by Jim C. Hines
“No.” As far as Veka knew, tunnel cats didn’t have any weaknesses.
“I might be able to help another way,” Snixle said. “But you have to choose. Save us. Save our queen. In return, I can save you, and I can help you save your people. If not, you and the rest of the goblins will die.”
Veka hesitated. Josca was quite clear on the fate of so-called Heroes who yielded to temptation. In the end, most broke away from their evil ways, but a high percentage died in the process. No, defying the temptation was almost always the right choice. Though in this case, defiance seemed to have a high chance of death too, and that couldn’t be right.
“Wait, you said you were exiled?” Veka asked. She fumbled for her books.
“This is hardly the time to catch up on your reading,” Snixle said.
Veka ignored him, flipping through The Path of the Hero until she came to the appendices. “Appendix A,” she said, reading by the light of her hand. “One Hundred Heroic Deeds and Triumphs.” She skimmed through the list. “ ‘Number forty-two: saving a village from invasion.’ The goblin lair isn’t exactly a village, but I think fighting off a pixie invasion would count.”
“What are you doing?” Snixle asked. “I told you, if you try to fight us, you—”
“Shut up and listen to this,” she said excitedly. “ ‘Aiding a banished prince or princess to regain his or her throne’ is number thirty-seven!”
“Thirty-seven?”
“Do you know what this means?” Veka said, slamming the book closed. “Helping your exiled queen is even more Heroic than trying to save the goblins. Josca says so himself!”
“Does that mean you’ll help us?”
She could save the pixies and the goblins both. Better still, she would save the goblins from the very doom Jig Dragonslayer would bring down on them. Jig still wanted to fight, but Veka would be the one who led them to safety.
“Can we fight the tunnel cat now?” Snixle asked.
She blinked. “Sure.”
“Put your hand into the water.”
Veka obeyed. Snixle gave her an extra push, thrusting her hand forward until her fingers smooshed into the wet, fibrous mass of algae. The slime and water shone green with the light emanating from her hand.
She twisted her head, trying to see into the darkness below. She couldn’t see the tunnel cat, but she could hear it making its way toward her. The rough barbed skin of those paws let them climb almost as quickly as they walked. Those barbs would also strip the skin from their prey in a single swipe.
“Okay, I think we need to cast another binding. That’s the key, you realize. Back home, we’re constantly tied in to the magic, but here—”
Veka yanked her hand back. “You think? You don’t know?”
“Do you have a better plan?”
Scowling, Veka relaxed and allowed Snixle to trace a quick binding. Lines of magic wove from her fingertips into the algae, knitting them together.
“Excellent. Now push, like so, joining your power to the very life of the algae.”
Her hand flexed, and a bubble of magic pulsed outward from her palm. Veka grimaced. “It feels like I’m farting through my hand.”
“You should have been a poet.”
The tunnel cat’s nose poked up through the darkness, surrounded by a halo of long white whiskers. A pale face stared up at her, the pink eyes never blinking.
A new sensation flowed through her hand and arm: a cool, calm feeling, as if the water were trickling over her own body, refreshing and reenergizing her flesh. She was feeling what the algae felt.
“You’re bound to the plant,” said Snixle. “Forget the clumsy second-rate sympathetic magic you were doing with that levitation spell. This is pure power. The magic is an extension of your body, and the algae is an extension of your magic. Now reach out and grab that tunnel cat before he rips your legs off.”
The cat climbed closer. Muscles twitched along its back as it shifted its weight, searching for the next hold. Tunnel cats rarely rushed. They climbed easily and surely, waiting for prey to panic and fall.
“Grab it how?” Veka asked.
“Less thinking, more doing.” Before Veka could react, Snixle took control of her feet and yanked them from the wall. She began to slip.
Veka grabbed the algae, and the algae grabbed her. Slime coated her fingers and wrists. Even as her legs kicked the air, drawing a hungry growl from the cat, the sludge tightened its grip. Hair-thin tendrils coiled around her fingers, stronger than any rope.
