Don’t tell her,
Shadowstar said.
I don’t want to. Can you imagine what it would sound like if she and Relka started singing together? But how am I supposed to explain catching on fire in the middle of a battle, not to mention—
Jig, you’re not going to like this.
Jig closed his eyes. If Shadowstar was bothering to warn him, the news had to be truly unpleasant.
When I placed the mantle of my star upon you, something noticed.
The mantle of your star? Oh, you mean the light.
Jig stiffened as the rest of that sank in.
What noticed? Are there other elves out here?
They didn’t notice you, Jig. They noticed
me
.
From Shadowstar’s tone, this was a bad thing. Yet Jig couldn’t help feeling relieved. For once, the unimaginably scary monster wasn’t after him!
That’s true, but anything searching for me is going to find you as well. Don’t tell her anything, Jig. Don’t tell anyone until I learn more.
So much for relief.
‘‘What are you?’’ Hessafa asked again.
Jig glanced at the other goblins. Gratz was groaning, and Relka had begun to stir. ‘‘Hessafa, I didn’t kill the elf.’’
‘‘Kobolds not stupid. I saw!’’
Jig shook his head. ‘‘You killed her.’’
‘‘Elf attacked stupid goblins. Hessafa hid. Then you—’’
‘‘Think what the stupid goblins will say when you explain how you saved them,’’ Jig said. ‘‘How you snuck up and stabbed that elf with his own arrow. The kobolds sent you with us because they’re mad at you. Imagine how they’ll react when you tell them you killed the elf.’’
Hessafa hesitated, glancing at the elf, then back at Jig. She straightened. ‘‘
Hessafa
killed elf!’’
‘‘Did I hear that mutt right? A kobold killed an elf scout?’’ Gratz’s voice was hoarse but firm. He sat up and rotated his arm. ‘‘Huh. I could have sworn I heard bone crack.’’
Jig glanced around, searching the hillside and the trees. Shadows had begun to stretch as the sun sank lower.
Trok was the next to recover. He groaned and climbed to his feet, brushing snow from his furs. His ears perked when he saw the body. ‘‘Hey, fresh elf!’’
‘‘No eating.’’ Gratz rubbed his arm again. ‘‘The last thing we need is for an entire squadron to come down with the runs from raw elf.’’
‘‘Who said anything about eating him raw?’’ Trok asked. He jabbed a finger at Relka. ‘‘She’s a cook!’’
Their brief argument ended when Trok realized his knife wouldn’t pierce the elf’s skin. They might be able to cook the elf, but they had no way to eat him.
Even though Jig’s stomach gurgled at the thought of roast elf, he was just as happy to move on. Cooking the elf meant more time alone in the woods, with wild animals and magically armored elves and whatever was hunting Tymalous Shadowstar.
What could possibly hunt a god?
Generally, nothing but another god
, said Shadowstar. As Jig followed Gratz and the others back toward Billa’s army, he tried very hard not to think about that. He failed.
Do you remember what Darnak said, back when he first told you about me?
Shadowstar asked as they crossed through the swamp.
Jig could feel Smudge rustling in his hood. Was he sensing Jig’s nervousness, or was Shadowstar’s hunter already closing in on them?
They had been deep in the tunnels of the mountain. Jig had seen Darnak’s own healing powers and had asked about the gods. Darnak had been delighted to have an audience, and he had talked until Jig’s ears were literally numb.
He mentioned you were one of the fifteen Forgotten Gods, and said something about a war.
The War of Shadows.
Bells rang sharply, which Jig had come to recognize as a sound of annoyance.
Stupid name, I know. I’d bet anything Noc was the one who thought it up. It suits his sense of melodrama. Still, it’s simpler than ‘‘The Folly of Fifteen Gods Who Thought They Could Challenge the Two.’’
That would be difficult to work into a song,
Jig agreed.
The realm of the gods is a convoluted place, Jig. At the end of the war, vast stretches of that realm were cast into shadow and darkness. The fifteen rebellious gods were destroyed, their homes eradicated.
All fifteen?
Jig repeated. Including Tymalous Shadowstar.
They thought you were dead.
I nearly was. I’ve kept quiet since then. None of the magic I’ve used should have drawn the attention of another god. Not unless they were already searching for me.
Jig shivered. The evening had grown colder, and his breath clouded in the air.
