Goblin Hero (33 page)

“Can you do it?” Slash asked. “Better yet, can you undo it?”

Veka flushed. “The notes in my book . . . they weren’t complete.”

Slash didn’t say anything. She almost wished he would.

She opened her hands, staring at the goblin prickers she had carried. Her palms were dotted with blood from clutching them too hard. She hadn’t even felt the spikes pierce her skin.

They were outnumbered. Any magic she used would give them away. Not to mention that six pixies could bring a lot more magic to bear than a single goblin. And then there was the giant flaming snake.

“What next?” Slash asked.

Veka had no idea. She stared at him, then back at the pixies.
Jig would have found a way.

The thought made her stomach hurt. Jig would have slain not only the pixies, but the giant snake as well.

No, he wouldn’t. That was the sort of thing a Hero from her book would do, but Jig wasn’t like that, whatever “The Song of Jig” said. He would have done something different. Something unexpected. Something goblinish . . .

“I think I have an idea,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 15

—Golaka, Goblin Chef

 

 

 

Jig’s hands shook as he watched Braf throw his rock. It arced through the air toward the silver bubbles on the far wall. Would the pixies attack en masse, or would they see Braf standing alone and decide he wasn’t worth a full assault? If they sent only a few pixies, the goblins might have a chance.

The rock hit one of the silver bubbles and stuck.

Nothing happened. Jig glanced at Braf, who shrugged. Eventually another of the two-winged pixies flew up to investigate the rock. This one was orange in color. He glanced up, then back at the bubble. With both hands he pried the rock free and dropped it into the pit. He whistled loudly, presumably to warn the pixies below to watch out for falling rock.

“Tough nest,” Braf muttered.

“Yes, it is,” said Jig.

The pixie was already descending toward a lower cluster of bubbles.

Movement up above drew Jig’s attention. Apparently one of the pixies up on the bridge had noticed something. He started to fly lower, in the general direction of Braf and the others.

“Can you hit him?” Jig asked.

Braf produced another rock and let fly. The pixie tried to spin out of the way, but he was too slow. Purple sparks exploded as the pixie spiraled downward, his light fading.

Two more pixies hopped off the bridge, searching for their attacker. These were the four-winged pixies, who seemed to be the warriors and guards. Jig could see the ogres peering down as well. “Them too?”

Another rock flew. This time the pixies managed to dodge, though the rock did hit an ogre on the shoulder. The ogre didn’t appear to notice. One of the pixies pointed toward Braf. “Get him!”

The enslaved ogres leaped from the bridge and began to plummet into the pit.

Jig stared. Grell shrugged and said, “Nobody ever said ogres were bright.”

That was when the first of the ogres spread her wings. On Jig’s shoulder, Smudge grew so hot he began to glow. Jig could smell his hair burning as it curled away from the terrified spider. Jig patted out the hair with one hand, never looking away from the flying ogres.

“Unfair,” he whispered. He counted four ogres, circling lower on enormous black wings. Bat wings. The pixies had been hunting giant bats, trying to capture them alive. Somehow they had grafted the wings onto the ogres, creating flying ogres. Similar to what Pynne had done to create the snake guardian with too many heads and no tail. Jig doubted he could defeat these ogres by feeding them though. “Weren’t ogres scary enough already?”

He wondered briefly what had happened to the bats. Without their wings, they were essentially giant blind rats. Then the first ogre reached the tunnel, and Jig and Braf were leaping away to avoid a spear thrust.

Braf threw another rock, which bounced off the ogre’s wing with no apparent effect. The ogre stabbed again. Braf fell, yelping with pain.

“Are you hurt?” Jig asked.

Braf shook his head. “She missed me. I landed on my rocks, that’s all.”

Beyond the tunnel, the ogre dropped out of sight. Another appeared from above, armed with a large club. He hovered for a moment, then flung his club at Jig.

