Goblin Hero

Table of Contents

 

JIG NEVER WANTED TO BE A HERO—

He would have been perfectly happy just not to be pummeled on a daily basis. But after being kidnapped and dragged off on a quest adventure, he had inadvertently become a legend. And while he no longer got pummeled, he did get the jobs no one else wanted—the dangerous jobs.

So it was inevitable that when there was a threat to the whole mountain down in the part once claimed by the Necromancer and the Dragon—both now dead thanks to Jig—he was the one they’d expect to clean up the mess.

Burdened with some truly pitiful companions, and led by an ogre who’d made it all too clear what the price of failure would be, Jig went off to face certain death.

Actually, he was almost looking forward to dying. After all, that seemed to be the only way he’d ever convince anyone that he really wasn’t any kind of hero at all . . . .

JIM C. HINES’

 

Jig the Goblin
Series:

 

 

GOBLIN QUEST (Book One)

GOBLIN HERO (Book Two)

Copyright © 2007 by Jim C. Hines.

All Rights Reserved.

 

 

DAW Book Collectors No. 1400.

 

DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

 

 

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

 

Nearly all the designs and trade names in this book are registered trademarks. All that are still in commercial use are protected by United States and international trademark law.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First Printing, May 2007

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.

 

 

.S.A.

eISBN : 978-1-101-00766-2

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am absolutely delighted to share
Goblin Hero
with you all. Poor Jig wasn’t thrilled at the idea of another adventure, but that’s his problem. As with the first book, this one wouldn’t have happened without the help and support of a great many people.

First and foremost, my thanks to Sheila Gilbert, my editor. Not only does she demonstrate tremendous insight and great judgment in buying my books, but her suggestions on
Goblin Hero
have made it a far better story. Thanks also to Debra Euler and the other wonderful people at DAW Books.

Mel Grant has done it again, creating another amazing cover.

My agent, Steve Mancino, deserves a huge round of applause (not to mention pizza) for all his hard work. Not only did he help sell the goblin books to DAW, but thanks to Steve, you can also find Jig the goblin in Russia, Germany, and the Czech Republic. Just in case you wanted your own copy of ΠpΙΙκJIΙ чеΙΙЯ ΓобJIΙΙна.

Then there are the terrific people who read and critiqued my early drafts, particularly Catherine Shaffer, Heather Poppink, Mike Jasper, and Teddi Baer. Not to mention all my virtual pals who read the occasional snippet and offered support and encouragement.

To my wife, Amy, and to my own little goblins, Skylar and Jamie, your love and support mean more to me than I could ever say.

Finally, my humble thanks to all my readers. I’m both honored and thrilled to be able to share the second goblin book with you. I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

—Jig Dragonslayer

 

 

 

Jig the goblin was no warrior. His limbs were like blue sticks, his torn ear tended to flop to the side, and his fangs barely stretched up past his upper lips. As a child he had been relegated to muck duty, hauling caustic sludge through the goblin lair to fill the fire bowls that illuminated the cavern. The putrid, rotting-plant smell of muck would seep into his clothes, his hair, even his skin. And muck duty was far from the worst he had survived. He tried not to think about his time cleaning privies.

His grand quest a year ago hadn’t changed him. Well, except for the nightmares about the dragon Straum coming back to eat him, or the Necromancer casting a spell to wither Jig’s body until it crumbled to dust, or giant carrion-worms crawling into his bed-roll and—

Jig shook his head, trying to banish those images. Suffice it to say, he was still the same nearsighted runt he had been before. But he had emerged from the dragon’s lair with one potent gift: the ability to heal various injuries.

Given the nature of goblin life, this made Jig one of the busiest goblins in the lair.

His current patient, a muscular goblin named Braf, was everything a goblin warrior should be. Strong, tall, and dumb . . . even for a goblin. Somehow Braf had managed to wedge his own right fang deep inside his left nostril.

Jig shook his head. Braf raised stupidity to new heights, then threw it down to shatter on the earth below.

A dirty rag looped around Braf’s jaw held the fang still. Blood and other fluids turned the rag dark blue. Braf gingerly wiped his nose on his wrist, momentarily halting the seepage. He stared at the goo on his hand, then wiped it on his too-tight leather vest.

“Can you fix it?” Braf said, his voice muffled and nasal.

“Don’t talk,” Jig said. He closed his eyes.
How much longer?

Tymalous Shadowstar, forgotten god of the Autumn Star, stifled a giggle only Jig could hear.
I’m sorry, I’m doing the best—
The god’s voice dissolved into jingling laughter.

Jig had discovered Tymalous Shadowstar during that adventure a year before. Or maybe Shadowstar had discovered Jig. Shadowstar was the one who gave Jig the power to heal the other goblins. What Shadowstar got out of the deal, Jig still wasn’t sure. There were days he thought Shadowstar did it purely for his own amusement.

How did he do this to himself anyway?
Shadowstar asked between giggles.

Braf’s not exactly the sharpest blade in the armory,
Jig said.
But I’m guessing he had help.
Someone had tied those bandages on to Braf’s head. Had Braf tried to do it, he probably would have hanged himself.

It was a complaint Jig had listened to ever since he discovered the forgotten god. Now was when Jig would traditionally try to defend his people, to point out the things they had accomplished in the past year. Things like achieving a shaky truce with the hobgoblins deeper in the mountain, and sealing off the outer tunnel to protect them from adventurers.

Yet when he looked at Braf, Jig couldn’t find it in himself to speak up on behalf of the goblins.

I think I’m ready now,
said Shadowstar.

“Good.” Jig crossed the small temple, trying to ignore the mosaic on the ceiling. Bits of colored glass formed an image of the forgotten god, a tall, pale man dressed in black, with silver bells striping his arms and legs. Sour smoke from the muck lanterns floated around the image, never quite reaching the pale face. The face had a definite smirk, one that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.