Jig dropped his helmet onto the road, flexed his fingers, and fumbled with the straps of his armor. His hands were little more than blocks of ice. The buckles refused to move, and the straps slipped through his fingers. After four tries, he was ready to draw his knife and cut away the armor. He would have done it, but he suspected that would violate one of Gratz’s precious regulations.
Finally he lay down on his stomach and pointed his arms overhead. Feeling like a fool, he wriggled backward.
He lost a bit of skin from his ears and nose, but he managed to squeeze out of the oversize armor. Pressing his back against the armor, he drew his knees to his chest and rested his head on the road. He kept one hand on his sword and closed his eyes.
He heard voices in the distance. Silverfang was shouting at the wolf-riders to take care of their mounts. Poor Trok. How long would he be awake, caring for Smelly?
Elsewhere, Oakbottom lashed a group of kobolds awake, sending them out to keep watch.
The rest of Gratz’s squadron fell asleep fast, all of them exhausted. Jig soon found himself squeezed into a mass of snoring, squirming, farting goblins. It reminded him a bit of home. And at least he was warm.
Jig giggled quietly, a sure sign of exhaustion or terror. Maybe both. But the more he thought about it, the funnier his situation became. If it weren’t for a forgotten goddess who was hunting for him, this would have been the safest Jig had ever been. Surrounded by goblin warriors, he was well-protected from adventurers and armies and anything else . . . short of the gods, of course. And Billa’s rules protected him from those same goblin warriors.
No wonder Billa had amassed such a following. Her army provided security. Security and hope.
Shadowstar didn’t even know why Isa was hunting him. Maybe she just missed her husband.
And maybe Braf will stop picking his nose with his fangs, but I wouldn’t put money on it.
Jig rolled onto his back. Smudge scurried out from beneath his neck, climbing onto his chest. Jig absently rubbed the spider with one finger as he stared up at the night sky. The sight of the clouds drifting past the stars gave him vertigo, and he clenched his eyes shut.
How do you know? Not about Braf, but that Isa is dangerous?
It would be easier to show you
, said Shadowstar.
That’s all right
, Jig said hastily.
I don’t need to see—
The ground beneath him seemed to give way, as if Jig had plunged into an endless pit. He squealed and flailed about.
Open your eyes, Jig.
Brilliant sunlight made him squint. Moments later he was leaping out of the way as a sea of dwarves charged past, waving axes and hammers and shouting in a language he didn’t recognize. Though the dwarves didn’t appear to notice him, he somehow managed to avoid being trampled into the grass.
When the footfalls had faded into the distance, he opened his eyes and squinted to block the worst of the sun.
‘‘We have
not
lost!’’
He turned around to see . . . Jig wasn’t sure how to describe her. She reminded him of a dwarf, only taller. A giant dwarf? Clearly his mind was still delusional from fatigue.
She was taller than most humans, but her broad shoulders and stocky build reminded him of Darnak without the beard. Her armor and helmet shone like glass, and in one hand she held a sword of ice. The same sword Jig had seen in Billa’s hand that evening.
‘‘Isa?’’ Jig guessed.
‘‘Have you lost your wits as well as your courage?’’ Isa spat in disgust. Even though it felt like late summer or early autumn, the spittle froze before it touched the ground.
The jingle of tiny bells warned him Shadowstar was near. He turned, but saw no sign of the forgotten god. Silver hair drifted in front of his eyes, and—
Jig stopped moving. He had never had hair this long, even before Smudge came along. Jig reached to touch his scalp, and the bells jingled again. He wore a loose shirt of cool black material, striped with silver bells. Tymalous Shadowstar’s shirt. And Shadowstar’s hair on his head. He reached for his ears, and tried to bite back his dismay at the puny, misshapen things he found there.
‘‘It’s you who’ve lost your mind, Isa,’’ Jig said. His chest tightened with fear. Had he just insulted a goddess? ‘‘Wait, I didn’t mean to say that!’’
Relax. This happened thousands of years before you were born. Nothing you say or do can change the outcome.
Ah. This was a stupid god trick.
Couldn’t you just
tell
me how it happened?
This is more effective. It’s also more fun to watch. Now relax and enjoy being me.
