by Jim C. Hines
A bit of muck spilled from the lantern, landing on the open spellbook. Veka yelped and flung the lantern away, slamming the book closed to smother the flames. Smoke continued to rise from the pages. She scrambled forward, scooping sand from the beach and dumping it over the book. She could see the tiny green flame burning through several more pages. She dumped more and more sand onto the book, covering the whole thing until at last the fire died.
Only then did she think to look up. Lizard-fish formed a half ring around her. Slowly she backed away, into the mouth of the tunnel. Several of the lizard-fish tried to follow, only to hiss and retreat when they got too close to the muck that had spilled from her lantern. Whether it was the light, the heat, or the smell, they refused to pass the lantern to get to Veka.
Moving as slowly as she could, she picked up her spellbook and slipped it into her cloak pocket. She used her staff to right the lantern, then hooked the end of the staff through the handle. Keeping the lantern between her and the lizard-fish, she backed hastily into the tunnel. The spilled muck continued to burn on the sand.
Once she was safe on bare obsidian, she set the lantern down, grabbed her spellbook, and flipped to the levitation spell.
The muck had burned through most of the spell, searing the next ten or so pages for good measure. One of the few intact spells in the book, gone in an instant. She touched the browned edges of the hole, and flakes of burned paper stuck to her fingertip. She stared at the now-empty beach, wishing hatred alone was enough to destroy those hideous lizard-fish. “How am I supposed to become a Hero without a spellbook?”
She couldn’t. Without magic, she was nothing but a fat, useless goblin who would probably spend the rest of her life working in the distillery until the fumes finally drove her mad.
She pulled out The Path of the Hero and set it down next to the spellbook. For a moment, she was tempted to throw both books onto the muck still burning in the sand. What kind of Hero lost her spellbook before she had even begun her journey?
She flipped to the beginning of the spellbook, cringing as more charred paper flaked loose and floated to the ground. The binding spell was still there, mostly legible, but that was only the first step in spellcasting. The binding was like her fire striker, providing the sparks to fuel true magic. Without those spells, her sparks simply fizzled and died.
Josca wrote that the Hero was supposed to overcome all obstacles, but he didn’t explain how. Veka didn’t have an ogre along to stomp lizard-fish. She didn’t have anyone.
She blinked and wiped her eyes. Picking up The Path of the Hero, she flipped through the pages and began reading chapter nine, “The Sidekick.”
“While not a prerequisite for true heroism, many legendary wizards have been known to take a companion. Whether it is the half-giant apprentice of the dwarven sorcerer Mog or the three-legged frog familiar that accompanied his master Skythe through the Bogs of Madness, the sidekick provides much-needed aide and support for the Hero’s journey.”
Veka’s jaw tightened. She gathered her books and stood, brushing sand and ash from her robes. She might not have a three-legged frog, but a hobgoblin was the next best thing.
The hobgoblins were standing in the middle of the tunnel arguing. The wooden panel on the roof hung down, though the rocks had been swept to one side. Slash waved his hands and shouted, “There’s not enough height for iron spikes to do any serious damage, not unless we add a lot of weight, and then the hinges won’t hold it.”
“So what’s your idea?” snapped the other. “Nail rock serpents to the platform by their tails again?”
Slash’s face darkened. “That would have worked if they hadn’t turned on each other,” he muttered. He started to say more, but stopped when he spotted Veka. He elbowed the other guard and pointed. “Speaking of more weight—”
They took in Veka’s damp dirty robes and disheveled appearance in one glance and smirked.
Until now, Veka hadn’t been sure how she would persuade of the hobgoblins to accompany her. Studying the creaking platform, she knew. The beads and trinkets on her staff made a nice dramatic rattling sound as she pointed it at Slash. “You. Come with me.”
Slash stepped to one side and retrieved his spear, which had been leaning against the wall. “Much as I’d love to follow a rat-eating goblin around, I’m on duty.”
