Goblin War (24 page)

Jig!
Shadowstar sounded shaken.
You can’t let him carve that mark on you.

You don’t understand,
said Shadowstar.
Those scars are how Billa plans to kill everyone.

 
Jig waited a long time before following Gratz back to the group. He sat for so long that Smudge crawled out and nipped him on the ear, just to make sure he was still alive. Jig winced and tugged the fire-spider from his ear.

‘‘They’re spells,’’ Jig whispered to Smudge. Every officer in Billa’s army carried a spell upon his or her shoulder. Shadowstar wasn’t sure exactly what the spell would do, but he thought it powerful enough to kill everyone within ten paces. If Billa waited until her army was locked in battle with the humans and elves, she could destroy them all with a single command.

You have to go back,
Shadowstar said.

With a numbness only partly due to the cold, Jig pushed himself up and trudged toward the rest of his ‘‘army.’’ As he returned to the group, they stared at him with the same expression the wolves wore when they saw fresh meat. They all had to know it was only a matter of time before Billa caught up with him. Jig was a walking corpse.

What they didn’t realize was that the same was true for them all. And if Jig told them what Billa truly planned, one of two things would happen. Either they wouldn’t believe him, and Gratz would quote some regulation against letting madmen command the troops.

Or else they would believe him. Jig suspected that would be even worse. Whatever self-control and discipline Billa had trained into them would shatter, turning them back into an unruly mob. A very angry mob.

Jig had never done well with mobs.

‘‘We have a choice to make,’’ Jig said. His voice cracked, and several goblins smirked. He cleared his throat. ‘‘We can return to Billa’s army and rejoin the others. Go back to being soldiers in Billa’s war.’’ He began to pace, more to keep his feet warm than for dramatic effect. ‘‘
Billa’s
army.
Billa’s
war. Do you think anyone will remember the goblins, once this war is over?’’

The smirks faded slightly.

‘‘Billa sent you to capture me,’’ Jig said. ‘‘But where’s the glory in dragging a half-blind goblin runt back to be killed? You think anyone will sing songs about that? How fourteen wolf-riders triumphed over a pair of runaways?’’

He saw Trok nodding. Hopefully the other goblins were of similar minds.

‘‘You know what’s going to happen to me,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Billa wants me dead, right?’’

The goblins shifted uncomfortably. Honesty was an unfamiliar tactic to most of them.

‘‘Well, that’s fine,’’ Jig said, raising his voice. ‘‘But first I say we show her what goblins can do. We’ll show Billa and her orcs. We’ll show the humans. We’ll show them all—’’

The goblins cheered. What was the matter with them? Jig hadn’t finished yet. Were they so eager to prove themselves? They didn’t even know what they were cheering for!

He pointed down toward the road. ‘‘There’s a human town up that road. They’ve taken—’’

A whisper from Shadowstar broke his rhythm. He sighed and pointed in the other direction. ‘‘They’ve taken the warriors from our lair. I say we free them all and capture another town for Billa the Bloody! By the time we’re through, everyone will be singing about our triumph at the Battle of Avery!’’

More cheers. Were all goblins mad?

From what I’ve seen—
Shadowstar began.

Gratz stepped forward. It was all Jig could do to stop himself from flinching away. If Billa suspected Jig was here, all she had to do was trigger that spell on Gratz’s arm.

‘‘Begging your pardon, sir,’’ said Gratz. ‘‘But it’s against regulations for us to engage an enemy force without orders, unless that force attacks first or—’’

‘‘Trok,’’ Jig yelled. ‘‘The next time Gratz contradicts my orders, you have permission to feed him to the wolves.’’

Trok grinned. ‘‘Yes, sir!’’

Jig pointed to a few random goblins. ‘‘Clean up this mess. The rest of you, finish getting the wolves ready.’’

He watched in amazement as they obeyed. Couldn’t they see how desperate Jig was? That he was making this up as he went, and that every last one of them would likely die if they actually attacked Avery?

They’re goblins,
said Shadowstar.
I’ve grown rather fond of you as a race, but you’re not so good at thinking things through.

You’re right,
said Jig.
Otherwise I would have known better than to get involved with gods.

‘‘I’ve changed my mind,’’ Jig said, staring at Bastard. They had rigged a new harness, mostly by tying extra knots in the old one. ‘‘The rest of you go ahead and capture Avery. I’ll catch up.’’

‘‘Don’t be afraid.’’ Trok yanked Smelly’s ropes, and the wolf padded over to stand beside Jig and Bastard. ‘‘These beasts are magnificent!’’

