Goblin Quest (5 page)

The one called Ryslind began to examine the fallen goblins. Those few who were still alive he dragged into the center of the room. The rest he left as they were. “If you prefer, I will let you seek the rod by yourself. Don’t worry, when I see our father again, I’ll be sure to tell him you died with your precious
honor
.”

His voice was similar to Barius’s. Both spoke in a clear, polished baritone, both had the same slight sneer—though that sneer was much more pronounced when they spoke to each other. But there was something more in Ryslind’s voice . . . more power, a presence and self-assurance Barius lacked. It was that same dangerous edge Porak had always tried to project. But for all Porak’s bullying and threatening, Ryslind made him look like a harmless kitten.

Ryslind’s hand shot out and grabbed Jig’s ear. As he was jerked to his feet, he had the unwanted opportunity to study the newcomer up close.

He smelled of strange spices, and Jig tried not to sneeze. Ryslind was as tall as his brother, but of a more slender build. He wore a loose black robe, tied at the waist with a simple white rope. A short sword hung from one hip, a quiver of arrows from the other. Green tattoos covered the backs of his hands and vanished into his sleeves. They looked like writing, but the spiking, angular characters were no language Jig had ever seen. Not that Jig was much of a scholar. Ryslind was completely bald, lacking even eyebrows or eyelashes. Jig wondered if he owned a fire-spider.

Ryslind’s eyes ran the length of Jig’s body, and the goblin stiffened. His fear grew stronger, if that was possible, for those eyes glowed with a soft red light. Taken with the robes and the tattoos, those eyes meant Jig was standing far closer to a living wizard than he wanted to. He wondered if he could subtly put a bit of space between himself and Ryslind. A hundred miles or so should suffice.

“No wounds on this one.” Barius shoved Jig into the middle of the room. On his shoulder, Smudge flared again, and Jig thought he smelled burning skin. “Probably lost his weapon and spent the whole fight hiding in the corner.”

“This goblin shows more sense than yourself, brother.” Ryslind clasped his hands together. “Had the one who escaped you before been armed, you would have far worse than bruises to show for your carelessness. As is, you are fortunate I was in place before he led his fellows to attack.”

“Here now, we won and that’s the only thing that matters when you get down to it,” Darnak interrupted. “Let me tie these three up before they try anything else. Barius, why don’t you go find out where Riana’s hiding herself?”

“Find her yourself, friend dwarf.” Barius strode over to face the surviving goblins. “One of these creatures will pay for his assault on my . . . dignity.”

“So that’s what they’re naming it these days,” Darnak muttered.

Beside Jig, Porak groaned. “What’s he talking about?” The third goblin shrugged, then groaned as the movement aggravated the arrow wound in his gut. Jig tried to look invisible. The prince was close enough for Jig to see the hatred in his eyes, and he wondered what sort of revenge Barius had in mind. Knowing humans, it probably involved sharp knives, hot coals, and a great deal of pain and unpleasantness. Pain for Jig, that was. Barius would no doubt enjoy himself immensely.

“Stupid coward,” Porak grumbled. “You led us into a trap. An ambush. Why didn’t you warn us about the archer?”

“I didn’t know,” Jig protested.

“You didn’t know. Most of my patrol wiped out, and you didn’t know.” He snorted in disgust.

“Silence,” Barius snapped.

“Silence yourself, human,” Porak said.

Jig groaned. He didn’t think the prince spoke Goblin—he probably considered it beneath him to learn such a “primitive” language—but there was no way he could have missed the contempt in Porak’s voice.

Barius’s jeweled sword moved slowly through the air to point at the goblins. Behind him, Ryslind sighed. “You haven’t lost your penchant for melodrama.”

Melodramatic or not, that sword dripped blue-black goblin blood, and Jig wasn’t about to laugh.

“Answer me one question, goblins.” Barius paced back and forth, studying each of their faces. “Which of you assaulted me in your cowardly attempt to escape?”

