Gratz pulled the trigger. The bolt slammed into the side of the nearest goblin. Instead of intimidating the rest of the goblins, the attack only seemed to solidify their rebellion. In part, no doubt, because Gratz didn’t have another crossbow bolt. He tossed the crossbow down and pulled out his sword.
‘‘Wait,’’ Jig said. To his surprise, they obeyed.
‘‘What are you doing?’’ Relka whispered.
‘‘I have no idea.’’ Jig started to speak, then dug his fingers into Bastard’s fur as the wolf stood. Jig had never realized how tall the wolves were. Relka’s head was now level with his waist. He swallowed and said, ‘‘Corporal Gratz, what do regulations say about surrendering to an enemy?’’
Gratz frowned. ‘‘I don’t think that particular situation has ever come up.’’
‘‘Then there’s nothing in the regulations to stop you from surrendering to me before Bastard eats you?’’ Jig asked.
Shaking his head, Gratz said, ‘‘Any soldier who quits fighting is to be executed on the spot by his commanding officer.’’
‘‘You mean that commanding officer?’’ Jig pointed to Silverfang’s body. ‘‘It’s your choice, Gratz. Surrender, or I order Bastard to eat you.’’
Gratz’s lips moved as he turned around. He appeared to be counting the other goblins. ‘‘Right. I hereby surrender command of this squadron to Jig,’’ Gratz said. He lowered his voice. ‘‘According to regulations, this means you receive a field promotion to the rank of lieutenant, with all the inherent responsibilities and—’’
‘‘Fine,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Now put your sword away before Bastard decides you’re a threat.’’
Gratz flung his sword into the snow. His hand barely trembled as he snapped a quick salute. ‘‘Orders, sir?’’
Jig glanced around. Trok was laughing at him. The other goblins appeared skeptical at best. Aside from Relka, naturally. She was beaming and mumbling to herself, no doubt composing another hymn. Jig dreaded to think what she would rhyme with ‘‘lieutenant.’’
Gratz cleared his throat. ‘‘Sir?’’
Jig was tempted to order them all to return to Billa’s army. But with Jig gone, Gratz would probably resume command and come after him again.
Stalling for time, he turned to Relka. ‘‘This is my second-in-command.’’ Since Relka was probably the only one here who wouldn’t happily murder Jig to take his place, she was the safest choice.
Relka grinned. ‘‘So they have to obey me now, right?’’
‘‘That’s right, sir,’’ said Gratz.
Relka’s claw stabbed at Trok like a spear. ‘‘Sing.’’
‘‘What?’’
Relka’s smile was pure evil. ‘‘I like to listen to music. Sing ‘The Song of Jig’ for me, soldier.’’
Trok started to draw his sword.
‘‘Are you disobeying an order, goblin?’’ Gratz shouted. He hopped down from his wolf and grabbed his own weapon. ‘‘Shall I cut out his tongue, sir?’’
Jig shook his head in disbelief. Gratz was serious. Moments before he had been determined to kill Jig himself. Now he was ready to kill anyone who disobeyed him. Or Relka. If Jig had ordered him to eat his own leg, Gratz would even now be marching over to Relka to borrow a fork.
Jig tucked that idea away for later. For now . . . ‘‘Tie up the wolves. Relka, they’ll probably be hungry, so why don’t you feed Silverfang to them? Gratz, help them make a new harness for Bastard.’’
The goblins scurried to obey. Jig rubbed his fang nervously as he watched them work. How long could he keep up this charade? He was no leader. Sooner or later the discipline Billa and Silverfang had pounded into them would wear off, and they would go back to being goblins. He wondered if that would happen before or after Billa sent her orcs to find out what had happened to Silverfang.
Jig’s good ear twitched, following Relka’s footsteps as she approached. He had done the same thing a year ago, back in the lair. He remembered the sound of her footsteps, the cold of his own sweat dripping down his sides as he waited for Relka to try to kill him.
If Jig had known where he would end up, he probably would have let Relka go ahead and stab him in the back.
‘‘The wolves are fed,’’ Relka said. She sounded almost perky. Jig wanted to punch her. ‘‘We had leftover Silverfang, but I wasn’t sure whether you’d want to take the time to prepare the meat properly.’’
Jig shook his head. Back home, the tunnels and caves restricted the flow of smoke. Out here in the open, it would be a clear signal to anyone searching for him. And since pretty much everyone wanted him dead, a fire was a very bad idea. So was eating Silverfang raw, of course, but Jig would rather risk knotted bowels than whatever death Billa had planned for him.
