He ignored Jig’s question. “Rule number one when dealing with dragons,” he said, extending one gloved finger. “Never look them in the eye. It’s distracting, to say the least. But seeing as how goblins don’t usually go in for dragonslaying, I understand why you hadn’t learned the rules.

“Unfortunately for you, ignorance makes a poor shield. At this moment, your body is upside down against the wall of Straum’s lair. Your back snapped in two places when you hit, your ribs are gravel, and you’re paralyzed from about here down.” Shadowstar tapped his hand at the middle of his chest. “You also bruised your brain, which wouldn’t make a difference to the average goblin, but you’ve shown yourself to be far from average, my friend.

“When faced with a choice between living in excruciating pain, albeit only from the nipples up, or getting a head start on death and avoiding that last bit of nastiness, you opted for the latter. This left your body in a coma and your mind and soul here with me.”

“Oh.” Jig’s shoulders slumped. “What if Darnak heals me?” The dwarf had done it before. Maybe there was a chance Jig could still survive.

Not that this place was so terrible. At least he was safe. He had never thought much about an afterlife. Goblins believed that once you died, your body went to the carrion-worms, and that was the end of it. He didn’t care what happened to him after he died, because he had never expected to see any of it. Goblins died, and then other goblins came along to steal their belongings and toss the body into the tunnels. He never imagined spending time with a forgotten god in the midst of a rundown temple.

Still, while Shadowstar might be good company, Jig wasn’t ready to make this place a permanent home. Nor did he like the fact that Ryslind had beaten him. In a strange way, he had been having fun. Not that he enjoyed always hearing Death’s footsteps follow him around, and he would have chosen different company if he could, and those dead warriors had been a bit much. But skipping between Death’s fingers time after time gave him a strange, bubbling thrill in the middle of his chest. He had learned things, too. Things that could help the goblins hold their own against the other races. Or they would have, had he lived long enough to pass them on.

When Jig spoke, it was in a soft voice, full of wonder. “I want to go back.”