Goblin War (20 page)

Be not afraid,
Shadowstar whispered.

And like that, Jig wasn’t. The knot in his gut relaxed. The tension in his shoulders loosened. He stopped cringing every time Relka shouted.
What did you do?

‘‘You’re still mumbling, runt,’’ Trok said. He grabbed Jig’s arm. ‘‘It’s weird.’’

Jig punched Trok in the jaw.

Trok stumbled back, eyes wide. The bigger goblin looked more stunned than anything. That wouldn’t last, though. As soon as Trok recovered, he would snap Jig like a stick.

Jig knew what Trok would do to him, and he didn’t care. He didn’t
want
to die, but he wasn’t afraid, either. He stared at Trok and said, ‘‘I don’t like being called runt.’’

Trok didn’t move. ‘‘What happened to you?’’

‘‘Shadowstar.’’ Jig rubbed his hand. Next time he would have to remember to punch something softer. Jaws were too solid.
You took my fear away.

Had Tymalous Shadowstar been present, Jig would have punched him, too. Fear was what kept goblins alive! It didn’t always stop them from running into stupid situations, but it helped. Which was presumably why Shadowstar had done this. To make Jig charge in like an idiot to rescue Relka.

What if I don’t?
Jig asked.

True enough. Jig turned to Trok, who was still staring at him. Jig knew he should be afraid, but even knowing Trok was angry enough to kill him did nothing. It didn’t help matters that Trok looked so goofy when he got mad. His eyes were all squinty, and his nostrils flapped with every breath. Jig fought the urge to reach up and pinch his nose.

‘‘If a god ever decides to talk to you, the best thing you can do is pretend you don’t hear him.’’ Jig grabbed Trok’s arm and tugged him toward the orcs. ‘‘We have to save Relka.’’

Trok’s anger disappeared, replaced by laughter. ‘‘Why would we do that?’’

‘‘Because if you don’t, I’ll pull out my sword and cut your throat.’’ Jig reconsidered the state of his weapon. ‘‘Or I’ll bludgeon you to death with it.’’

Trok laughed even harder, until he started to cough. ‘‘Try it, runt.’’

Jig didn’t bother to draw his weapon. He simply spun, smashing the sheathed blade into Trok’s knee. Trok yelped and fell. A few other goblins glanced their way, then went back to whatever they were doing.

‘‘I told you not to call me that,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Now one of two things is going to happen. Either I kill you, in which case you’re dead. Or else I’ll try and fail, and you’ll kill me.’’

‘‘Let’s find out,’’ Trok snarled.

Jig pointed to where Gratz and Silverfang were yelling at another goblin who had been so careless as to get himself bitten by one of the wolves. ‘‘Kill another soldier in Billa’s army, and they’ll feed you to the wolves. Either way, you die.’’

Of course, the same was true for Jig. But Trok hadn’t had his fear sucked out of his ears by a cowardly god.

Trok nodded slowly. ‘‘I’ll help you.’’

Jig turned around. He suspected he would be dead very soon, but in the meantime, living without fear was kind of fun. He took a single step, only to have Trok yank him back by his cloak.

‘‘
If
you support me as goblin chief once this is over,’’ Trok finished.

Jig stared. ‘‘Grell is chief. She’d have us both for dinner if I tried to make you chief in her place.’’

‘‘Grell won’t live forever.’’ Trok spun his sword in a lazy circle. ‘‘The goblins look up to you. They listen to you. If you tell them I should be the next chief, they’ll believe you.’’

There had been a time, years ago, when Jig would have thought Trok was the perfect choice to be chief. The job had always gone to the biggest, meanest goblin, the one who could kill all challengers. And then Jig had helped kill the previous chief, and suddenly a nearsighted runt was in charge of the entire lair. Jig wasn’t crazy, so he had surrendered power as soon as he possibly could, turning the job over to Grell . . . who had turned out to be the best chief Jig could remember.

She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t loud. She rarely bothered to kill anyone. People obeyed her not because she threatened them, but because she was
Grell
. She kept her enemies busy killing one another instead of trying to kill her. It was a trick Jig really wanted to learn someday.

Trok wasn’t stupid, but he was a warrior. What kind of chief would he be? More importantly, what would he do to Jig once he took power? If Jig helped make Trok chief, it followed that Jig could take that away as well. The smart thing would be for Trok to immediately slit Jig’s throat.