‘‘Billa was supposed to drive the surface dwellers away forever.’’ Jig’s throat tightened. No more adventurers slaughtering their way through the lair. No more princes and princesses dragging goblins away to build their stupid walls. No more quests and fighting and fleeing for his life.
Instead, Billa was just using them. At least when Princess Genevieve used the goblins, she was honest about it. She didn’t pretend she was trying to help anyone. She simply tied them up and dragged them to Avery. Nor did she pretend she wouldn’t kill every last goblin if they gave her a reason.
‘‘I believed in her.’’ He stared at Relka’s pendant. Jig had been every bit as much of an idiot as Relka. ‘‘Shadowstar is afraid of Isa,’’ he said. He wasn’t sure why he had blurted it out.
Relka stiffened. ‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘He could have manifested in his temple to protect you, but he knows Billa could kill him. So he sent me instead. He’d rather let me die than risk himself. He used me. Just like everyone else.’’ Jig waited, watching to see how she would react.
Suddenly Relka’s face broke into a smile. ‘‘This is a test, isn’t it? You want to know how strong my faith is, so you know whether or not you can rely on me for the trials ahead.’’
Jig wondered if Shadowstar’s magic could heal whatever was wrong with Relka’s brain. ‘‘Trials? Shadowstar wants me to go to Avery and stop Billa the Bloody!’’
‘‘The life of a champion is not an easy one,’’ Relka said.
‘‘Not easy? I just shoved a torch into Billa’s face. She’s going to send her entire army after me, and when they catch me, they’re going to—’’
‘‘You’ve got an army too,’’ Relka said, pointing back at the wolf-riders.
Jig’s mouth stayed open, but he had run out of words. Nothing he could say would shake Relka’s faith. She fully expected him to save Avery, defeat Billa and her goddess, and save all goblinkind.
Jig stood and brushed snow from his legs and backside.
Why couldn’t you have chosen Relka? She would love to be a priest of Shadowstar, running around fighting pixies and orcs and doing all of your dirty work.
If I remember correctly, you sought me out,
said Shadowstar.
Jig didn’t have an answer to that, either.
If it’s what you truly want, I’ll leave you alone, Jig. Do this thing for me, and I’ll never disturb you again.
Wait,
Jig said quickly. Lose the ability to heal himself and the other goblins? Jig shuddered, remembering the long list of war scars he had displayed for Silverfang. Without Shadowstar, most of those injuries would have killed him.
That’s not what I meant.
Of course.
Shadowstar sounded amused.
Right. Billa was probably starting to wonder about her wolf-riders. Soon she would send more troops out to find them. Jig turned around . . . which way was Avery, from here?
Follow the road to the east.
To Avery, then.
‘‘We need to warn Princess Genevieve what she’s facing,’’ Jig said. ‘‘The humans think they’re fighting a regular army of monsters, an army that wants to win. Billa doesn’t care about beating humans. She wants her army to die, and she wants to take as many humans with them as they can.’’
‘‘I’ll tell the others to get the wolves ready.’’ With that, Relka turned to go.
‘‘Thanks,’’ said Jig.
Relka hesitated. ‘‘Do you think the humans will listen to you?’’
The king had ordered all goblins killed on sight. Jig’s last encounter with Genevieve wouldn’t have encouraged her to change that order. ‘‘Not really, no.’’
CHAPTER 9
Tymalous Autumstar squirmed to break free as the black-shelled arm dragged him deeper into the water. He twisted his long neck about until he saw his attacker.
‘‘Ipsep? Is that you?’’
The former sea god looked awful. Pale cracks lined his shell, most of which was covered in algae and mussels. His thick green hair had fallen out or wilted; what remained was little more than brown tufts of seaweed stuck to his scalp.
‘‘You betrayed us, Autumnstar,’’ said Ipsep. ‘‘You abandoned us.’’
‘‘
Noc
betrayed us.’’ He bit down on Ipsep’s finger. Autumnstar’s teeth were useless against the armor of Ipsep’s shell. All he got for his trouble was a mouthful of seaweed and one angry snail.
‘‘You were the first to give up when Noc turned against us. You’re a coward.’’ Ipsep tightened both hands around Autumnstar’s neck and shoved him deeper into the water. ‘‘You left us to be killed, or worse, to be forgotten.’’