Without thinking about the consequences, without seeing anything but the tip of that blood-soaked sword, Jig’s hand raised as if of its own will. Raised, and pointed at Porak.

“What?” Enraged, Porak lunged at Jig.

Jig squealed. Smudge leaped from his shoulder and scurried into the corner. But Porak never finished his attack.

Barius’s gloved hand caught Porak by the belt and flung him back onto the floor. He landed next to one of the bodies. Dazed, he clutched his head, and his eyes fell upon the hatchet the dead goblin had dropped. Snatching up his new weapon, Porak charged.

Jig scooped up his fire-spider and set him on his unburned shoulder as he watched Barius take one step back, then another, flicking his sword out of the way of Porak’s mad swings. On the third step, that sword dipped beneath the axe, then snapped back up to throat level. Porak either didn’t see it or was moving to fast to stop. Either way, the result was the same, and even with Jig’s poor vision, he could see blue blood spray the prince’s tunic.

The other surviving goblin yelled in panic and fled. Jig started to follow, but movement to one side made him hesitate. The wizard walked with grim purpose after the goblin.

“Stop him!” Barius yelled.

Glowing eyes glanced at Jig in passing, saw that he wasn’t moving, and snapped back to the retreating goblin. One hand flicked lazily at his quiver. An arrow floated into the air, rotated to point down the tunnel, and shot off after the goblin. Loud cursing signaled the accuracy of Ryslind’s magic.

Jig wondered why Ryslind even bothered with the bow. Perhaps killing people with magic took more energy. Or maybe the bow was simply more fun.

“What are you waiting for?” Barius demanded. “Finish him off. Slay him before he can warn his fellows.”

Ryslind shook his head. “Mage-shot such as this has a limited range.” He held up his hand before Barius could answer. “And before you protest, dear brother, I suggest you try to fling an arrow three hundred yards up a tunnel that takes at least two sharp turns, and see what you can hit.”

“But he’ll tell the others,” Barius said, his polished voice turning nasal, almost whiny. “Within the hour, we’ll face a swarm of the vile things.”

“Not bloody likely,” Darnak said from the tunnel. He stepped back into the room, dragging the elven girl by her thin wrist. “Not after the pasting we gave ’em. Ryslind just handed them one more reason to avoid us.” He surveyed the carnage, counting corpses on his fingers. “No, they won’t likely bother us again. My thinking is that we’d best be getting ready for the real monsters.”

He scowled when he saw the prince standing over Porak’s body. “And what might have happened to that one while I was gone, Barius?”

“ ’Twas an honorable fight. The prisoner grabbed an axe and attacked. I had no choice but to defend myself.”

“True,” Ryslind said. “A fair fight, despite the fact that the goblin had been shot twice. Likewise, I expect it was pure chance that my brother flung the prisoner within arm’s reach of a weapon. Most noble indeed.”

Barius whirled. “What about you? Sending magicked arrows after fleeing prisoners?”

“Simply following orders. You are the elder, after all.” His voice was flat, but Jig sensed more menace in those easy words than anything else the wizard had said so far.

Darnak sat down and stared at the ceiling. “Earthmaker, if you wanted penance out of me, why couldn’t it be something simple? Send me to move the Serpent River or chase the orcs out of the northlands. How did I offend you so that you led me here with these two louts?”

That quick prayer finished, he grabbed a leather knapsack and rummaged through the contents. Jig saw rations, clothes, a whetstone, a bedroll, a large hammer . . . the dwarf carried an entire shop on his back. “Aha.” Darnak plunged a hand into the pack and seized a length of rope. He cut off about ten feet or so, which he tossed to Barius.

“Tie that last one up before he runs after his friends.” With that, he began the momentous task of cramming everything back into his pack.

Jig’s hands were jerked behind his back and bound tightly enough to scrape skin from his wrists. When Barius was done, six feet of rope stretched out behind Jig like a leash. The prince grabbed the other end and dragged Jig toward the rest of the adventurers.