Isa pointed. Across a field, the dwarves were attacking men mounted on giant serpents. ‘‘Old Sethina sided with the two over us. Perhaps she’ll reconsider when her precious snake lovers have been wiped out.’’
The snake lovers were putting up quite a fight. The serpents’ scales were strong enough to turn most blows, and like the rock serpents Jig knew from back home, they struck too fast to dodge. Unlike those serpents, these were large enough to take an entire dwarf in their jaws.
Jig wondered briefly how the men remained in their saddles. Or how they stopped the saddles from sliding down the snakes’ scaly bodies, for that matter. Magic, he guessed. Probably the same magic that kept the riders from throwing up as the snakes slithered and struck.
Twenty dwarves fell for every snake that died, but there were enough dwarves to defeat twice this number. The dwarves fought without fear, driven by Isa’s magic.
And how did Jig know that?
‘‘Ama is dead,’’ Jig said. He had no clue who Ama might be, but the words continued to pour forth. ‘‘Noc has betrayed us. Even now, Ipsep flees to his temple in the black lake, and Talla the Merciful weeps over the loss of her sister. We’ve lost, Isa.’’
‘‘Then we will make them pay for their victory.’’ Isa pointed her sword over the field, to where the last of the snakes were falling. ‘‘Beginning with Noc. My dwarves will march into the very halls of death, and there they will—’’
‘‘Die.’’ Jig interrupted. His terror had begun to fade. He still wasn’t completely sure what was happening, but Isa hadn’t killed him yet, and that was a good sign. But now he felt himself growing angry. Not the loud, frightened anger of a goblin, but the deep fury of a god. Anger powerful enough to wipe out every dwarf on that field, if he chose to unleash it. Instead, he—or Shadowstar—turned to face Isa. ‘‘You’re serious. You’re going to send mortals to face a god in his home. Every last one of your followers will die, Isa.’’
Isa shrugged. ‘‘They’ll take some of Noc’s protectors with them. Death is inevitable, dear Autumnstar. You of all beings should know that.’’
Jig felt himself grinning. ‘‘And you of all gods should know better than to push me.’’ His vision flashed. Isa shielded her face from the red light pouring from Jig’s eyes. Across the field, those dwarves who survived began to age. From this distance, the dwarves appeared no larger than his thumbnail, but Jig could see them all clearly as his magic took effect. Tough, sunbeaten skin wrinkled. Gray spread through hair and beards. Joints grew stiff, and old injuries began to ache.
‘‘Stop!’’
Isa’s scream made Jig want to disappear, but instead he shook his head.
‘‘You would kill them yourself?’’ Isa shouted
‘‘They’re not dead, just old,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Too old to fight. They’d make it three steps into Noc’s temple before half of them lost bladder control. But they’re dwarves. They should live at least another century. Longer than they would if they continued to follow you.’’
Isa drew back her sword. Jig whimpered, even as he raised his left arm. A silver disk appeared on his forearm, absorbing Isa’s attack with ease. Isa struck twice more, ringing the bells on Jig’s sleeve but doing no real harm.
‘‘Where can I get a shield like this?’’ Jig whispered.
Noc melted it a few years after this battle, when he came to kill me. Sorry.
Isa backed away. ‘‘You’re a coward,’’ she whispered. ‘‘You’re afraid to face Noc.’’ Her next blow came so suddenly that Jig barely raised his shield in time to deflect it. The force knocked him to the ground, but Isa didn’t bother to follow up her advantage.
Moments later, Jig was alone, grimacing as he rubbed his arm.
Now do you understand why she makes me nervous?
His chest burned. Was this another of Isa’s attacks? Fire seemed out of character for her. Jig opened his eyes just as Smudge raced over his face, jumping down into his hood.
There was an orc staring down at him. Scars split the orc’s eyebrows, and his breath smelled like kobold. The orc grabbed Jig’s fang.
With a squawk, Jig was yanked to his feet. The orc kicked his way through the groaning, snoring goblins, dragging Jig to the edge of the group. Jig was almost positive he recognized this orc as one of the guards who had been with Billa.
‘‘Billa wants to know exactly what we’ll be facing when we reach your lair,’’ said the orc. ‘‘What’s the size and makeup of this force that attacked you?’’
‘‘Well, Darnak’s a dwarf, so he’s pretty small,’’ Jig said, rubbing his eyes. ‘‘Genevieve is average height for a human, but she’s skinny.’’ He stared. ‘‘Wait, did you say we were going to our lair?’’