Veka scowled, hoping it appeared menacing. Setting her staff and lantern on the floor, she loosened her belt and began fishing through the pockets of her apron until she found a small package folded inside several layers of smoky yellow cloth.
“What’s that?” asked Slash.
“The last piece of your trap.” She unfolded the cloth, revealing what looked like a pile of black dirt. Being careful not to touch the granules, she held it up for the hobgoblins to see. “This should solve your problems.”
When they leaned closer, she blew the contents into their faces.
She leaped back, dodging a swipe of Slash’s spear. The other hobgoblin was fumbling for his sword. “I’m going to cut you into strips and feed you to the tunnel cats!” he roared.
By now, the powder was already having an effect. Slash had dropped his spear and was scratching furiously at the tiny spots breaking out on his face. His friend had been hit with even more. His arms, neck, and face were all coated, and his eyes were watering so badly he couldn’t see to stab her.
“Do you have any of that beer left?” Veka asked. They didn’t answer, not that she expected them to. “Alcohol will neutralize the worst of the itching.”
Both hobgoblins scrambled for the skin. Slash reached it first, pouring most of the contents over his face before handing it to his partner. He grabbed his spear.
“What do you think would happen if you coated the top of your platform with that powder?” Veka asked.
Slash hesitated. He glanced at the other hobgoblin, who was cursing and hopping about as he tried to shake the last few drops from the skin. “What is that stuff?”
“It’s magic,” Veka lied. “It’s called turgog powder.” She had been saving that packet to slip into the water-skin of a goblin warrior who had insulted her a few days back.
Slash was still pointing his spear at her. “How do you make it?”
Veka hesitated. Turgog was a by-product of corrupted muck. Rats would occasionally sneak into the distillery, and they had an insatiable appetite for the dried, treated mushrooms used halfway through the muck-making process. Their digestive systems processed the mushrooms into the highly irritating substance she had blown on Slash’s skin. But she doubted Slash would want to know she had covered his face in powdered rat droppings. So she waved her hand and said, “It’s a complicated magical formula.”
Slash’s eyes narrowed. “Magical?” He glanced at her staff. “What are you supposed to be, some kind of witch?”
“Wizard,” Veka said. She pointed her staff at him. His companion had already fled into the hobgoblin lair, screaming for beer. “Come with me, and I’ll provide you with enough turgog powder to douse a whole party of adventurers.”
A smiling hobgoblin was an ugly sight, especially when that hobgoblin’s face was still covered in an orange rash. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Grab one of those lanterns,” Veka said. Hobgoblins used a different mixture of muck, one that burned with a bluish flame, but the basic formula was the same. “We’ll need it.” She stifled a grin as she turned and set off toward the lake. She had sent one hobgoblin fleeing, and convinced another to join her quest.
She was going to be a Hero after all!
The splashed muck on the beach still burned, giving them a clear view of the black sand. Veka stepped onto the beach and watched the lizard-fish crawl from the water, antennae waving.
“Why don’t you use your magic on them?” Slash asked.
He wasn’t as dumb as he appeared. “All power comes with a price,” she said, quoting Josca’s book. Unless you were Jig Dragonslayer. Then power was simply dropped in your lap through sheer
stupid luck. “I see no reason to waste my magic on such low creatures as these lizard-fish, not when there is a simple alternative.”
Before he could respond, she said, “We’ll go together. They’re afraid of the lanterns. Hook the handle over your spear and wave it behind us. I’ll do the same with my staff to clear a path as we go. Once we reach the tunnel, they won’t follow us.”
At least she hoped they wouldn’t. They hadn’t followed Jig and the others into the tunnel.
Holding the lantern in front of her, she began walking. Slash didn’t move. “This is your plan?” he snapped.
Veka scowled and hurried back onto the rock. She fished The Path of the Hero out of her cloak.
“What’s that?” Slash asked.
