This would make a marvelous song: “The Raiders of Straum’s Lair and Their Long, Painful Deaths.” Goblins everywhere would sing about this quest as they ate their evening meals. Insanity. Jig had wondered about Barius’s state of mind from the moment he heard the prince speak. As for the wizard, well, all wizards were a bit crazy. That much was common knowledge. So Jig understood how these two might believe they could successfully raid Straum’s lair. But the dwarf looked sane. For a dwarf, at least. And what could have convinced an elf to throw away the virtual immortality of their race for such a futile—no, such a stupid—quest?

“Ellnorein placed the rod here to keep it safe?” Jig asked.

“Now you’re getting it,” Darnak answered.

“And Ellnorein was a smart man?”

“The wisest mage of his time,” Barius said. “Indeed, perhaps the wisest man in all of human history.”

“And you want to take the rod away, even though Ellnorein went to such lengths to keep you from doing that?”

“Er . . .” The dwarf glanced away.

“That is precisely our intention,” Barius said. “To rescue the rod is my quest. Tradition and honor require me to prove myself to my father the king, as well as to his subjects. My six brothers before me each undertook such a quest, but by retrieving the Rod of Creation, I shall prove myself a man of more courage and strength than the best of them.”

Jig tried to understand this. Less than half of all goblin children survived into adulthood. Scavengers claimed many, and others died the first time they ventured out of their territory. The rite of adulthood claimed plenty as well, but that tradition was a matter of survival. The goblin who couldn’t find his way through the tunnels was a danger to everyone, and bound to get himself killed sooner or later. Better sooner, so he wouldn’t take anyone else with him. But the tradition Barius described was like teaching a child to swim by throwing him into a lake full of lizard-fish.

“How many of your brothers survived these quests?” he asked.

“Four.”

“Three,” Ryslind corrected.

“Untrue. Thar survived.”

“Thar believed himself to be the god of the sea. He fought a master mage to the east,” Ryslind explained. “The mage died, but he took Thar’s mind with him. So our brother lived, but he developed the unfortunate habit of running nude through the palace, searching for his giant starfish. He drowned in the moat six months later. It seems that our god of the sea never learned to swim.”

“Enough,” Darnak said. He tucked his map into a long leather tube, which he slid into his belt. “We get no closer to the rod by standing here telling old tales. Goblin, which way leads to the deeper tunnels?”