“Excellent! Now do the same thing to that beast below.”
“Shut . . . up,” Veka said. She could feel the cat now as it crept through the slime. Each time a paw pressed into the algae, she felt it on her own skin. The tail tickled as it lashed through the water.
The next time that tail splashed into the water, Veka grabbed it. A great mass of brown plant matter clumped onto the tail and held fast.
The tunnel cat yowled, a furious squeal that echoed through the tight crevasse.
“Don’t let go!” Snixle yelled.
Stupid pixie. As if she couldn’t figure that much out on her own. Veka fought to hold on. Slime crept farther up the cat’s tail, tendrils weaving through fur and clamping around the bones and joints beneath. By now the tunnel cat was clinging to the rock with all four paws, pulling and twisting to escape. It twisted its head, bending its spine nearly double to bite at its own tail. Veka reached out, using another bit of algae to pluck several whiskers from its face.
That was too much for the poor tunnel cat. Fur ripped free as it dropped away, hissing and spitting. She could hear claws scraping against stone as it fled down into the darkness.
“Not bad. We’ll have you commanding the elements and smiting your enemies in no time.”
Veka laughed, no longer caring whether anyone heard. Forget Jig and his temple tricks. Had Jig ever ridden a giant bat or turned plants against a tunnel cat? Josca wrote that the Hero descended into darkness, where she would face her greatest trials and come into true power. Well, this crevasse was not only dark, it was smelly too. And if facing a hungry tunnel cat wasn’t a trial, she didn’t know what was.
“Do you think I should have a new name?” she asked. “Josca says a lot of powerful wizards have more than one name.” Plus it might stop the other goblins from ever calling her Vast Veka again. “According to Josca, a truly heroic wizard name should be several syllables, often with some kind of animal worked in. Birds are best, but any powerful animal will do. What about Kestrel Shadowflame? Or maybe Olora Nightcrow?”
“Veka Bluefeather of the Flatulent Hand?” asked Snixle.
She rolled her eyes. Not even the pixie’s mockery could pierce her excitement. She was going to be a wizard!
Veka rested with one leg propped against the top of the tunnel. By twisting the upper part of her body, she could press one cheek into the dripping water. After climbing for so long without food or drink, the sharp, silty water tasted like the finest wine. Wine mixed with plant slime and the occasional slug, but that simply added flavor.
She massaged her hand, trying to work out the worst of the cramps. Her magically glowing hand was fine. Somehow the enchantment kept the muscles loose and strong. If she could, she would have spread the spell over her entire body, but Snixle said that would only dilute the magic.
“Hurry up,” said Snixle. Veka found herself glancing around, searching the darkness overhead as his nervousness translated into her body.
“Why are you in such a rush?”
“I have to get you to the queen. If she finds out I concealed your presence—” Veka’s body shivered. “Queens are especially temperamental after drastic changes. That’s one of the reasons for transforming your caves, to give her a familiar space. I remember how long it took my former queen to adjust after the death of her favorite mate. She ordered her guards to rip the wings from a worker’s body simply because she didn’t like the color of the shimmers he had brought to her quarters.”
“Shimmers?”
“Wingless insects,” said Snixle. “They weave intricate patterns of light wherever they crawl, which lures smaller bugs toward them. My former queen hung them for decoration. The bugs are nasty to feed, though. A bite will ooze blood for days.”
“Why did this queen come here at all?” Veka asked. “Weren’t there better places to invade? Places that would have been less of a change from your world?”
Snixle shook her head. “Opening a gateway is easy enough. The trick is to stabilize the other side. Magic calls to magic, even between worlds. The more magic you have on the other side, the stronger the link. Otherwise your gateway might flash off to some other world, and suddenly you’re flying into a flaming mountain or the middle of an icy sea. This mountain was full of magic, especially the dragon’s cave. That makes it safe.”
Veka nodded. “Legend says the whole mountain was carved out by magic.” She flicked a snail away from her hand and pushed herself away from the water, wincing at the tightness in her back and shoulders. She kept the algae twined around her hand and wrist as she lowered herself off the ledge. The crevasse was nearly vertical here.
