“No,” Ryslind said. Regretfully? Jig couldn’t tell. “I considered it. But he is still my brother.” The knife vanished into the shadows of his robe. “I put them both to sleep. They will rest safely until the spell wears off, sometime tomorrow afternoon, or until someone disturbs the glyphs.”

“Safe?” Riana repeated. “What if another ogre comes?”

Ryslind smiled. His eyes searched the trees. “I imagine even the thick-skulled ogres have learned to leave us alone. If not, the lesson will be repeated.”

Repeated by whom? Jig shivered, remembering the clawed corpses of the ogres back at the clearing. Did something watch over them even as they spoke? “You know what killed the other ogres.”

“I know much more than you or my brother ever realized, little goblin.”

Jig realized then why Ryslind hadn’t killed him yet. It had nothing to do with Barius being his brother, or with any sort of loyalty. No, Ryslind—or whatever had taken control of Ryslind’s mind—wanted an audience. He was like Porak, though stronger than the goblin captain had ever been. Both of them thrived on showing off their power and making others afraid.

Both of which, Jig admitted to himself, he had accomplished quite nicely. Ryslind was far better at it than Porak was. Especially the fear part. Ryslind sane was enough to twist Jig’s stomach. Ryslind with this second, strange voice, and the glow of his eyes brighter than ever . . . if Jig had been a fire-spider, the entire forest would be aflame by now. Fortunately, Smudge had restrained himself to singeing his leather pad.

“You’re going after the rod, aren’t you?” Riana crossed her arms and cocked her head.

Ryslind nodded. “Barius would take the rod back to our father. Oh, he would receive everything he had ever hoped for. There would be a celebration, with dancing and musicians and all the glory Barius wanted. Until the next morning, when the people’s attention turned elsewhere and left him more bitter and empty than before. In the meantime, the rod would be tucked into some vault and left to gather dust, locked away as if it were naught but a mere trinket.

“My brother is like a crow who steals a gold necklace for its pretty sparkle, with no understanding of its real value. Much as I hate to snatch the necklace from my brother’s beak, I think I can find a better use for its power.”

He pointed a finger at one of the trees. The tattoos on his hand pulsed once, and a thick branch began to twist like a serpent. Small twigs fell from the main branch, and the bark peeled away like dead skin. With a loud crack, the smooth branch tumbled free and flew to Ryslind’s hand.

He brushed a few last flakes of bark off of the pale staff. “If you are wise, you will leave.”