Goblin War (19 page)

 
They marched for two more days. Sheer exhaustion numbed Jig’s fear. By this time, he would have happily cut Trok’s throat for the chance to ride a wolf. Terrifying as the wolves were, Jig was almost willing to risk being eaten if it meant he wouldn’t have to walk anymore. His feet were so blistered he was amazed his boots hadn’t burst at the seams. His legs were numb, and his ill-fitting armor had rubbed bloody streaks along his neck and shoulders.

Then on the morning of the fifth day, as Jig was scarfing down a breakfast of goat meat and warm milk, he spotted Trok hobbling into the woods to water the trees. He walked bow-legged, and even from here Jig could hear him yelp when he adjusted his trousers. On second thought, maybe marching on foot wasn’t so bad. Painful as Jig’s blisters and sores were, others had injuries that were far worse. All Jig knew was that he wasn’t about to heal
those
wounds.

‘‘Hurry it up,’’ Silverfang shouted. He still rode Bastard, and he held Trok’s wolf by the ropes. Trok ran back, his face tight with pain. Silverfang tossed Trok the ropes and turned to face the goblins. ‘‘We march double time today!’’

Jig gulped down the last of his meat, dropping a bit into his hood for Smudge. He turned to Gratz. ‘‘What’s double time?’’

Gratz grinned. ‘‘You’ll see.’’

The drums began to pound a quick, sharp rhythm. Apparently ‘‘double time’’ meant hurrying along at an awkward pace that was too quick to be a proper walk, but not quite fast enough to be a jog.

It was certainly a more efficient pace. Normally it took Jig most of the morning before his stomach began to cramp and the muscles in his thighs knotted. Marching at double time, he reached that same level of pain before they were even out of sight of last night’s camp. By the time the sun was overhead, he was about ready to cut out his stomach with his sword. He probably would have done it too, if his stupid armor hadn’t been in the way.

The ground was steeper today. Roots and saplings fought to reclaim the edges of the road. Those soldiers unfortunate enough to be at the edges of the formation were constantly stumbling and cursing as they fought to keep up.

Three thunderous drumbeats signaled a halt. Jig turned around, standing on his toes to see past the other goblins. A group of orcs rode through the trees, toward the front of the lines. He recognized Billa by her white cape. Relka rode with her. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her hands were tied. She looked like a child, squeezed onto the front of the saddle with Billa.

‘‘The temple is nearby,’’ Billa shouted. ‘‘Silverfang, bring your goblins.’’

Jig blinked. He had thought they were going back to the lair. What temple—?

Mine
, said Shadowstar.
She must have sensed it.

What would happen when she realized she couldn’t get into the mountain to reach the temple? Jig stared longingly up the mountainside, wondering how the remaining goblins had fared since he left. They had survived for over a year the first time Jig sealed the entrance. They should be fine. Why, even now Golaka was probably preparing stuffed snakeskins and lizard-fish pudding.

Jig’s mouth watered, and a bit of drool slipped past one of his fangs.

Silverfang turned Bastard in a tight circle. ‘‘Gratz, your squadron’s with me. The rest of you take a break, but anyone who falls asleep had better pray I feed you to the wolves. At least they’ll be quick!’’

Jig and the rest of Gratz’s squadron groaned. Behind them, goblins collapsed to the ground, leaning against one another for support.

Silverfang tugged Bastard’s ropes and shouted, ‘‘March!’’ Bastard trotted after the orcs, and the rest of the wolf-riders fell in behind him.

Trok cursed as Smelly lunged away from the pack, teeth bared as he charged the closest of the horses. Trok yanked the ropes, fighting to get his wolf under control, but Smelly ignored him.

Silverfang threw a rock. No, not a rock. One of those troll toes. It flew past Smelly, who skidded to a halt. His front paws shoveled snow as he dug after the toe. ‘‘Next time you lose control of your mount, it’s your toes I’ll be feeding him,’’ Silverfang said as he rode past.