‘‘What numbers will we face when we arrive at your lair?’’ The orc spoke slowly, like Jig was an addle-brained child.
‘‘I don’t know.’’ Jig rubbed his eyes and adjusted his spectacles. ‘‘The humans sealed the entrance. The only way in is to get the Rod of Creation back from—’’
‘‘Never question the power of Billa the Bloody or Isa of the Winter Winds.’’ A halfhearted punch to the chest drove the orc’s point home and knocked Jig onto his back. ‘‘How many goblins did they leave in the lair?’’
‘‘A few hundred,’’ Jig guessed. He started to sit up, then thought better of it. If he stayed on the ground, the orc couldn’t reach to hit him. ‘‘All but the strongest warriors were sealed inside. The rest were taken away to Avery.’’
‘‘So what are you doing here?’’ The orc snorted and shook his head. ‘‘What else lives in this mountain of yours?’’
‘‘Hobgoblins, mostly,’’ Jig said. ‘‘There used to be ogres and a dragon, but we killed the dragon and then the pixies came and wiped out the ogres. We killed the pixies too, and—’’
The orc leaned down. ‘‘Pixies? Goblins killing a dragon? Didn’t your commander tell you there was no drinking in Billa’s army?’’
Jig said nothing. The orc hauled him upright and shoved him back toward the other goblins. Jig picked his way back, trying not to step on his fellow soldiers. The orc headed to the front, presumably to interrogate Trok.
Jig settled back down on the cold earth, but this time, he was unable to sleep. In the moonlight, he could just make out the shape of the mountains. Billa was bringing him home.
Why?
Billa’s army believed she would lead them to victory, protecting them from the surface-dwellers once and for all. Jig remembered how Isa had been ready to send her dwarves to their death, all so she would have the chance to slay her enemy.
Now Isa had a new army.
Jig just hoped he and Shadowstar weren’t her new enemy.
CHAPTER 7
The worst part about losing the power to heal was that he couldn’t heal himself either. Fortunately, Anisah’s daughter Hana found his broken body. After cooing over Autumnstar for close to an hour, she had decided he was the reincarnation of her mother’s spirit.
Hana had never struck Autumnstar as being overly bright.
Without his star, Tymalous Autumnstar’s power was almost as limited as a mortal’s. Even more than his temple, the Autumn Star had been both the symbol and the source of his power. But he was still a god. His willpower alone was enough to keep the sand lizard alive, and over time, this body would heal.
For more than a year, Hana carried him around in a woven sling, feeding him beetles and ants and whatever other insects she could catch. His bones knit, the torn membrane of his wings sealed itself, and he regained the use of his tail and rear legs . . . though Hana still insisted on wrapping tiny diapers around his backside.
There was something profoundly wrong about a god being forced to wear a diaper. Had Autumnstar been a vengeful sort, he would have conserved his power for some serious smiting.
Instead he found himself slipping into lethargy. It
would be so easy to let go, to allow his awareness to dissipate into this body and truly become a sand lizard. His star was gone, and he would be killed if he ever tried to retake his place among the gods. Here he was warm and comfortable and safe.
But one day Hana would grow sick or old. He might have enough strength to help her, but then what? Wait another ten years until he was powerful enough to help another person? Turn his back on the rest of the sick and the dying, the old and the weak, and all those who needed his protection?
He tested his legs, digging his tiny claws into his sling and stretching. His back arched, and his wings fluttered. He jumped free, spreading his wings as he glided toward the floor. He fell faster than expected. Hana’s incessant feeding had left him a bit heavier than before.
Before he could recover his balance, Hana snatched him by the neck. Autumnstar coughed and squirmed as she dropped him back into his sling. She held him in place as she hurried back to her room, where she looped a length of goat wool around his neck.
‘‘I have to take care of you, Mother,’’ Hana said. She started to tie the leash to the strap of her sling. ‘‘Don’t you remember what happened last time? If I let you go, you’ll get yourself crushed or eaten or lost, and you’ll never find your way back to me.’’
Autumnstar bit her thumb.
He scurried out the door and raced up the wall, hiding atop the overhang of the roof. Hana followed, her shouts muffled as she sucked her bleeding thumb.