“Best of all,” Snixle added, “this place was unguarded. Aside from a few ogres and you goblins and such, of course.”
“Jig will still try to fight you,” she said. “He’s like that.”
Snixle was shaking Veka’s head. “If he fights, he condemns you all to death.”
“What if—”
“Less talking, more climbing,” Snixle snapped. “The pixies have probably already captured him.” Her shoulders twitched with his anxiety. “If they bring him to the queen before we get there—”
“I don’t think so,” Veka said. “Not Jig.” Her mind leaped ahead. Jig would escape somehow. He always did.
Snixle didn’t appear to be paying attention. “Do you see that? Down below?” Golden sparks floated upward, some nearly reaching her feet before disappearing.
This tunnel couldn’t have been much longer than the one they had walked through before, on their way to the bottomless pit. But she felt as though she had been crawling and climbing through the tight confines for an eternity.
“We’re almost home. I’m not sure where this comes out, so be careful.”
Veka’s heart started to pound. She knew what she had to do. She had to stop Jig Dragonslayer before he doomed them all.
She relaxed her legs, using the algae to slow her descent as she slipped toward the hole at the bottom of the rock. A thick haze filled the air below. Her feet emerged into open air, and only now did she stop to wonder how she would reach the ground. There was no ladder, and she—
Her shoulders spasmed, and her hand released the algae. With a loud squawk, Veka fell. Her arms and legs wheeled madly, and then the ground hit her like an angry ogre.
“Sorry,” said Snixle. “I was excited. I forgot you don’t have wings.”
Veka spat snow and blood. One of her lips was split, and her face would be one enormous bruise. She rolled onto her side.
Slabs of ice covered the ground, high enough to completely hide the dead grass and bushes. Snow swirled through the air, reducing visibility to nearly nothing. That was good, she decided. Hopefully nobody had seen her graceless fall.
“So flat,” Snixle muttered. “So overrun with plants and dirt. I miss the ice spires of the palace back home, watching the young pixies light up the mists from the nests as they flew their mating dances. . . .” He turned her in a slow circle and began to mumble. “Magic is flowing from your right. That should be the direction of the gateway. From the feel of it, you’re on the far side of the cavern, well beyond the Necromancer’s pit.”
“Can you lead me to the Necromancer’s lair?” Veka interrupted.
“What? No, we have to get you to the queen.”
Veka shook her head. “What if there’s a way for me to bring Jig Dragonslayer to your queen?”
She shivered. A drenched cloak didn’t provide much warmth in the best of times, but down here it was little better than going naked.
“You can do that?” Snixle asked.
“Can you teach me to command creatures like that bat?” she countered.
“I think so. Like I said, I’m not the greatest warrior, but—”
“Teach me that spell, and I’ll bring you Jig Dragonslayer.” She cocked her head to one side. “If you’re no warrior, exactly what do you do?”
She found herself walking as Snixle talked. Hopefully he was guiding her to the Necromancer’s lair.
“Mostly I use magic to . . . well, to clean things.”
Veka frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m a worker. I may not be a trusted bodyguard for the queen, but I’m wicked fast when it comes to getting stains out of clothing. Spills, infestations, anything like that. I was coming to dispose of that dead ogre when I found you and your friend.”
That couldn’t be right. Her Mentor simply could not be the pixie equivalent of a carrion-worm.
“There,” said Snixle. He pointed.
Veka squinted, barely able to make out the dark rock overhead. The illusory sky Straum had maintained for as long as anyone could remember was gone. She searched the rock, trying to make out the spot he was pointing to. “That’s the Necromancer’s lair?”
Snixle was already casting a levitation spell. Moments later, the snow was gone, and Veka stood in the dusty emptiness of the Necromancer’s throne room. She untied her belt and tossed her cloak on the floor, grimacing at the sloshing sound it made when it landed.
“Jig says the Necromancer was a pixie,” she whispered. Something about being in this place alone made her uncomfortable, as if the dead still lurked beyond the doors, waiting for the slightest sound to resurrect them once again.
