s bones for marrow by the time those puny human ears heard anything unusual.
“Light the lantern, boy,” Darnak snapped.
“I’m trying.” The sparks continued, but with no effect.
In those brief flashes, Jig thought he saw movement at the far side of the pit, but he couldn’t be sure. He moved toward the others. The creatures were closing in from both sides. In the blackness, his imagination conjured up one horror after another. How soon before huge insects closed their pincers around Jig’s throat or giant lizards dripping with black goo sank their fangs into his exposed skin?
He pulled his legs to his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to present as small a target as possible. They were so close. A squeak of fear slipped past his throat. What was taking so long? Lighting fires was a child’s duty, so why couldn’t a full-grown human manage it? Panic ripped away common sense, and he lunged at the prince.
“Give me that!” He kicked someone in the process, but by following the source of the sparks, he managed to snatch the lantern into his own lap. One of the shutters was open, and the glass pane was slid to one side. Jig squeezed his fingers through the opening and felt the wick. It had slipped down through the crack into the oil supply, and only one corner still protruded. No wonder Barius hadn’t been able to light the thing. He could shoot sparks all day without hitting that slim corner of wick, and Jig’s fingers weren’t small enough to pull the wick back out.
Something touched his leg. Jig screamed and barely stopped himself from squashing Smudge. He stroked Smudge for reassurance, and the fire-spider’s head immediately set fire to the film of oil on Jig’s fingers. He jammed his fingers into his mouth. The fire died, though Jig would have a blister on his tongue. Not to mention the awful taste of lantern oil.
What if he deliberately set his fingers on fire and used them to light the lantern? If it weren’t for the intense pain, it would have been a perfect plan. Having had more than his share of pain lately, Jig doubted he could do it. But his smarting fingers had given him another idea.
“Sorry about this,” he muttered, scooping Smudge up with his uninjured hand. He stuffed the fire-spider into the lantern and snapped the glass pane back into place.
The wick blazed to life, and Jig got one glimpse of Smudge tapping indignantly at the glass before he was forced to look away. The afterimage of the lantern obscured the center of his vision. They had light, and he
still
couldn’t see.
“What are they?” he yelled.
“By Earthmaker’s Black Anvil,” Darnak swore. Behind him, Jig heard Ryslind muttering a spell.
Jig set the lantern on the ground and rubbed his eyes. When he looked again, he saw what had frightened the others. “I didn’t know they grew that big,” he said.
Two carrion-worms circled the party. They could be nothing else, but Jig had never seen worms of such length. Their bodies were at least twenty feet long, and each segment was the size of a goblin’s head. The mouths were big enough to take a chunk of flesh large as Jig’s two fists together, and black, curved teeth surrounded each mouth. If these were normal worms, they would have a second, sharper row tucked inside and out of sight.
Strangely, Jig seemed the least afraid. This was something familiar, albeit much larger than he was used to. “They’re only carrion-worms,” he said. “They don’t attack living things.”
Almost before he had finished speaking, one of the worms lunged toward Darnak, who scrambled backward. “And mighty glad I am to be knowing that,” he shouted angrily. He backed himself against a wall and stood with his war club ready. Barius joined him there, guarding his left side.
The worm that had attacked began to circle, long antennae flicking at the dwarf. The other hesitated, then turned toward Riana, who backed away as quickly as she could.
The second worm reared, displaying six mouths in its bellies. The undulating teeth pointed outward, ready to rip the elf apart. Jig couldn’t understand it. These were carrion-worms. They wouldn’t eat anything live unless they were starving, and even then they limited themselves to rats and bugs.
Normal
worms limited themselves, Jig corrected. A twenty-foot worm with about a thousand teeth didn’t qualify as normal. Jig and the others might be nothing but rats to these beasts. It was not a comforting thought.
As Jig watched, the worm facing Riana went still. The teeth around one mouth folded inward.
“Look out!” Jig lunged across the floor and knocked Riana down. A thin black tongue shot over their heads. With a loud snap, it returned to the worm’s mouth, and the worm lowered itself to the ground.