Jig adjusted his helmet as he and the other goblins jogged up the mountainside after the wolves. His armor bounced with every step, deepening already-painful bruises.

They kept up that pace for what seemed like years, until Jig began to worry that his feet and legs would simply snap away from his body like twigs. Finally the horses and wolves slowed near a half-frozen stream.

‘‘Gratz, take your men up the mountainside and scout around.’’ Silverfang grinned. ‘‘If you find anything, scream really loud before they kill you.’’

Jig glanced behind, surprised at how far they had climbed. When he turned back, he realized he knew this place. Farther upstream was where he and Relka had come to rescue Grell from a human soldier a few weeks back. He was home!

‘‘Spread out,’’ said Gratz. ‘‘Weapons ready.’’

Jig tugged his sword free. The leather wrapping on the hilt did little to protect him from the cold metal, and he switched the sword from one hand to the other as he walked. His other hand he shoved into his cloak pocket, petting Smudge for warmth.

The snow had hidden most evidence of battle, but here and there Jig still saw signs of the humans’ attack. A spear stood point-first in the snow. At first, Jig mistook it for a sapling. Farther along, a bluebird perched on an arrow embedded in a tree. The bird chirped and fluffed its chest, apparently trying to mate with the bright-colored fletching.

What Jig didn’t see was any hint of humans or elves. Genevieve had taken her goblin slaves down to Avery, while Theodore and his elves ran off to join the king and await Billa’s army. How long would it take them to discover Billa had chosen an alternate path? An army of monsters was hardly subtle.

‘‘Jig!’’ Gratz’s sharp whisper made Jig jump. ‘‘You’re on point. Take us to this lair of yours.’’

Jig’s chest tightened as he crept past the others toward the small clearing up ahead.

‘‘Everyone else hold back,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Regulations say the best way to spring traps and ambushes is with a single scout. Be ready.’’

That made sense. One goblin would spring the trap, and then the rest could rush in. It was a great strategy for everyone except the poor scout. But Smudge was still relatively cool, and Jig heard nothing but the eager whispers of his fellow goblins. He crept forward, ears held high, until he reached the entrance. What remained of the entrance, at any rate.

Before, a fallen pine had sheltered the entrance, blocking the wind and hiding the cave from casual view.

Theodore must have used the Rod of Creation on the tree. The flat, brown needles now stretched in all directions, even into the rock of the cave. They were as wide as Jig’s claws, and the edges appeared sharper than Jig’s own sword. Smudge might be able to creep through the cracks between those tight-woven needles, but no goblin would fit. Not without first being chopped into spider-size pieces.

He decided to keep that last thought to himself, lest Gratz or Silverfang start to get ideas.

He would have given anything to be able to crawl through the tree and retreat to his lair. He wanted to be home, not stuck in the cold, waiting for Billa and her goddess to discover who he was.

This is your fault,
he muttered. Shadowstar didn’t argue.

‘‘Is the lair secure?’’ Gratz called.

‘‘Yes.’’ It was more than secure. He rapped his sword against one of the needles. The needles bent slightly, like good steel, but when he tried to push them further, they sprang back.

Gratz shouted down the mountainside, then waved for the other goblins to join Jig. The orcs and wolf-riders had left their mounts a short distance below. Jig stepped as far to the side as he could to make way for Billa and her orcs. And Relka. Relka’s bound hands clutched her pendant tight.

Billa scowled at the tree. ‘‘Cut it away,’’ she said.

Orcs raced to obey. Goblins raced to get out of the way of the orcs. Swords and axes crashed against the tree, to no avail. Like the elf scout Jig had fought, the tree was hardened by the Rod of Creation. Indestructible, save for magic.

Billa shoved Relka into the snow and drew her sword. ‘‘I know you’re here, Autumnstar. You can’t hide from me forever.’’

Billa chopped her sword onto the branches. The magically strengthened branches snapped as though they were dead and rotted. A few more swings, and Billa had cleared away enough of the tree for her to slip inside. She grabbed Relka by the arm.

‘‘Nobody comes into this cave, friend or foe,’’ said Billa. Her orcs grunted and took up positions to either side of the cave.