In passing, he kicked the body of Captain Porak. “That’s the last goblin who tried to flee from me. Keep that in mind if you’re harboring thoughts of escape.”

Jig noticed that Barius didn’t say anything about
how
his prisoner had escaped. He still couldn’t believe his luck at the adventurers’ mistake. If they had recognized Jig as the goblin who had escaped before, nothing would have stopped Barius from killing him.

On further thought, their mistake wasn’t as surprising as it appeared. After all, Jig wouldn’t have been able to tell the two humans apart if they weren’t dressed so differently. And to them, goblins were little more than pests. If a bug bit you, you slapped it. You didn’t stop to see whether
this
was the bug with the torn ear, or if it was bigger than the other bug who had been buzzing around your ear an hour before.

“Easy there,” Darnak said. “He’s a prisoner now, and the gods expect civilized treatment from folks such as us.”

“I doubt very much that they would treat us with the same courtesy,” Barius said.

Jig thought he heard the girl snort, but he wasn’t sure. Still Barius was right. If the situation had been reversed, there would have been none of this tying of the wrists or honorable combat. Goblins didn’t waste time on that nonsense. Especially when they were hungry.

“Your friend spoke Human, goblin,” said Darnak. “Do you?”

Jig nodded.

“Excellent. I’m called Brother Darnak Stone-splitter, tutor and scribe to their majesties Barius and Ryslind Wendelson, seventh and eighth sons of King Wendel and Queen Jeneve of Adenkar.” With a nod at the girl, he said, “That’s Riana.

“You try to betray us, we’ll kill you. Same holds true if you try to escape. I don’t like it, but we can’t have you running loose, telling everyone we’re here. But if you cooperate, I’ll do my best to see you’re still breathing at the end of the day.”

“Enough of this,” Barius said. “We should get moving. The rod would be in our hands already if you hadn’t been so determined to map out every inch of this underground tomb.”

“Never underestimate the usefulness of a good map,” Darnak snapped. “Try walking through the iron mines of the northern peninsula and you’ll quickly come to appreciate my quill. If you ever find your way back out, that is.”

Very tentatively, Jig asked, “Will you let me go when you find whatever it is you want?”

“Of course.”

Jig nodded as if he believed it. If it were just Darnak, he might have taken the dwarf’s word. He seemed to take this honor stuff seriously, and so far, he had argued for keeping Jig alive. Of the four adventurers, that made him Jig’s favorite. But the others clearly didn’t want a goblin around. Not that Jig blamed them. Were he in charge, his first move after the battle would have been to kill the prisoners. Much simpler that way.

Still, how hard would it be to wait until the dwarf went off on another errand? Then it was a matter of letting Jig “accidentally” get his hands on a weapon, just like Porak.

“So what is it you’re looking for?” He hoped they would say gold and treasure, but he didn’t expect anything that simple. Treasure would be so much easier to find. Jig knew where at least one goblin hid his collected coins, and there had to be more tucked throughout the tunnels. Of all the adventuring parties who came into the mountain, most were satisfied with stealing the treasure their fallen predecessors had left behind. He could lead them to a few stashes and maybe they would let him go.

But there were a few groups for whom treasure wasn’t enough. Barius had said something about a rod. Jig had a very bad feeling that he knew what they wanted.

In a voice so respectful that Jig didn’t recognize it, Barius said, “We seek the Rod of Creation.”

CHAPTER 3

History and Harmony

“The Rod of Creation,” Jig repeated. Every goblin knew of it, but no goblin knew anything
about
it. Or rather, they all knew the same three things. First, the rod was ancient, powerful magic. Second, it had been hidden in this mountain ages ago to keep it safe. Finally, trying to steal the rod was an elaborate but foolproof way to commit suicide.

“Surely you’ve heard the song,” Darnak said. He had been attempting to sketch the ceiling’s design onto his map. Setting quill and parchment aside, he coughed to clear his throat, took a drink from his wineskin, and began to sing in a low, rumbling voice.