Jig saw a third member to their party as he looked around. A skinny elf sat by the fire with his knees to his chest. He ignored the argument, the goblin, everything but the flames. His old trousers and torn shirt were as poor as Barius’s clothes were fine, and his red hair was cut short and ragged. His face was odd, and it took several seconds for Jig to figure out why. Surface types insisted on wearing at least eight layers of clothing, which made Jig wonder how many hours they spent dressing themselves. All those clothes made it harder to tell, but if he wasn’t mistaken, “he” was actually a “she.”

What her role in the group was, Jig hadn’t a clue. She was clearly the least threatening, but she could still be dangerous. She looked nothing like the graceful, slender elves of legend. For a second, he wondered if she might be some subrace he had never heard of. He knew there were different types of elves: forest elves, mountain elves, and so on. But urchin elves?

“So what do we do with him, Your Majesty?” Darnak asked.

That caught Jig’s full attention. Since the elf was a she, there was only one “him” they could be talking about.

“Safest to slay him,” Barius said slowly. “Though perhaps he could be of use to us. Idiot or no, he knows more of these tunnels than we do. At worst, he can precede us to lull the suspicions of any creatures we encounter. Still, I dislike the idea of a goblin in our group.”

Jig crossed his arms and clung to hope. As long as he was alive, there was still a chance. Porak and the others might still find him. The other goblins were armed, and they outnumbered the intruders four to one. Even goblins might triumph at those odds. All they had to do was come looking. If they bothered to notice Jig hadn’t come back. If they weren’t too caught up in their games. If they had the brains to figure out what was going on.

Jig groaned and sat down on the floor. He was, without a doubt, a dead goblin.

CHAPTER 2 - Barius’s Vital Weakness

CHAPTER 2

Barius’s Vital Weakness

Jig had endured many unpleasant things, from cleaning up after drunk goblins who didn’t make it to the privy in time to those nights when Golaka decided to sing as she cooked. None of it had prepared Jig to sit helpless while his captors debated whether or not to kill him.

“He could help us,” Darnak said. “Look at Riana. She picked the lock on that gate just as neat as you could ask. Rumor has it the path we want is ‘cloaked in watery darkness’—maybe he knows where it is.”