“Darnak wouldn’t,” he said weakly. The dwarf wouldn’t have bothered to heal Jig only to kill him later. Not that Darnak’s help meant much. Barius was the leader, and he would be only too happy to put an end to Jig. Especially after that Rakachak incident.

“Everywhere I go, I meet men like him,” Riana muttered. “Follow them into Straum’s lair or let them toss me into the dungeons. They offer you a choice between hells and expect you to thank them for it.”

“They were going to kill you,” Jig blurted out. As long as they were discussing impending death, he thought she should know the truth.

“What?”

“Before, when you set off the Necromancer’s trap. They were going to kill you to keep you from turning into one of those dead things.”

She didn’t say anything, but Jig could see her playing with her knife. The starlight glittered on the twirling blade. “He would have, too,” she whispered. “Bastard.”

Jig nodded agreement.

“We should let them sleep and hope the ogres do find them. Or kill them ourselves. They deserve it.”

He wasn’t about to argue that point. But as Riana pointed out, they couldn’t escape either. Killing the others would only leave them that much more vulnerable to attack.

“Maybe we can kick them around a bit before we break the spell,” she said.

“I could use a knife and Darnak’s ink to draw some rude tattoos,” Jig offered. “What do you think Barius’s father would say if he came home with ‘Goblin-lover’ scrawled across his forehead?”

She grinned. “Or we could steal their clothes. Make them face Straum naked.” With a frown, she added, “Except that I don’t really want to see that. I’m going to have enough nightmares about this place without those images haunting me.”

“If we were back in goblin territory, we could rub their clothes in carrion-worm urine. That way they’d wake up surrounded by worms.” He didn’t mention that Porak had taught him this trick, nor that he had screamed loud enough to wake Straum himself when he felt the worms crawling over his legs.

Riana giggled. “And if we were on the surface, I’d boil some tea from poison ivy leaves and slip it into their waterskins.”

Jig laughed even harder once she explained what poison ivy was.

A while later, she said, “You should have warned me before you cut off my finger.” She didn’t sound angry, though. At least not at Jig.

“Sorry. I’ll say something next time.”

She chuckled. “Next time I’ll cut off something of yours in return, and it won’t be a finger.”