Jig’s sword dropped as he rolled out of the way. Arrows spilled from his quiver, and he nearly squashed Smudge. “Sorry,” he whispered. He tried to scoop Smudge off his shoulder, but the little fire-spider was too terrified, not to mention too
hot
, for Jig to move. Sucking his blistered finger, Jig turned his attention back to the ogre. He peeled away from the cave, to be replaced by yet another.

“They can’t get into the tunnel with those wings,” Jig said, gathering his fallen arrows. Their wingspan was too great, and if they stopped flapping, they would fall. “Braf, get back. They can’t come in after us.”

The new ogre scowled. He couldn’t reach Braf or Jig, but he did manage to use his spear to drag his companion’s club back out of the tunnel. Jig cursed himself for not throwing it out of range. They could have disarmed at least one of the ogres.

“Well this is an amusing little standoff,” Grell said from the darkness. “What next?”

The ogre with the club returned. This time a bright green pixie warrior rode her shoulder.

“Rock!” Jig shouted.

Braf fumbled for a stone, but the pixie was faster. He flew into the tunnel and pointed. Braf fell, fumbling at his boots and howling in pain.

The pixie turned to Jig. Jig grabbed his sword and prepared to charge, already knowing he couldn’t get there fast enough. But before Jig had taken a single step, the pixie yelped and clawed at his shoulder. Smoke spiraled as the pixie fell to the ground, where he yanked a tiny dart from his shoulder and flung it away.

Jig ran up and kicked the pixie. He slammed into the wall and slid to the ground.

“That’s mine,” Grop said, hurrying to retrieve the dart. He lowered his voice. “I use it back at the lair. The others blame it on wasps. If you tie a thin line to the dart, you can yank it away before they swat it, and nobody knows—”

Jig stepped away. Ogres hovered outside, and Jig could see other pixies streaking toward them from above and below. He turned to face the other goblins.

Braf was using Grell’s knife to pry his boot from his foot. The pixie had tried the same trick Pynne had used on Jig, constricting the leather. Braf had managed to get one foot free before it tightened too badly. The other appeared immovable. His face was tight from pain.

“I heard bones snap,” Grell said. “Can you fix him?”

Jig shook his head. “Even if I could, I can’t break the pixie’s spell on the boot.” Veka could, but she had disappeared. “You and Braf stay here. Our attack should draw them away from the tunnel. If you see an opening, try to hit a few more pixies with rocks.”

One of the goblins coughed. “Our attack?”

“I’m guessing their nest is strong enough to hold us,” Jig said. “We can jump down and—”

“You’re guessing?” repeated the goblin, Ekstal. He was another distillery worker, like Veka. Ekstal waved his sword at Jig. It was in far better shape than Jig’s weapon. The slender, double-sided blade looked as though it had been forged solely to slide through goblin throats. “You’re going to get us killed!”

“Probably,” admitted Jig. He didn’t have time to argue. He glanced at Braf, who nodded and pushed himself into a sitting position.

“I’m not going out there,” shouted Ekstal. “If you try to—”

There was a sharp thud, and Ekstal’s sword dropped to the ground, followed by Ekstal himself. A bit of blood trickled down his neck where Braf’s rock had hit him.

Jig scooped up the sword and gave it an experimental swing. Much better than his own weapon. He pointed to two of the goblins. “Toss him onto the nest. Then we’ll know whether it can hold a goblin.”

The two goblins looked at one another, then at Ekstal. “Right!”

“What about the ogres?” one asked.

Jig scooped up the dead pixie. Hopefully the ogres wouldn’t realize he was dead. He flung the body out of the tunnel.

All four ogres dove, trying to catch him.

“Go,” said Jig.

Ekstal groaned. His eyes opened wide as the goblins pushed him over the edge. A high-pitched squeal echoed through the tunnel.

