Goblin Hero (22 page)

CHAPTER 10

—From the introduction to Chapter 7 of
The Path of the Hero (Wizard’s ed.)

 

 

 

Despite the awkwardness of the blade affixed to his right arm, Jig still managed to climb a goodly distance. From his own informal calculations, he had now climbed approximately twelve times the height of the entire mountain. That was what it felt like, at any rate. In reality, it couldn’t be more than thirty or forty feet from the ogres’ cavern to the goblin lair.

Jig’s sword arm hung leaden at his side. His thigh throbbed with every movement where he had sliced himself before thinking to tie the scabbard over the naked blade. He stank of rotten food, mold, and far worse things. And tiny burning stings covered his scalp and shoulders from brushing against . . . he still wasn’t sure what the nasty things were.

At least they give off light,
Shadowstar offered.

True, and Jig would take a few stings over the stench of the ogres’ torches any day. He peered upward, where more strands of what appeared to be blue-white hair dangled from the filthy stone. The ends of the strands slowly changed from blue to green and back again. Jig braced himself, watching as a huge black fly approached one of the strands, drawn by the shifting light.

The instant the fly touched the end, the strand flashed, shocking the unfortunate insect. The rest of the strands shot out, coiling around its body and dragging it toward the oversize sluglike body stuck to the underside of the rock.

Shadowstar thought it must have come from the pixies’ world. Jig didn’t care where it had come from, as long as it was too busy with the fly to go after him. He had moved Smudge down into his belt pouch after the first attack. Smudge was a tough little fire-spider, but these creatures had a lot more filaments than Smudge had legs.

He reached up with his left hand and pressed his feet to either side of the rock, dragging himself a bit higher. The creature ignored him. A tiny carrion-worm scurried over Jig’s fingers, clutching a broken bit of bone in its claws as it fled. The light of the tendrils turned the worm’s white skin pale blue.

“Ouch,” shouted Slash. “I’m going to rip that hairy glowing slug apart with my bare—Ouch!”

“Keep your hands to yourself before you kill us all,” snapped Grell. They had rigged a crude rope harness to help her climb, using scraps of rope scavenged from the abandoned ogre camp. Braf and Slash both supported some of Grell’s weight, leading to numerous complaints from all involved.

“Are you sure this will take us home?” asked Braf.

“Smells like goblin filth to me,” muttered Slash.

“Quiet,” said Jig, twisting his head so his good ear was aimed upward. Footsteps, and the creak of a door.

His sword clinked against the rock as he drew himself higher. He could see light from above: not the pale, sickly light of the slugs, but the cheerful green of a goblin muck lantern. They were here. They had made it to the goblin lair. He opened his mouth to tell the others.

Broken, dripping shards of pottery showered down on them. Jig yelped as one piece jabbed the top of his head. The shards smelled of spoiled beer.

Jig pushed himself up. He dug his toes into the rock and summoned one last burst of energy to drag himself out of the pit.

He found himself staring at a young goblin girl. Before Jig could say anything, she screamed, threw her lantern at Jig’s head, and ran screaming.

Jig dropped back into the pit, barely dodging the lantern. One foot landed on Slash’s shoulder. The hobgoblin grunted and strained to keep from falling, which was probably the only thing that stopped him from flinging Jig down with the rest of the garbage.

“Sorry,” Jig muttered as he climbed back out. The muck lantern had shattered on the back wall, casting green light over the small, stuffy cave.

“At least that oversize, rat-eating wizard never made me swim through goblin trash,” Slash muttered as he followed Jig out. He turned and hauled on his rope, pulling Grell and Braf out after him.

“Where is Veka, anyway?” asked Braf.

“I wish I knew,” said Jig. He had been wondering the same thing. Pynne and Farnax hadn’t said anything about her. Maybe she was dead. She could have run afoul of a tunnel cat or rock serpent, or maybe she had tried to jump onto another giant bat and missed. Given that she was still pixie-charmed when she escaped, Jig’s life would be much simpler if she were dead. That, more than anything else, convinced him she was still alive.

A heavy door blocked the only way out of the cave. Jig gave it a quick shove, but the door was barred on the outside. The goblin lair had few real doors, since the rock was too hard to work, but there were a few areas deserving of special attention. In this case a full frame had been constructed around the cave opening, secured with a batch of Golaka’s raknok paste. The sticky-sweet paste was great on fish, but more importantly, raknok was the favorite food of a kind of black mold that clung tightly to both wood and stone. After a week the frame would be secure enough to support a door. After a month an ogre could probably still rip down the door, but it would take at least four or five goblins working together to do so. Given how often goblins worked together, the door would likely stand for years.

Jig jabbed his sword tip into the crack at the edge of the frame, trying to reach the bar on the other side, but the blade was too thick.

He stared at the sword, remembering the fear on Pynne’s face as he shoved his sword at her. She had called it death-metal. The blade had left burns on her skin. If all pixies shared her vulnerability, the goblins might have a chance.

No, the only reason he had gotten close enough to kill Pynne was because they wanted him alive. The pixies wouldn’t make that mistake when they came to wipe out the goblins.

They might not attack right away,
Shadowstar said.
The first two pixies to venture out from the protection of their world were killed by a single goblin. They’ll be more cautious next time. You might have bought your people a little more time to prepare.