I thought gods were supposed to be immortal.
Some of us are more immortal than others.
Jig glanced at Relka. What would she say if she knew? For most of a year, she had praised Tymalous Shadowstar to anyone who would listen, and many who wouldn’t. She sang about his strength and wisdom. But what Shadowstar had revealed made him sound less like an all-powerful god and more like . . . well, like a goblin. A goblin among gods, hiding and afraid.
I resent that. I’m far better looking than any goblin.
Jig ignored that.
Do you know which god is hunting you?
And, more importantly, would that god bother with Shadowstar’s goblin followers?
I have my suspicions. Noc ascended to the role of death god during the war. He earned the name God-slayer. I trust you can figure out why?
‘‘Weapons ready, men,’’ Gratz barked, drawing Jig’s attention back to this world. ‘‘Jig, Hessafa, spread out to either side. Stay out of sight. Flanking formation.’’
‘‘What does that mean?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘It means you get your scrawny arse out of sight and wait for orders. If this is another elf trick, you and Hessafa attack from either side.’’
Jig hurried away, crouching down in the swamp and barely noticing the stench. A part of him wanted to keep on running. Nobody would bother to follow a lone goblin runt.
But where would he run? Even if he managed to avoid elf scouts and Billa’s warriors, he didn’t know how to hide from a vindictive death god. Though he would probably freeze to death long before that became a problem. He squatted in the snow and tried to keep his teeth from chattering too loudly.
‘‘Gratz, is that you?’’ The voice was Silverfang’s. What was he doing out here? Jig peeked through the trees.
Silverfang sat astride Bastard, clutching the wolf’s ropes in both hands. Bastard snarled and tugged his head. Silverfang leaned down and punched him in the head, after which Bastard settled down. Two other wolf-riders waited to either side.
‘‘We were on our way back,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘We found and killed an elf scout.’’
‘‘I see you lost the runt.’’ Silverfang looked pleased.
‘‘No, sir. Jig, Hessafa, get back here!’’
Jig stomped his feet as he walked. His toes were starting to go numb. That couldn’t be good.
‘‘Stupid goblins,’’ Hessafa muttered. ‘‘First go hide. Then come back. Can’t make up their minds.’’
‘‘Corporal Gratz, report,’’ Silverfang said, his voice strange. He wasn’t yelling, exactly. He sounded like he wasn’t sure whether or not to be angry. ‘‘Exactly what happened when you fought this elf?’’
‘‘He had some kind of magical protection,’’ Gratz said. He hesitated, then grudgingly added, ‘‘The kobold finished him off.’’
‘‘That’s right!’’ Hessafa raised her spear. ‘‘Hessafa killed him. Goblins just fell down a lot.’’
‘‘Is that so?’’ Silverfang scowled at Gratz.
There
was the anger. ‘‘You let a useless kobold fight your battle?’’
‘‘We used the Grab-and-Squeeze formation,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Just like regulations say. We goblins did the bulk of the fighting, wearing the elf down so the kobold could—’’
‘‘Save it.’’ Silverfang smiled. ‘‘You can explain it to the orcs. It seems Billa herself would like to ask you a few questions about your little battle.’’
CHAPTER 6
Tymalous Autumnstar dug his front claws into the sandstone and slid his broken body across the floor. His rear legs and tail were limp and lifeless. From the feel—rather, the lack of feeling past his wings—Anisah had snapped his spine. Fortunately, it was difficult to truly kill a god.
Not so difficult to smash one senseless, as it turned out.
Finally he reached the wall, where various pots and sacks provided shadows and shelter. He squeezed behind a stack of fleshy cactus leaves. Hopefully nobody would need the pungent, needle-covered leaves for tonight’s meal. Anyone who found Autumnstar here would either toss him into the pot for dinner or break his neck to put him out of his misery.
His tongue flicked out, smelling the cool night air. He rested his head against the barrel and looked out at Anisah’s body.
Well, at least she had died smiling. Even if Autumnstar hadn’t planned to comfort her in quite that fashion.
What had gone wrong? Healing a mortal body needed only the tiniest pinch of magic. He should have had no trouble easing Anisah’s pain. Or fixing his own crushed spine, for that matter.
