What was the point? Admittedly, Jig wasn’t sure he completely understood human motivation, even after Darnak’s explanation. But this whole quest sounded like nothing more than a search for the most spectacular death. What good was attention and recognition if you had to be ripped apart by an ogre-killing monster to get it? All this for a magical rod that, as far as Jig knew, Barius didn’t even want. He only wanted to be the one who found it. Or at least the one who died trying.

There was a reason “glory” rhymed with “gory,” Jig thought. He grinned at his cleverness. Maybe he could make up a song about the prince. He worked out the first stanza as he walked.

Barius the human prince came down in search of glory.

Ran into a goblin horde and slew them all but one.

Dragged poor Jig along to face an end most gory,

All so Barius could prove himself the bravest son.

He glanced up to make sure nobody had heard his mumbling. He would have to finish his song later. Assuming they lived long enough.

His attention turned to the forest. Riana had complained that the trees weren’t real, but Jig didn’t care. He had never seen anything like them. Brown trunks, thick as his waist, rose a hundred feet into the air. The roots snaked through the dirt, tripping Jig time and again as his eyes wandered skyward.

This must be why surface-dwellers invented boots, he decided as he picked himself up for the fourth time. Even through the oversize boots, his toes throbbed from their encounters with the roots. Were he barefoot, he would no doubt be unable to walk by now.

Gradually Jig learned that this mock forest was less idyllic than he had assumed. For one thing, he had to walk differently. The ground sank beneath his feet, and he found himself stepping ridiculously high to try to avoid those blasted tree roots. Worse, the ground itself was soft and uneven! Soon the backs of Jig’s legs burned from climbing small hills where the dirt constantly shifted.

He needed to rest. Sweat stung his eyes, and every step became a quest in itself. He could feel the blisters, each one the size of a small mountain. On his ankles, heels, toes . . . by now, his feet had a landscape to rival the woods around them. He also found that the boots that protected his toes had grown heavy as stones, and only the knowledge that he would be worse off barefoot kept him from flinging them into the woods.

Despite it all, he kept his mouth shut. If he complained, Barius would only hear it as a sign of weakness. He’d probably even increase their pace. Besides, nobody else was having any trouble. Even Riana, skinny as a snake, matched Barius’s march without trouble.