On the other hand, since both of them would probably die trying to save Relka, none of it made any difference anyway. ‘‘Fine. You’ll be chief. Now go distract those orcs.’’

‘‘How am I supposed to do that?’’

Jig tugged Trok’s sword from his hand. To his amazement, Trok didn’t try to fight him. How had Jig ever been scared of him? Jig marched over to the orcs, stopping just out of reach of their weapons. ‘‘Do any of you know how to play Toe Stub?’’

The orcs stared. Jig could see their eagerness. Just a few more steps, and they would have an excuse to kill a goblin.

Jig turned back to Trok. ‘‘See? I told you they’d be too afraid to play.’’

That got one orc’s attention. ‘‘Afraid of a goblin game?’’

Jig slapped the sword back into Trok’s hand. ‘‘Trok here was the best Toe Stub player in our whole lair.’’ That wasn’t saying much, considering Jig had just made up the game. ‘‘But I made a bet that he couldn’t beat a real orc warrior.’’

By now several other goblins had approached. They whispered and pointed, and Jig heard at least one wager being made.

Trok leaned down to Jig and said, ‘‘Toe Stub?’’

‘‘Watch,’’ said Jig. ‘‘Trok holds the sword by the blade and drops it. The winner is whoever gets the blade the closest to their foot without cutting off a toe. If you get scared and yank your foot away, you lose.’’

‘‘Give me that,’’ said the orc. He grabbed Trok’s sword.

Trok started to smile. ‘‘You have to hold it so the tip is at least as high as your face.’’

The orc dropped the sword. It plunged into the dirt, a good distance from his foot. He cursed and clutched his hand.

‘‘A typical beginner’s mistake,’’ Trok said, chuckling as he eased into the deception. He picked up his sword and said, ‘‘You have to yank your hand back quickly, or else you’ll slice your fingers.’’

Jig grinned and backed away. His luck appeared to be changing. Neither the orcs nor the goblins paid him any attention.

Of course, since his apparent good fortune was giving him the means to slip into the tunnels to confront an orc and her god-forged sword, perhaps his luck hadn’t changed after all.

 
Jig crept through the darkness with one hand on the tunnel wall. Frost coated the obsidian, numbing his fingers. Up ahead, he heard a sound like smashing glass, followed by another angry shout.

‘‘I’ll kill you!’’ Relka’s voice was hoarse. ‘‘I’ll puree your ears for the toddlers. I’ll use your bones to make soup! I’ll—’’

‘‘Will you please shut up?’’ Billa snapped. ‘‘How does your god put up with all of this babbling?’’

Orange light told Jig he was close, as did the steadily increasing warmth coming from Smudge. Jig reached back to rub Smudge’s thorax. Smudge clung to Jig’s finger with his forelegs until Jig tugged free. Jig might not be able to feel fear, but his fire-spider certainly could.

He stepped to the end of the tunnel and peered into the temple. What was left of it. The little stone altar had been shattered. Of the glass mosaic on the ceiling, only a few tiles still clung to the rock. The rest lay scattered on the floor.

Relka sat amid the remains of the altar, her knees hugged to her chest. Billa stood beside her, a lit torch in her left hand. In her right she clutched Isa’s sword.

Was it Jig’s imagination, or did the torch’s flames actually bend away from the sword? Even fire feared the touch of that blade.

‘‘Shadowstar will crush you for this.’’ Relka spat at Billa’s feet. ‘‘He’ll destroy you. You think he fears your little army?’’

From Jig’s angle, he could see Billa roll her eyes. ‘‘
Please
can I kill her?’’ Jig didn’t hear an answer, but he saw Billa’s shoulders slump. ‘‘What if I just cut out her tongue?’’

Relka laughed. ‘‘Go ahead and kill me. I would be honored to die a martyr for Tymalous Shadowstar.’’

Jig didn’t move. He wasn’t afraid, but he saw no need to charge out and die on that sword, either. I
don’t want to be a martyr.

Jig gritted his teeth and stepped into the temple. He didn’t bother to draw his sword. What good would it do? He cleared his throat and said, ‘‘Shadowstar says if you kill her—or me!—he’ll collapse the entire temple and crush us all.’’ Actually that wasn’t a bad plan.

‘‘What are you doing here, goblin?’’ Billa snapped.

Relka’s grin shone with triumph. ‘‘That’s Jig Dragonslayer, high priest of Tymalous Shadowstar. He’s here to kill you, orc.’’

‘‘You? You’re the priest?’’ Billa stared. ‘‘Seriously?’’