Bastard lowered his head and butted Jig onto the ground.

‘‘See?’’ Trok said. ‘‘He likes you.’’

‘‘He still has a bit of Silverfang stuck in his teeth,’’ Jig mumbled. Bad enough the wolf could snap him in half with one chomp, but now every time he looked at Bastard, he saw Silverfang. A single stumble, and Jig would end up the same way. Silverfang’s remains hadn’t been pretty. ‘‘Well tenderized’’ was the phrase Relka had used.

Whose stupid idea had it been to put goblins on wolfback, anyway? The hobgoblins trained their tunnel cats, but no hobgoblin was mad enough to try to ride one.

‘‘He’s definitely fixated on you,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘You’d best mount him soon, to show him who’s boss. Otherwise, you’re small enough he might decide to carry you like a pup instead.’’

‘‘What does that mean?’’ Jig asked.

‘‘Whenever the pups wander too far away, the adult goes and picks them up by the scruff of the neck.’’ Gratz grabbed his own neck to demonstrate. ‘‘The pups have loose, thick skin at the neck to protect them. You and me, well. . . .’’

Jig reached out to touch the leather-and-rope harness circling Bastard’s chest and neck. Holding the harness with both hands, he slipped one foot into the small noose on the side.

‘‘Not that way,’’ Trok said. ‘‘Not unless you want to ride to Avery with your face in Bastard’s—’’

‘‘Thanks.’’ Jig switched feet. The wolf was so tall that simply sliding his foot into the rope stretched Jig’s thighs uncomfortably far. He bounced on his toes, trying to get enough of a jump to throw his other leg over the wolf’s back. Finally he managed to haul himself up.

‘‘Well, I guess you’ll learn,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Right. Your turn.’’ He gestured to Relka.

‘‘What?’’ Jig asked.

‘‘The commander’s mate rides with him.’’

‘‘The commander’s what?’’ Jig yelled.

Trok was laughing so hard he sprayed spit over Smelly’s back.

Gratz’s face, by contrast, was expressionless. ‘‘I thought, with the way she looks up to you and talks about you. . . .’’

Jig started to argue, but it wasn’t like he had much choice. Relka had to ride with someone, and Bastard was the biggest wolf.

Jig clenched his jaw and waited as Relka scrambled up behind him. Gratz tied extra ropes around her legs and waist, cinching her tight against Jig’s back.

Smudge scrambled out of Jig’s hood barely in time to avoid being squished. He settled down in Bastard’s neck fur.

Relka’s arms tightened around Jig’s chest. ‘‘I’m ready.’’

Jig glared at Gratz. If the other goblin so much as smirked, Jig was going to order Bastard to eat him. But Gratz only grunted and returned to his own wolf. He climbed up, tightened his harness, and waited.

Oh, right. They were waiting for Jig. Bastard was the pack leader, and Jig was in command. Jig leaned down. ‘‘Come on, Bastard.’’

Trok chuckled again.

‘‘Kick him in the sides to start him moving,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Tug the ropes to one side or the other and squeeze with your knees to turn. Pull back to slow him down or stop. If you want him angry, you can reach out and pluck his whiskers. Riles him into a frenzy.’’

‘‘Kick him,’’ Jig repeated. Gratz was crazy. Jig had survived this long precisely because he
didn’t
run around kicking huge wolves that could eat his head in one bite.

Trok kicked Smelly, then tugged his ropes to guide the wolf in a tight circle. ‘‘Nothing to it.’’

Jig grabbed the ropes with both hands and gave them a light pull. Bastard pulled back, ripping the ropes from his fingers. Jig tried again, his face hot.

‘‘Don’t forget to kick,’’ Relka said. Before Jig could answer, she slammed her heels into Bastard’s ribs.

Bastard went from a standstill to a sprint so fast Jig’s head snapped backward into Relka’s jaw. The other wolves raced after them. Jig glanced back to see Trok waving one hand in the air and laughing like an idiot. Trok’s hand hit a low branch, dropping snow onto the next wolf-rider.

‘‘To Avery!’’ Relka shouted.

To Avery. Now all Jig had to do was figure out what to do once they arrived . . .

 
By the time Jig spotted the outlying farms of Avery, he was starting to wish he had let Billa kill him.

The insides of his legs were damp with sweat. Bastard’s sweat or his own, he wasn’t sure. But sweaty trousers were the least of his problems. These oversize wolves also had oversize backbones, and their gait was more than a little bumpy. He wouldn’t be able to sit down again for days.