“Probably exiled here,” said Snixle. “I wonder how long it took him to learn the laws of magic.”
“Can all pixies command the dead?”
“Technically, yes,” said Snixle. “The magic is the same kind of spell I’m using on you. We don’t do it, though.”
“Why not?” Forget commanding a giant bat. If he taught her this magic, Veka could lead an army of the dead!
“It’s . . . icky. Necromancy is like wearing a corpse. You need a lot more power to keep the bodies from rotting, or else your host starts to drop bits and pieces everywhere they go. And you always have to be careful not to let your body get too connected to the host. That’s bad enough when the host is alive, but you can imagine what happens if you get too attuned to a corpse.”
Right. Forget Necromancy then.
“Are you serious about being able to beat Jig Dragonslayer?”
Veka retrieved her copy of The Path of the Hero and wiped water from the cover. The edges were damp. She opened the book and fanned the pages to dry them. “I can beat him,” she said. “I have to. It’s the only way to save my people and yours, right?”
“Assuming he hasn’t already been captured,” Snixle said nervously.
Veka didn’t bother to respond. Clearly these pixies didn’t know Jig Dragonslayer. But they would . . . just as Jig Dragonslayer would soon learn to know and respect the real Veka.
CHAPTER 9
“Sure he killed the Necromancer, but can you imagine a bunch of goblins trying to sing ‘Hail Jig Necromancerslayer’? And then you’ve got to come up with a rhyme for it.”
—Goblin Songwriter
The ogres didn’t leave Jig completely empty-handed. No, they did something worse: they gave him a torch.
Regular torches were annoying enough. Unless you dipped it in muck, the flames would flicker and start to die every time you moved. Nor was muck the answer, not unless you wanted the stuff dripping onto your hand and burning your fingers off.
This was worse. The ogres had no muck, so they had fallen back on what they did have.
“Flaming goblin dung on a stick,” Slash muttered, waving one hand in front of his nose. He kept his eyes averted from Jig, whose shirt
had begun to stiffen with drying blood.
“Would you rather leave it behind?” Grell asked. “You can go first. Let us know if you find any rock serpents.”
“What does it matter?” Slash asked. “The pixies are going to kill us all anyway.”
“They’re not—” An unfortunate puff of wind sent smoke directly into Jig’s face. He held the torch at arm’s length, coughing and gagging. To make matters worse, the smell was drawing flies that constantly buzzed about Jig’s head and landed on his ears. Smudge kept climbing onto Jig’s head, trying to catch them.
“Here,” said Grell, fishing a knotted bit of cloth from her shirt pocket.
“What is it?” Jig asked, his voice hoarse.
“Sugar-knot. Hardened honey candy.” She grabbed his fang and pulled him down. With an easy, well-practiced motion, she tied it around his fang and tucked the knot inside his lower lip. “It calms the kids down. Ought to block the smell a bit.”
Jig gave the sugar-knot a tentative suck. The cloth was rough and gritty, but the candy inside had a too sweet, fruity taste. Better than dung smoke, at any rate, though it left a bitter aftertaste. He frowned as he recognized it. “Is that klak beer?”
Grell shrugged. “Like I said, it calms the kids down.”
His tongue and mouth tingled as he sucked the candy. He could still smell the smoke, but he no longer felt as if he were about to vomit.
“So what do we do?” asked Braf. He was swinging his hook-tooth through the air, probably attacking imaginary pixies.
“How should I know?” Jig had the overpowering urge to smash the flaming end of the torch right into Braf’s face. Why did they keep asking him? “The only reason Kralk sent me on this little quest is so I’d get myself killed. I don’t know how to fight pixies. I don’t know how we’re going to get back home. Stop asking me! I don’t know.”
Braf had stopped in midswing. Slash stood leaning against a wall, his arms folded.
“No more sugar-knots for you,” Grell muttered.
His outburst finished, Jig’s weariness returned. He stifled a yawn, knowing how foolish it would appear to the others.