“My spellbook,” she said. She would have used the real spellbook, but The Path of the Hero looked much more impressive, plus it had better pictures. She thrust the book at him, keeping one finger on the illustration of an elf fighting what looked like a cross between a dragon and a dungheap. “And this is what I’m going to transform you into if you don’t help me.”
She slapped the book shut, nearly catching the tip of his nose. Without giving him time to think about her threat, she strode to the edge of the beach. “Well?”
To her amazement, Slash hurried to join her. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
“Good.” Her heart thudded with excitement. He believed her. She had stood her ground, confident and in control. She should have been terrified. Slash was a hobgoblin, and everything about him screamed danger! Yet she wasn’t afraid, and Slash didn’t know how to handle it.
This time Slash followed close behind as she set out across the beach. As before, the lizard-fish hurried out of the water but stopped a short distance beyond the lanterns. Several tried to scurry around to attack from behind, but Slash swung his lantern back and forth, splashing drops of burning muck. One splashed a lizard-fish’s tail.
With a high-pitched squeal, it raced back into the water. The still-burning flame was a blue glow disappearing into the depths of the lake.
“I didn’t know they could make noise,” Slash said. He shook his spear, trying to splash more lizard-fish. “Ha! Look at that. They run like scared goblins.”
Veka glared but said nothing.
Slash shook his lantern again. The butt of his spear jabbed Veka in the side, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her stumble. Her lantern dropped into the sand.
“Oops,” said Slash.
Veka tried to get her staff through the handle, but the lantern had fallen on its side. Already the remaining muck oozed out through the broken panels of glass. By the time she got it upright, only a tiny bit of muck remained, emitting a feeble green flame.
The lizard-fish closed in around her. She smashed the lantern onto the nearest, then glanced back at the tunnel. The lizard-fish had closed in behind them, cutting her off. The edge of the lake was only a few paces away.
“Run,” she said.
“What’s that?” asked Slash.
Veka used her staff to fling the broken lantern forward, causing several lizard-fish to dodge out of the way. Slash sprayed a few more as he spun and ran after her.
Sand sank and shifted beneath Veka’s feet as she fled. Shadows leaped crazily ahead of her as Slash swung his spear around, nearly setting Veka’s hair and robes on fire. She couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or not.
She was concentrating so hard on running, she nearly missed the tunnel. Only when her feet slapped solid rock did she realize they had made it. She turned around.
Outside, the lizard-fish waited, climbing atop one another in their eagerness, but never leaving the security of the sand.
Behind her, Slash was removing his lantern from the spear. He raised it high, examining the inside of the tunnel.
The rock was smooth and polished, far brighter than the grimy obsidian of the goblin tunnels. Puddles splashed beneath their feet with each step. She could see tiny snails in several of the puddles.
Slash’s foot crunched three of them as he looked around. The sound echoed strangely.
The tunnel was too cramped, so she had to hold her staff parallel to the wall to keep from banging it. “Come on,” she whispered.
She found herself hunching as she walked, and forced herself to lift her chin and straighten her spine. Heroes didn’t slouch. They stood proud and tall.
But how often did Heroes travel through a lakebed tunnel, with all that water held back by nothing but a thin layer of rock? The silence was nearly as palpable as the moisture in the air.
Sweat dripped down her back. Cold water dripped onto her neck. She flattened her ears and kept walking. The tunnel sloped downward, following the bottom of the lakebed deeper and deeper.
The end of the tunnel was a black hole in the dark, glistening stone of the floor. A ladder made of the same magically shaped obsidian led down from the far edge.
“Give me the lantern.” Moving the blue flame over the hole, she dropped her staff into the room below. The clatter sounded terribly loud after passing through the tunnel, but nothing happened. With the lantern heating her left arm, Veka climbed down into the throne room of the legendary Necromancer.