‘‘We can’t all have magic swords and armies.’’ Jig glanced around. Three other tunnels led away from the far side of the temple. A pair of goblins lay dead in the rightmost tunnel. They appeared to be two of Golaka’s kitchen workers. They must have been sent to investigate all the shouting and destruction. Each one had been stabbed through the torso, but there was hardly any blood.

Jig crept closer, keeping Billa in his sight as he knelt to study the bodies. Blue ice crusted the wounds on the two goblins. Billa’s blade had frozen their blood. It made for a much cleaner corpse than Jig was used to. Most nights he had to wipe up the blood of the wounded before heading back to the lair. If all goblins would do him the courtesy of getting stabbed with magically cold weapons, he could cut his cleaning time in half.

‘‘Does your god speak to you?’’ Billa asked.

Jig groaned. ‘‘Usually at the worst times.’’

‘‘Isa was so excited when she first realized Autumnstar—I mean, Shadowstar—was still alive.’’ Billa sat down and jabbed her sword at Relka. ‘‘She was as bad as this one. Gave me a headache like you wouldn’t believe. Whenever she’s riled, it’s like my whole skull freezes.’’

Jig nodded in sympathy. ‘‘Shadowstar wears tiny bells all over his clothes. Sometimes it takes days for my ears to stop ringing.’’

Billa chuckled. ‘‘After we first conquered the trolls, the orcs held a feast to celebrate. I overindulged on the wine, and had to retreat into the snow. There I am, in the middle of spewing an entire bottle back to the earth, and Isa pipes up to talk about tactics for the next battle.’’

‘‘Shadowstar once made me heal a hobgoblin’s backside,’’ Jig said, his voice mild.

Billa shuddered. ‘‘You win.’’

‘‘Do the other orcs sing hymns about you?’’ Jig asked, glancing at Relka. He knew he was supposed to be saving Relka, and maybe killing Billa too, but this was the first time he had ever found someone who understood what it was like having a god in your head. There was Braf, of course, but Braf wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

‘‘They used to,’’ said Billa. ‘‘Growing up, I had horribly dry skin, and my nose was always bleeding. That’s where they came up with the name Billa the Bloody.’’ She glanced around, then sang,

 
Billa coughed to clear her throat. She actually appeared to be blushing. ‘‘I cut out the tongue of the first orc to sing that song within earshot. They don’t sing it anymore.’’ She rubbed a finger beneath her nose. ‘‘This cold weather makes it even worse.’’

‘‘My hymns are better,’’ Relka muttered.

Billa straightened. ‘‘So has Tymalous Shadowstar agreed to help us? Imagine their power—
our
power—once they’re free of Noc’s curse. With Shadowstar and Isa working together, we can summon Noc and destroy him.’’ She jabbed her sword into the air, then cocked her head. ‘‘I wonder what god tastes like.’’

‘‘Noc’s a god of death. He’s probably poisonous.’’ Jig stepped away from the bodies. They were beyond his help anyway. ‘‘How will you summon him?’’

‘‘Death,’’ Billa said simply. ‘‘The gods aren’t like us, Jig.’’ Strange to hear Billa the Bloody addressing him as an equal. ‘‘They can’t act against their natures. Isa summons the winds because she must. Just like Noc must attend when the death is widespread enough to warrant his attention.’’

Jig glanced at the entrance. ‘‘I don’t see why you need me or Shadowstar.’’

‘‘Even gods can grow lonely,’’ Billa said. ‘‘I think Isa misses him. And Autumnstar—sorry.
Shadowstar
has the power to calm and comfort. He can lull Noc’s suspicions, dulling his reflexes and giving me the chance to strike. He can do the same with the rest of the gods, easing their wrath. It’s one of his gifts, to calm people’s passions.’’

Or their fear. ‘‘He wants you to free Relka first.’’

Billa turned around. A touch of her blade severed Relka’s bonds.

‘‘Let me have your torch,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Shadowstar’s magic should be able to heal your nose so it doesn’t bleed anymore.’’

The orc’s eyes widened. ‘‘You can do that?’’

‘‘It wouldn’t be the first nose I’ve healed.’’ Jig took the torch and circled Billa, studying her nose and positioning himself closer to Relka. He smelled burning cloth—right, that would be Smudge searing the hood of Jig’s cloak. If Shadowstar hadn’t worked his magic on Jig, he would probably be just as terrified as the spider.