His back, and presumably Relka’s front, were also soaked with sweat. Her necklace jabbed him between the shoulder blades, and she kept trying to rest her chin on his shoulder, which meant her hair tickled his ear.

The only one who seemed to be enjoying the ride was Smudge. He had climbed up onto Bastard’s head, where he stood as tall as he could, the wind brushing his bristly fur.

‘‘We’re almost there,’’ Relka said.

‘‘I know.’’ Jig tugged the ropes and tried to squeeze with his legs. Bastard turned. ‘‘Wrong knee,’’ Jig muttered, pressing hard with the other leg. Slowly he steered Bastard toward the trees and tried to remember how to stop. He glanced at Trok, who was tugging Smelly’s reins. That’s right. Jig pulled hard, and Bastard came to a grudging halt.

Falling snow had streaked Jig’s spectacles, but when he looked through the trees, he could still make out the wall surrounding Avery.

Jig fumbled with the harness, trying to escape. Relka freed herself first, sliding easily over Bastard’s rump. Jig stared at the mess of ropes and knots. Which ones held him in place, and which were part of the hasty repairs to the harness?

Eventually Jig gave up and drew his knife. He freed himself in short order, though he ended up with a loop of rope still tied around one leg. Ignoring it for now, he turned to study his . . . his troops.

The wolves weren’t even breathing very hard. For the most part, the goblins appeared eager to charge the town. Their weapons were ready, and they were joking and bantering the way goblins always did before they ran into battle and got killed.

Gratz was the exception. He had already dismounted and now sat on the ground, tugging off his boots.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ Jig asked, his other problems momentarily forgotten.

‘‘Reg . . . regulations, sir.’’ Gratz shivered hard as the first boot slid free. ‘‘After any sustained ride, soldiers are advised to dry off. Prevents fungus and other . . . nasty things.’’

To Jig’s horror, once Gratz was barefoot, he then began to unbuckle his belt.

‘‘No time,’’ Jig said quickly. ‘‘We’ll dry ourselves in Avery, in front of a warm fire.’’

That earned a few quiet cheers. Jig turned back to the town. The gate was closed. The elf atop the wall would pick off half his goblins before they even reached the gate. ‘‘What do regulations say about attacking a town like this?’’

‘‘With a large force, you can cut them off from supplies and reinforcements and wait for them to surrender,’’ Gratz said.

Jig glanced at his goblins. ‘‘What about smaller forces?’’

‘‘Try to gain the walls, or break down the gate,’’ Gratz said as he rubbed his toes. ‘‘Either way, for an attack against a walled town, you’re looking at about a ten-to-one casualty ratio. That means for every one of them we kill, they’ll probably kill ten of us.’’

‘‘Wait, what was that?’’ Jig turned back to Gratz. ‘‘We have fifteen goblins. You’re saying we’d kill one or two humans before they wipe us all out?’’

Gratz beamed. ‘‘You catch on quick! Of course that elf on the wall bumps the numbers closer to fifteen-to-one.’’

The other goblins had grown quiet.

‘‘And our attacking force is made up of goblins,’’ Gratz added. ‘‘That makes it more like twenty-to-one.’’

‘‘But we have Jig Dragonslayer,’’ Relka said. ‘‘Champion of Tymalous Shadowstar. Slayer of Straum the dragon and the Necromancer. Vanquisher of the pixie queen. Rider of Bastard. Companion of Smudge. Your regulations know nothing of Jig.’’

‘‘Unless he’s also the Deflector of Arrows and the Breaker of Gates, we’re still going to die before we kill a single human,’’ Trok said.

‘‘No back talk,’’ snapped Gratz. ‘‘I’m sure our commander has a plan.’’

Trok smirked as he turned to Jig. ‘‘Well, sir? What’s your plan?’’

Right. A plan. Jig covered his eyes against the sun, studying the goblins working near the gate. They had cleared the flowers from the lower section of the wall, and now they worked on ladders to reach the higher flowers. A single elf watched from above, bow in one hand. It looked like the same elf who had shot at them before. A few armed humans stood by the gate. They mostly appeared to be watching the goblins.

‘‘Princess Genevieve is the key to taking Avery,’’ Jig said. ‘‘We need to capture her alive.’’ If she was anything like the rest of her family, she would die before she surrendered to goblins, but they didn’t know that. Jig only needed a few minutes to talk to her, to force her to listen.