He closed his eyes, fighting off fear as he peered
beyond the stone walls of the city. Surely the gods weren’t still hunting him after all this time. A quick peek into the realm of the divine shouldn’t draw any notice. Priests did it all the time, using purely mortal magic. And sometimes a particular type of mushroom.
He braced himself as his surroundings appeared to fade, but nothing more happened. Autumnstar rested his head on a cactus leaf and tried to relax.
It was strange to see the stars from down here. The constellations were recognizable, but altered. Tarvha the Trapper was much skinnier from this angle. The Three-Headed Dragon appeared to have his leftmost head wedged in a very improbable location. Then again, dragons were quite flexible.
He turned, trying to orient himself. A half-moon hovered over the eastern horizon, which meant The Guardian should be to his right. The Guardian looked like a potbellied dwarf from here. Autumnstar followed the tip of The Guardian’s nose, toward—
‘‘It’s gone,’’ he whispered. He searched again, making sure the oddly distorted constellations hadn’t tricked him, but there was no mistake. Before, a lone star had burned red in the sky between The Guardian and Elsa the Drunk. Now there was nothing.
No, not nothing. He squinted, trying to make out a spot of darkness that was somehow blacker than the surrounding space. A point in the sky that seemed to absorb the light of nearby stars.
He should have guessed. Noc was nothing if not dramatic. No doubt the death of the Autumn Star had been a great spectacle, seen by gods and mortals throughout the universe.
‘‘I hope you burned your eyebrows off,’’ Autumnstar muttered.
A circle of orcs waited at the edge of the swamps. Jig counted at least eight, though there could have been more in back.
They stood with swords and axes ready. How much time did they spend polishing their blades, to get them to shine like that? And had they deliberately positioned themselves so their weapons would best reflect the moonlight?
Intentional or not, it worked. Jig didn’t even realize he had slowed down until one of the other goblins bumped into him.
‘‘Say nothing unless Billa talks to you,’’ Gratz whispered. ‘‘Don’t make any sudden moves, either. If one of those orcs decides you’re a threat, you’ll be dead before you can spit.’’
Jig pulled his cloak tight, tucking his hands into his armpits. His fingers felt numb, as if the blood had frozen. Even the inside of his nostrils felt like they were coated in a thin layer of ice. He stared longingly at Trok’s furs, then gave a tentative sniff. Cold as it was, the icy breeze couldn’t completely kill Trok’s stench.
Silverfang pulled Bastard to a halt a few paces away from the lead orcs. The wolf snarled, but the orcs didn’t so much as blink.
Billa was awfully confident, to come with so few guards. Sure, any one of those orcs could probably kill every goblin here, but with enough goblins and wolves, there was always the chance one would get lucky. Most of the goblins were new recruits. How did Billa know there wouldn’t be trouble?
‘‘General,’’ Silverfang said, bowing his head.
The frontmost orcs stepped to either side, revealing Billa the Bloody.
Jig’s first thought was that Billa looked awfully skinny for an orc. Her skin was paler, too. Her hair was a dirty white, pulled into a thick, snarled rope at the top of her head. Despite the white hair, she appeared quite young. Her face was unwrinkled, marred only by the tribal scar on her nose and a sprinkling of pimples on her forehead.
She wore a cape of white horsehair over her armor. Like the rest of the orcs, her arms were bare, but she didn’t appear to notice the cold. Her skin wasn’t pimpled like the others, nor did her face have the same flushed appearance.
She chewed her thumbnail as she contemplated the goblins. The rest of her nails were bitten raw.
Jig would have sworn the air got colder when she turned to look at him. Even the wolves backed away as her gaze swept them. She spat a bit of nail into the snow. One hand brushed the hilt of her sword.
‘‘What happened tonight?’’ Her voice was softer than Jig expected.
Gratz cleared his throat. ‘‘We found and killed one elf, sir.’’
‘‘Good. Who killed it?’’
Gratz made a face like he had bitten into a fried rat, only to have it bite him back. ‘‘Her,’’ he said, pointing to Hessafa. One of the orcs snickered.
Billa chewed her lower lip as she studied the kobold. ‘‘You killed an elf scout?’’
Hessafa glanced at Jig, then grinned. ‘‘Goblins fight stupid. Hessafa killed elf.’’
‘‘Nothing stupid about the Grab-and-Squeeze formation,’’ Gratz muttered.