He tested his fingers, flexing each one individually to make sure the bones still worked. He checked the wrists and elbows next. So far, so good. As he pulled off his boots to check his toes, it occurred to him that he was stalling. Jig didn’t really want to admit he was sitting here with a god. He might have grown used to the day-to-day oddities of traveling with adventurers, but this went beyond strange.

He cast a furtive glance at Shadowstar.

“You’re not dead, so don’t bore me by asking. Everyone always asks me that. Right after the ‘Where am I?’ bit. You’d think they could at least come up with something more original.”

Jig straightened, confused, and so got his first clear view of Tymalous Shadowstar. His first impression was not a flattering one. I thought gods were supposed to be . . . taller.

“Not this god,” Shadowstar said. “Big gods make better targets.”

Jig absolutely refused to think about what it would take to threaten a god. Another god, presumably, but he didn’t want to imagine fighting of that magnitude. Quarreling among the adventurers was more than enough for Jig. Instead, he took a closer look at Shadowstar.

He stood only a few inches taller than Jig. He could have passed for a short, skinny human, about thirty years of age. Assuming nobody looked him in the eyes, that was. The skin around the sockets appeared normal, but they contained a blackness as deep as the night sky. Red starbursts shone from the center, reminding Jig a little of Ryslind. But unlike the wizard, Shadowstar’s eyes held no malice. As Jig stared, he felt as though he were falling into the sky itself, and his stomach gurgled in protest.

Jig forced himself to look away before he lost himself completely. As he took in the rest of the god’s appearance, he deliberately avoided that face.

Shadowstar wore loose-fitting clothes of black silk. Strips of tiny silver bells ran down the outside of his pants and sleeves. The shirt was open at the chest, revealing a smooth, lean body. His skin wasn’t quite white, but it was pastier than that of any other being Jig had seen. His silver hair flowed to waist-level, but the hairline appeared to have receded a bit over the years. A balding god? Even gods grew old, he supposed. At least Shadowstar hadn’t acquired the swollen gut carried by most older goblins.

“Why am I here?”

Shadowstar grunted. “Another obvious question, but not quite as trite as it could have been.” He chuckled. “Worship is a two-way deal. I’ll help you out a bit, but it means I get first dibs on your soul when you and your body part ways. After the pounding you took from Straum, you came here.”

“But you said I wasn’t dead yet.”