Relka had time for one frightened look at Jig, and then Billa dragged her into the darkness.

 
‘‘This is boring,’’ Trok muttered, not for the first time. Silverfang had taken several of the goblins down to tend the wolves. The rest were supposed to help the orcs guard the cave, a duty made more difficult by the orcs’ determination to kill anyone who came too close.

Trok was sitting beneath a tree, rubbing a stone over the flat tip of his sword to sharpen it. He raised the sword high, holding it by the blade so the tip pointed down at his boots. He let go, and the sword buried itself in the snow and dirt, a finger’s width from his right foot. ‘‘It’s not right, leaving us out here to freeze. This is
our
lair. Why should Billa get it all to herself?’’

Jig didn’t answer. Billa had opened the lair! All he had to do was wait until everyone left, and he could return home. He stared at the orcs guarding the cave. Would anyone notice if Jig slipped away to hide?

An angry scream echoed from inside the tunnels.

‘‘On second thought,’’ Trok said, ‘‘Billa seems to know what she’s doing.’’

‘‘That was Relka,’’ Jig said.

‘‘
Was
being the important word.’’ Trok yanked his sword from the ground and began sliding the stone along the edge. ‘‘With the warriors gone, who do you think will end up eating the rest of the goblins? Tunnel cats or the hobgoblins? My bet’s on the hobgoblins. The yellow-skinned sneaks are probably raiding the kitchens even now.’’

‘‘I doubt it,’’ Jig said. ‘‘They’d have to get past Golaka to do that.’’

What?
Jig glanced at the cave.
Didn’t you hear that scream? And what about all of those orcs guarding the cave?

Billa is in the temple,
Shadowstar said.
She’s going to kill Relka unless I manifest before her.

There was a long silence.
Billa carries Isa’s sword. That weapon could kill even me, Jig.

Trok punched him in the shoulder. ‘‘You’re doing that thing where you stare and mumble to yourself again. It’s creepy.’’

Jig bit his lip to keep from mumbling.
She’s your wife, not mine.

So help her!
Jig sat in the snow as he realized what Shadowstar was saying.
You’re afraid.

So are you,
said Shadowstar.

Relka screamed again. She sounded more angry than afraid.

Wait, I thought Isa wanted to kill you. Now she wants your help?
Jig asked.

Jig’s head was starting to ache.
Didn’t you say Noc was the one who betrayed you? If she has a way to kill him, why wouldn’t you help?

Jig wasn’t surprised in the least. Gods were supremely talented when it came to complicating things. Most of the non-goblin races were, come to think of it.

Shadowstar’s sigh rang through Jig’s skull.
Why did it have to be goblins?
Without waiting for an answer, he said,
Imagine if Billa told you she would destroy you unless you helped her to kill Smudge.

Jig scooped Smudge out of his pocket and shielded him in both hands.
Why would Billa want to hurt my fire-spider?

Don’t make me smite you.
Another divine sigh, and then,
I don’t expect you to understand, Jig. But I can’t let Isa kill my son.

Wouldn’t he be Isa’s son too?
Jig asked.

Shadowstar paused.
No. That’s another reason Isa isn’t too happy with me. Jig, whether you understand or not, I need you to do this. I can’t help her kill Noc, and I can’t let her sacrifice one of my followers in my own temple.

Save Relka. From an orc and a god. Tymalous Shadowstar was afraid to go into that cave, but he expected Jig to go in?

You swore an oath to me, Jig Dragonslayer.
There was no room for argument in his tone. This was Shadowstar at his most serious.
Relka believes in me. She believes in you. You can do this.

Jig stared at the orcs standing around the cave. He closed his eyes as another shout tore out of the darkness.
No.

The answering silence spooked him more than anything Shadowstar could have said.

Still Shadowstar said nothing.

Noc is a death god,
Jig said.
Why does he need our help against Isa, anyway?

Jig shook his head.
Isa and Billa know I’m here. So do those orcs guarding the cave.