Ryslind finished his spell. Glowing yellow fire floated from the tips of his fingers to the first segment of the worm menacing Jig and Riana. The fire clung to the worm’s pale flesh, and it reared up again, waving back and forth in pain. Slowly the fire spread to the second segment.
The worm lashed more frantically, smashing into the walls of the pit and bloodying the burning segments. The smell was horrid, like charred meat. The worm began to scream, a high-pitched whistle of agony. Jig hadn’t known they were capable of sound.
“Get off of me,” Riana snapped.
Without taking his eyes away from the dying carrion-worm, Jig rolled off the elf and slowly stood. Ryslind had already turned his attention to the other worm. Darnak and Barius had managed to keep it at bay with their weapons, but neither had done any real damage. The wizard raised his hands again and began another spell.
He didn’t finish. There was no warning as the second worm convulsed with such force that it left the ground. The burned, dead half of its body flopped back to the earth, but the less damaged part crashed against Ryslind’s back and knocked him into the wall. The wizard fell like a stone.
“Ryslind!” Darnak knocked his worm aside with a powerful two-handed blow, then rushed to the fallen human’s side.
The worm turned to track his movement, giving Barius the opening he needed. Even as Jig shouted, “No,” Barius raised his sword and sliced down, cutting the worm in two. Both ends fell still.
“No?” Barius asked, one eyebrow raised as he wiped gore from his sword. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I fail to heed the advice of a goblin on matters of battle.”
Jig didn’t bother to answer. Already the split worm was beginning to heal. Each piece ended with an oozing half-segment where Barius’s sword had struck. As Jig watched, those damaged segments dropped off, leaving two healthy, hungry carrion-worms. Each was half the size of the original, but that just made them faster. And hungrier. Carrion-worms were always hungry after they reproduced.
Jig needed a distraction. Something to keep the worms busy while Darnak revived the wizard. His eyes lingered wistfully on Barius. No, the others probably wouldn’t like it if Jig fed their prince to the carrion-worms. He snatched up the broken sword he had used to cut his ropes and tried to think.
“To me,” Darnak shouted. Riana and Barius raced toward the dwarf. Jig started to follow. He didn’t know if Darnak’s rallying cry had been intended to include him, but he wasn’t about to face those monsters alone. Halfway there, he stopped.
Carrion-worms preferred dead flesh. At least, normal ones did. He stared at the dying worm, now almost completely charred. That definitely qualified as dead, and the worms had no qualms about cannibalism. The only question was whether or not they would eat their meat cooked.
He used his rusty blade to hack and tear a chunk of the worm free. The meat was tough, and Jig had to cut through several stubborn, stringlike bits before he had a piece he could throw. He flung the meat at the nearest of the two living worms, which reared to catch it in midair. Meat clutched in its teeth, the worm dropped to the ground to feed.
“This is
the
most disgusting thing I’ve ever done,” Jig muttered as he renewed his attack on the dead worm. Something wet splashed onto his forearms. “Even worse than privy duty after one of Porak’s drinking binges.”
A second chunk of flesh distracted the other worm.
As it turned out, the giant carrion-worms were not only large and deadly, they were also stupid. Fatally so. As long as Jig kept them fed, they were perfectly content to sit and eat. Even as Darnak ran around smashing one worm-segment after another with his war club, the worms continued to feed on bits of their fellow. At last the dwarf called out, “S’okay, you can stop. The beasts are dead.”
The blood-slick blade fell from Jig’s numb fingers, and he tried very hard not to look at the carnage in front of him. “This is
not
the kind of battle they sing songs about,” he grumbled. He hadn’t expected anyone to hear, but Darnak laughed.
“I don’t know. I could imagine a nice little ditty about it.” He raised his voice. “First verse should explain how we got stuck down here. Help me out, your highness. What rhymes with ‘mule-headed stubbornness’?”
Barius scowled. “The goblin probably did this deliberately, hoping the worms would finish us off.”
“Right,” Riana said. “Except that the worms would have eaten him as fast as the rest of us.”
“Silence.” Barius’s hand went to his sword. “He hasn’t the foresight to consider such an end. And I warn you to keep that tone from your voice when addressing your betters.”