by Jim C. Hines
Veka blinked so rapidly Jig thought one of those orange bugs had flown into her eye. “I don’t understand. Straum’s dead.”
“He’s dead, but I didn’t kill him.”
“I know he’s dead, Jig.” She pointed to a long cut on her arm. “I got that when his bones exploded!”
Jig rubbed his head. Were goblins really this dense? “I threw the spear, just like the song says. I threw it right at Straum’s eye, but the stupid dragon blinked. The spear lodged in his eyelid. Straum was going to have me for a snack when someone else grabbed the spear and finished the job.”
“But you’re Jig Dragonslayer.”
He shook his head impatiently. “Not really.”
Veka looked so stunned Jig thought she was going to fall down. Instead, she leaned against the wall and whispered, “You didn’t kill the dragon.”
“That’s right.”
Her quivering lips began to smile. “What about the Necromancer?”
Jig shrugged. “Well, yeah, I killed him.”
“But . . . killing a Necromancer isn’t even in the top hundred heroic deeds and triumphs. The closest thing would be defeating a dark lord who had returned as a spirit or body part. That was number eighty-three, I think. Though Josca wrote a footnote that you could score it a little higher if nobody else believed the dark lord had come back, and everybody teased you about your so-called obsession.”
“Body part? Like a disembodied nose?” Jig cringed, trying not to think about a flock of glowing pixie noses chasing him through the tunnels.
“There was something about the black foot of Septor,” Veka said. “Legend has it the foot appeared in the boot of the weather mage Desiron, and when he tried to pull on his boot, the black foot grew teeth and—”
“Veka, stop.” It was too late. As if he needed more fodder for his nightmares. “If you want to go on adventures, go.”
“But I’m not—”
“Not what? Not a Hero? Just because you didn’t find ‘Destroy a pixie portal in an abandoned dragon’s lair’ on Josca’s list?” Jig couldn’t believe he was saying this. “Would a real Hero let some dusty old book tell her what she could and couldn’t do?”
“I guess not.”
“And that giant snake you fought. Slash told me a bit about it. Flames and scales and wings and teeth . . . That sounds pretty dragonish to me.”
Her face brightened. “That’s true.”
“Veka, we need goblins like you. Goblins who will delve into the abandoned tunnels and caverns of the mountain, or go out to explore the rest of the world.”
“But you closed the entrance to the mountain,” she said. Her eyes widened. “You’re going to reopen the way?”
Jig gritted his teeth. Shadowstar hadn’t spoken in some time, but he knew the god was listening. “I was wrong. We can’t cut ourselves off from the rest of the world, Veka.”
Veka stared at him for a long time, until Jig began to wonder if all this arguing had somehow broken her mind. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and tentative. “But what about you? Shouldn’t you be the one to explore? To continue your adventures and add new verses to your song?”
Jig stepped back. “Nothing you, Grell, or even Tymalous Shadowstar say could make me set off on another adventure.”
Ah, whispered Shadowstar. That sounds like a challenge.
No!
Veka had begun to smile. She looked like a nervous child, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. “You really think I should be the one to go out there?”
“Better you than me.” Jig pointed toward the goblin lair. “You’ll want to gather some supplies. Clothes, food, weapons, that sort of thing.”
“Thank you!” Veka grabbed his arms and squeezed. Then she was racing down the tunnel.
Jig watched the blue light of her lantern disappear into darkness. He was about to follow when he heard footsteps coming up behind him. Whoever it was, they were running. Only one person, from the sound of it. Jig backed against the wall, hiding in the darkness. Smudge remained cool, but Jig wasn’t taking any chances.
His pursuer stopped almost within arm’s reach and shouted, “Jig!”
Jig grabbed his ears and winced. “I’m right here, Braf!” He heard Braf jump away.
Hey, Jig said. Couldn’t you have warned him I was here before he deafened me?
I could have, sure.
“What is it?” Jig asked. He sounded more brusque than he intended, but he didn’t have time for another long conversation. Hobgoblins used big cups, and those two beers had gone straight to his bladder.
“It’s about him,” Braf whispered. “Tymalous Shadowstar. He never really told me what I was supposed to do. Except to heal you when you were dying, I mean.”