A strong hand shoved Jig aside. Slash pounded on the door. “If you don’t let us out of here now, I’ll feed your private parts to the tunnel cats!” He stepped away, searching the debris-strewn cave. “There has to be something we can use to bash this thing down. If I have to spend another moment immersed in this stench—”

“You call this a stench?” asked Grell. “Try changing diapers when the whole nursery comes down with the green squirts.” She shook her head. “Babies never get sick alone. Once one of ’em starts dripping and crying, you can bet the rest of them will come down with it in a day or so.”

Jig grimaced and stepped toward the edge of the waste crack, away from the others. He had managed the entire climb without relieving himself, but if he didn’t go now, his bladder was going to burst. He stared at the sword tied to his hand. This was going to be tricky.

He fumbled a bit, giving himself a nasty pinch involving the sheath and crossguard, but he managed. Then he got another shock. Apparently the pixies’ glow followed them through death and beyond.

Jig’s sword dragged along the ground as he returned to the door. He could hear several sets of footsteps outside, along with low voices. Slash and Grell were still arguing.

The door creaked open. Slash started to push past Jig, then noticed the armed goblins gathered around the cave. He moved aside. “Why don’t you go first?”

As Jig stepped outside, he breathed deeply for the first time in what seemed like forever. The air smelled of muck smoke and the sweat of too many goblins, but compared to the waste pit, this was paradise . . . if paradise included one very angry goblin chief.

Kralk stepped forward, her morningstar hanging from one hand. To either side goblin guards stood with drawn swords. The rest of the lair had gathered at a safe distance, no doubt eager to see who would get a taste of that morningstar.

“You’ve returned,” Kralk said. “Alive.” That last was added with a long stare at Grell and Braf, who still waited in the shadows. “And you’ve swapped your ogre for a hobgoblin. Not a wise trade, I think.”

A few goblins laughed at that. Slash growled. Kralk hesitated, taking in Jig’s bedraggled appearance. No doubt she had already gotten past her disappointment at seeing him alive and was now trying to figure out how best to turn this to her advantage. She began with mockery.

“So tell us, Jig Dragonslayer. What menace so terrified the ogres that they turned to you for help?” She smirked. “Perhaps we can make a new song for you. ‘The Triumph of the Filth-Strewn Hero.’ ”

To Jig’s great annoyance, his mind seized on the title and spliced a tune to it.

 

Jig allowed himself a quick, wistful sigh. “Pixies,” he said.

Kralk cocked her head, momentarily taken aback. “Did you say pixies?”

“They’ve enslaved or killed most of the ogres,” Jig said. “The rest have fled the lower cavern. The pixies are going to destroy us and the hobgoblins if we don’t stop them. We—”

A harsh laugh cut him off. “Pixies conquering the lower cavern?” Kralk said, her face twisting into a sneer. “That’s the best story you can invent? How could they have gotten to the ogres without first passing through our tunnels?”

She turned to glare at the other goblins, who started to jeer and laugh. The sound of their mockery triggered flashbacks from Jig’s childhood. Most of his adulthood too, for that matter.

Jig hunched his shoulders, remembering what Pynne had said about him being the one to open the way for the pixies. He still didn’t know what she meant by that, but why would she make up such a lie? “They opened a magical gateway into Straum’s lair. A portal from their world.”

To Jig’s surprise, the laughter began to die. They actually believed him?

“Have you seen this portal?” Kralk snapped.

Jig hesitated. “Not exactly.” He had thought his problem would be in convincing the goblins to fight the pixies, not in proving the pixies existed in the first place. Perhaps he should pee for her.

He pointed to the waste room, where Slash and the goblins still waited. “They were there. They’ve seen—”

“You expect us to take the word of a hobgoblin?” Kralk said quickly. “Or two goblins who failed to carry out their orders?”

“What orders?” Braf asked. Grell grabbed his ear, yanked his head to her mouth, and whispered. Braf’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot.” He drew his hook-tooth. “Should I do it now?”

Grell dragged his head back down and smacked his forehead with her other hand.

The head of Kralk’s morningstar swung back and forth as she twitched the handle. As Jig watched, it slowly dawned on him that she wasn’t nervous about the pixies. She was worried about
him
.

She had sent him on this mission hoping to be rid of him. Instead he had returned alive, if a bit smelly, and bringing word of an invasion into the mountain. Kralk couldn’t afford to believe him. If she did, she would make Jig a hero all over again. He would be the one who had discovered the threat and returned to tell of it. He would be the logical choice to lead the goblins against their new enemy. No matter what happened, Jig, not Kralk, would be the one the goblins remembered.

“You’re lying,” said Kralk. “And even if these pixies did exist, why should we worry? They’ll have to fight through the hobgoblins first.”

“You rat-eaters think we’re going to do your dirty work?” Slash shouted, stepping forward. One of the goblin guards advanced to stop him. Slash shoved him, knocking him into the crowd. Several more goblins rushed forward with swords and spears.

“Wait!” Jig said. He grabbed Slash by the arm and tugged him back.

Kralk and the others were all watching him. Jig had always thought hobgoblins were the experts on traps, but the one Kralk had created when she sent Jig out with Walland Wallandson had ensnared them both. Kralk had to kill him. If he was lying to the chief, death was the only punishment. If he was telling the truth, she had to kill him to keep control of the other goblins.

On second thought, it seemed like Jig was the only one who had been snared in this little trap.