Autumnstar didn’t argue. Even if he hadn’t been drowning, there was nothing he could say. Ipsep was right. He had turned his back on the war.
Ipsep stumbled, and his grip loosened. Instantly, Autumnstar twisted free. His wings thrust him to the surface, where he gasped for breath.
The old man Autumnstar had comforted stood knee-deep in the pond. As Autumnstar watched, he threw another stone at Ipsep.
The first attack had startled the god. This time Ipsep hardly appeared to notice as the rock bounced off his shell.
Autumnstar threw himself on Ipsep’s back, digging his claws into the cracks of his shell, but it wasn’t enough. Ipsep’s fingers clacked together. The old man shouted in fear as he was drawn deeper into the pond.
Ipsep turned his attention back to Autumnstar. Clawed fingers reached around to sever the tip of Autumnstar’s tail. Ipsep’s other hand caught him by the wing. Autumnstar’s claws broke as he was pulled away from Ipsep’s back.
Autumnstar stopped fighting. He had never been much of a warrior anyway. Even during the war, in the midst of battle, he had barely been able to stop himself from throwing down his weapons and comforting the wounded and the dying.
Ipsep was both, and he didn’t even know it. Only rage kept his despair at bay, and even in a god, rage couldn’t last forever. Especially once Tymalous Autumnstar began to soothe that rage.
‘‘They’ve forgotten us, Autumnstar,’’ said Ipsep. Already his voice was softer. ‘‘The mortals don’t even remember our names.’’
‘‘Rest, old friend,’’ Autumnstar whispered. ‘‘Be at peace.’’
‘‘Peace.’’ Ipsep waded deeper into the water, pulling Autumnstar with him. ‘‘An eternity of cowering in the shadows, waiting for them to find us. What kind of peace is that?’’
Autumnstar clung tighter, pouring what little power he had into the other god. Most gods would barely have noticed his feeble efforts, but Ipsep was as weak as Autumnstar.
Soon Ipsep sank beneath the surface and disappeared. Slumbering or dead, Autumnstar couldn’t say.
He struggled to swim to his would-be rescuer. How long had the old man been submerged? Autumnstar’s left wing was crushed and useless. His blood flowed into the pond with every desperate stroke.
By the time he touched the body, he knew it was too late. Autumnstar had spent most of his hoarded power in his fight with Ipsep. Even had he been strong enough to heal the body, the soul had already fled.
‘‘Thank you,’’ he whispered.
Moments later, Tymalous Autumnstar climbed out of the pond, took a single step, and fell flat on his face. He rolled over, examining his new body and wondering how long it would take to get used to having only two legs again.
Jig should have known better. Gratz was a goblin, and goblins didn’t take kindly to losing their commands. Especially not to an upstart runt like Jig. But Jig had been so busy being afraid of humans and gods and everything else that he had forgotten to be afraid of his fellow goblins.
The knife in Gratz’s hand was short and straight. Barely long enough to pierce Jig’s heart, though if Gratz was smart, he’d go for the throat instead.
Gratz had intercepted him after Relka went back to ready the wolves. The other goblins were too far away to help. Nor would Jig have expected them to. This was his own fault. He should have killed Gratz. Failing that, he should have made sure Gratz was disarmed and bound. Gratz had snuck up on him as though he were a deaf human.
Jig backed away, one hand reaching for his sword. Could he draw it before Gratz pounced? Probably not. ‘‘Don’t regulations say anything about drawing a knife on a superior officer?’’
Gratz blinked. ‘‘What, this? Oh, no, sir. I was only going to offer to cut your officer’s scar.’’
‘‘Officer’s scar?’’ Jig stared, trying to understand.
‘‘Now that you’re a lieutenant and all that, you’ll be wanting the scar of rank to show everyone. Six cuts to the right forearm.’’ He frowned as he studied Jig more closely. ‘‘You’re skinny, so I’ll have to cut small....’’
‘‘No.’’
‘‘But you’re an officer now.’’ Gratz smiled wistfully as he looked at the knife. ‘‘I remember the day old Silverfang gave me my first scar of rank. Couldn’t use that arm for a month.’’
‘‘No!’’
Gratz looked hurt. ‘‘It’s not that bad, sir. The actual designs are sort of pretty.’’ He yanked down part of his shirt to reveal a patch of dark blue scars below the shoulder. A single zigzag, with two diagonal lines cut through the center. Tiny angular cuts dotted the right side of the mark. ‘‘General’s scars are even better. There’s a double circle around the whole thing.’’