Yet he still knew so little. He hadn’t seen all of Straum’s lair, nor had he explored much of those woods. He didn’t know where else the Necromancer’s not-really-bottomless pit might lead. He didn’t even know where the rod was. If Barius and the others were right and it was here, then Jig had lived his entire life within walking distance of one of the most powerful magical artifacts in history.

He inhaled again and remembered Straum’s description of the rod. A seemingly innocent wooden rod, wide as a human’s thumb and a little over three feet long. In other words, a stick. It could be anything from a piece of a door to the chief hobgoblin’s favorite tool for scratching between his toes. Magic wouldn’t detect it, and the emanations of power would appear natural to those around it, since their wills would shape the way that power manifested. Basically, the thing was next to invisible.

Barius and Darnak charged again. This time, Ryslind helped by sending several arrows past them and into the pack. Perhaps he used magic to augment his skill, for two cats whined in pain and fled. A huge male leaped at Darnak, only to fall as Barius lodged his sword between the cat’s ribs. Its spasms wrenched the sword out of Barius’s hands, and it wound up trapped beneath the cat’s dying body. Fortunately, the rest of the pack had finally seen enough. As one, they turned and fled.

“Come on, then,” Darnak yelled. “We’ll rout the mangy furballs all the way back to their masters.”

Barius had one foot on the dead tunnel cat and was trying to free his sword. His sword wouldn’t budge, so he ended up on the floor, both feet against the cat, tugging with all his might. When the sword finally did come free, Jig shook his head at the prince’s luck. At that angle, the blade had come within inches of turning the prince into a princess.

Barius didn’t notice. He scrambled to his feet and raced after Darnak, his long stride helping him close the distance.

“Come on,” Riana said wearily.