The walls and floor were black marble, thick with dust. She could see footprints where Jig and the others had come down. A glass mosaic covered the ceiling, reminding her a bit of the one in Jig’s temple, though the images here were abstract and meaningless. The smell of preservatives and old bat guano made her sneeze.
Behind her, Slash was humming as he climbed down the ladder. Veka’s jaw tightened as she recognized “The Song of Jig.” She picked up her staff, horribly tempted to break it over Slash’s head, but it was too late. The melody had already wormed its way into her mind. She thrust the lantern back into his hand, hoping the muck would splash his wrist, but no such luck.
How did that verse go? Something about corpses leaping from the shadows, until the noble, valiant, wonderful Jig managed to slay the Necromancer. She turned, searching the darkness for any hint of movement. There was none, of course. Goblins and hobgoblins alike had passed through here many times since Jig’s little adventure, and not one had been torn apart by the animated dead.
Another pit on the opposite side of the room led down to the dragon’s realm. Like the lake tunnel, this was a magical shortcut left by that same band of adventurers. They had used magic to carve their own path through the mountain, including the stone ladder on the far side of the pit. Veka’s envy was so strong she could taste it, like the backwash of good slug tea. She stared, wondering what it would be like to have the power to reshape the stone itself.
She squinted and moved closer to the edge. “Cover the lantern.”
The blue light diminished, and gradually Veka’s vision adapted enough to see the faint silver light shimmering below. The ladder should have extended all the way to the ground below, but the rungs rippled and shimmered, and the bottom half didn’t seem to exist at all.
“What is that?” asked Slash.
“I don’t know. Whatever the ogres were afraid of, it’s—”
“The ogres were afraid?” Slash asked. He stared at the pit, then at Veka.
“The ogres have been hunted down and wiped out,” she said. “There are only a handful left. That’s why this one came to us for help.”
Slash was still staring, his spear hanging loosely in his hand. “And you want to go down there?”
“We should move quickly,” Veka said. “I don’t know what’s happening to the ladder, but I don’t trust—”
That was as far as she got before Slash’s foot slammed into her backside, launching her headfirst into the pit.
CHAPTER 3
“No night is so dark, no situation so dire, that the intervention of the gods cannot make it worse.”
—Brother Darnak Stonesplitter, Dwarven Priest
As Jig climbed down into the cavern where the ogres made their home, the first thing he noticed was the cold. T
he wind made him shiver, especially where it slipped up his sleeves and down his back.
The second thing he noticed was that the last few rungs of the ladder were too insubstantial to support his weight. Unfortunately, he noticed this only when his feet slipped through the rungs, dropping him onto his backside.
He looked up to warn the others, then groaned. Braf had never been an attractive goblin, but from this angle . . .
“Something’s wrong with the ladder,” Jig said, turning away to retrieve his lantern. He scooped sand from a pouch on his belt to extinguish the flames. “The last three rungs aren’t completely there.”
“Like Braf,” Grell said.
Jig ignored her. He was too busy trying to absorb the changes to this place. When the dragon Straum lived here, he had used his magic to recreate the outside world. Straum had been trapped, doomed to remain as a guardian for various treasures, so he had done everything in his power to make himself at home. Jig remembered blue skies overhead, the unnaturally bright light of a false sun, the rustling sound the trees made in the wind, like the slithering of a thousand snakes.
Some elements of Straum’s world had been illusory, such as the sun that crossed the sky each day. Others were real, like the trees and plants Straum had spread throughout the cavern, feeding them with his own magic until his woods were a match for anything in the outside world.
Those trees were bare and skeletal now, encased in a thin layer of ice. The ice was everywhere. The whole place had a faint smoky smell, reminding him of the crude forge back at the goblin lair.
Jig knelt, and the grass crunched beneath his knees. He broke off a single blade and studied it. Was he only imagining the silver swirl of light trapped within the ice? Frigid water trickled down his palm as the ice melted. The grass inside was brown and brittle.