Jig groaned. He wasn’t even chief anymore. Why did everyone still expect him to tell them what to do? “Heal the other goblins. Hobgoblins too, if they need it. And he’s not too keen on stabbing people in the back or killing them in their sleep.”
“Weird,” said Braf. “What else?”
Jig started walking. “Well, he might make you do stupid things like helping ogres or challenging the chief or battling pixies who can kill you with a wave of their hand.” He glared skyward. “Not that he’d ever tell you what he’s doing at the time.”
“He’s a god,” said Braf. “They’re supposed to be manipulative and incomprehensible to mere mortals, right?”
Jig scowled. “I guess.”
“So that’s it? Heal a few goblins, wake people up before you kill them, and fight a few creatures we would have had to fight anyway? That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Wait until tomorrow, when you’ve got a mob of cranky goblins threatening to rip you apart unless you cure their hangovers.”
Braf had stopped walking. “So what does he get out of it?”
“He gets to laugh at us as we’re running around, trying to save our hides,” Jig muttered. He waited for Shadowstar to chastise him, but his head remained mercifully silent.
“He did save your life,” Braf pointed out.
Much as he hated to admit it, Braf was right. For all Shadowstar’s meddling, he had saved Jig on several occasions.
“Um . . . Jig?”
“What?”
“You said Shadowstar’s magic could cure hangovers?”
“I guess so,” said Jig. “Why not?”
“Thanks!” Braf’s footsteps retreated swiftly toward the hobgoblin lair.
There was a time when any priest of mine who drank himself into a stupor would have been stripped of his robes and driven out of town.
You want Braf to strip for you? Jig asked.
Gods forbid. No, these days one makes do with what one can. Goblins are a grubby, selfish, violent race, but they have their moments.
We’re not children, Jig said.
What’s that?
You’re like Grell in the nursery, tricking and kicking the children to get them to do what she wants. Don’t do it again.
Shadowstar’s voice grew louder, and Jig imagined he heard thunder in the distance. Are you trying to command a god, goblin?
Jig didn’t answer. He knew how far he could push Tymalous Shadowstar, and he had done nothing to truly enrage the god yet. He didn’t think so, at least. There was one other thing he had learned about Shadowstar, something he hadn’t shared with Braf: Tymalous Shadowstar was lonely. He had been one of the forgotten gods, alone for centuries until chance brought him and Jig together.
You’re right, said Shadowstar. I’m sorry.
Jig was so surprised he nearly fell. He wondered how many people could claim to have gotten an apology from a god.
You know, back in the old days, worshipers wouldn’t dare set terms to their gods.
Back in the old days, gods would rather disappear forever than take goblins as worshipers, Jig countered.
True enough.
Jig perked his ears. He could hear singing from the tunnels ahead, and faint green light flickered
at the edge of goblin territory. He was almost home.
Go on. Eat, rest, and enjoy the peace while you can. You deserve it.
Jig stopped. While I can? What do you know that I don’t?
Do you really want to spend the rest of your short life listening to that list?
The pixie queen is gone. The portal is closed. Veka and Grell and Braf can worry about helping the goblins to grow and explore. What’s left?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Jig grunted. “Good.”
It’s just that . . .
Jig closed his eyes. He hated gods. Almost as much as he hated himself for asking what he was about to ask. He knew he should let it go. Let Shadowstar taunt Braf with his foreboding hints and dire warnings.
What?
Nothing really. You’re right, you know. You beat the pixies, and you survived your little adventure, just as you survived that messiness with Straum.
So what aren’t you telling me?
A faint tingling of bells filled the air: the sound of Tymalous Shadowstar’s laughter. Haven’t you ever noticed? In all the songs and all the stories, adventures so often come in threes?
Jig gritted his teeth. I hate you.
More bells, then silence. Shadowstar was gone.
Jig reached up to pet Smudge. He had no doubt Shadowstar was right. Shadowstar was always right about things like that.
With a shrug, Jig continued toward the goblin lair. Golaka should have plenty of leftovers, and with most of the other goblins still celebrating, Jig might actually be able to relax and rest for a little while.
Really, what more could any goblin ask for?