Jig peered down. Ekstal had nearly missed the nest. He lay at an angle, his feet pointed upward, looking as though the slightest movement would send him slipping into the abyss. Already the pixies were zooming toward the panicked goblin.

“Here!” Jig called. He started to throw Ekstal’s sword down to him, reconsidered, and tossed his own old broken sword down instead.

Ekstal caught it by the blade, which would have been a problem if the weapon hadn’t been so dull. He clawed his way back to the rock, where he stood and waved the sword with both hands.

That answered the last of Jig’s questions. Sticky as the nest was, they could still move about. “Everyone get your weapons ready. Spread out. Try to cut your way into the nest. Make them come up close to fight so you have a chance to stab them before they use their magic.”

A rock flew by his head, momentarily driving the pixies back. Below, Ekstal was frantically cutting a hole in the nest.

None of the goblins had moved. The two who had tossed Ekstal down were still standing at the edge, watching and cheering him on. Jig sighed, tucked his sword under his arm, and pushed them both down to join their frantic companion.

It took a bit of threatening, with both his sword and Braf’s rocks, but eventually the other goblins followed. Jig caught the last three before they jumped.

“You’re the smartest goblins I’ve got,” Jig said.

“Why do you say that?” asked Grop.

“You haven’t jumped yet.” Already Jig could hear shouting and screaming from below. “So you’re the ones I need with me.”

“Doing what?”

Jig swallowed and tried to sound like he knew what he was doing. “We’re going to kill the queen.”

He unstrapped his quiver and handed a few arrows to each goblin. “The tips are steel. Throw them like spears to keep the pixies back, but save one or two for when we reach the queen. We’ll have to fight our way through any guards.”

Jig put two arrows back into the quiver, keeping a third ready in his hand. Ekstal’s sword was too long and slender for his old sheath, but he forced it. A handspan of steel protruded from the bottom, but if he was careful, he should be able to avoid slicing off his own foot.

He stepped to the edge and froze. The others stood close behind, waiting for Jig’s order. Wind buffeted his face. He tried to tell himself he was waiting for the right moment, giving the other goblins time to spread around the nest. Several had already fallen into the pit, and the rest were scrambling away and cutting into the silver bubbles as fast as they could.

He could imagine Tymalous Shadowstar’s derisive laughter as he said,
Waiting for the right time? You’re cowering while the others get themselves slaughtered.

Jig shrugged. Cowering while others died was a perfectly acceptable goblin tactic. Unfortunately, once the pixies finished with the others, they would return to the tunnel.

The hive was right below, only a short jump. The others had landed safely. Well, aside from Jallark, who had leaped a bit too enthusiastically. Even Braf’s rock had stuck. Jig wasn’t going to fall. The nest would hold him.

“This is crazy,” whispered one of the remaining goblins, Noroka.

Jig agreed completely, but he forced himself to shake his head, then gave them his best conspiratorial grin. “We’re going to let the others fight pixies while we sneak down through the hive. Do you think I’d be doing this if it wasn’t the safest part of the whole plan? If you want, you can stay behind, but look what happened to poor Braf.”

With that, Jig sat down on the edge, put his arrow in his mouth, and before he could stop to think about what he was doing, pushed off. Fear locked his jaw as he fell, and he bit clean through the arrow. The short drop felt like an eternity, and he was certain he had somehow missed the nest. He would fall forever into the bottomless pit, unless one of the pixies was kind enough to kill him in passing.

His feet hit the nest. Jig spat splinters of wood from his mouth and tried to make himself start breathing again.

The silver bubble felt like warm clay, sinking beneath his weight and sticking to his boots. The smell reminded him of burned mushrooms. Some of the fog rose from the nest itself, the warm surface interacting with the cold, damp air. With one hand pressed to the icy wall of the pit, Jig made his way to the next bubble. He looked up. “Hurry!”

Nothing happened at first. Then he heard the distinctive sound of a cane smacking a goblin skull. Grop dropped down a moment later, rubbing his head.