Goblin War (25 page)

Though if she was anything like the rest of her family, she probably wasn’t very big on listening, either.

‘‘We need more troops,’’ Jig decided. ‘‘Genevieve dragged at least forty goblin warriors away to Avery. It looks like at least twenty of them are still alive.’’

‘‘How do we free them without getting killed?’’ another goblin asked.

Jig closed his eyes.
Tell Braf we’re here.

He waited while Shadowstar relayed the message. Moments later, one of the goblins on the ladders turned around and cupped his hands over his eyes. Jig squinted through his spectacles, trying to be certain that was Braf. Then the goblin waved and nearly fell off his ladder.

‘‘How did you do that?’’ whispered Gratz.

Jig sighed.
Shadowstar, would you please smite Braf before he alerts the elf and everyone else that we’re here?

Braf jumped like he had been stabbed, then quickly turned back to the wall.

Thank you.
Jig stepped closer to the edge of the woods.
Braf, we need to capture Princess Genevieve. We need her help to stop Billa the Bloody.

Why do we want to stop Billa?
Shadowstar did a decent job of conveying the slow, deceptively stupid tone of Braf’s voice. Jig wondered what Braf heard. Was Shadowstar mimicking Jig’s voice as well?

Because she plans to kill everyone,
said Jig.
Goblins, humans, it doesn’t matter. She wants us all dead. Also because Shadowstar said so.
Jig studied the goblin prisoners. They would still be tied together, which limited what they could do. They had their knives, but the human weapons were far better. Not to mention that elf on the wall.
How often does Genevieve leave the city?

A few times each day,
Braf said.
She’s always there when they drag us in and out of town. Mornings are the worst. It’s still dark and cold, and nobody wants to come out and work. Nights are bad too. Also midmorning, when you’ve been working a while and have to use the privy, but you know it’s a long time until lunch. Afternoons are pretty lousy. There aren’t any good times, really.

Genevieve?
Jig prodded.

‘‘You’re planning to use bound prisoners to help us fight?’’ Trok asked.

As if the unbound goblins Jig had brought were much of a threat. ‘‘They’re going to be our distraction.’’ He raised his voice. ‘‘We wait until evening. Genevieve will be outside the walls. The prisoners will draw the attention of the guards. When that happens, we attack. No matter what else happens, we have to capture Genevieve.’’

‘‘Brilliant,’’ said Relka.

No, brilliant would have been running deeper into the tunnels when Genevieve first attacked their lair, and staying there until this whole thing was over. Or minding his own business when Billa dragged Relka into the temple. Really, could anyone but a goblin have managed to pick a fight with
both sides
in a war?

What is it?
Jig couldn’t quite tell whether it was Braf or Shadowstar talking.

Braf, then. Jig peered out of the woods, trying to pick Braf out of the group. There he was, clawing at his left ear. How had he managed to . . . on second thought, Jig didn’t want to know.

I’m sure it would.
Jig stared at the walls.
It would also be easier if Genevieve ordered her warriors to
cook themselves for dinner. But I don’t know how to make that happen, do you?

Well, we’re about ready to haul another load of flowers out to the farms,
Braf said.
The guards are watching for goblins who try to escape. But they probably wouldn’t notice someone who joined us. Then you could use Smudge to burn through some of our ropes while we worked.

Jig forgot sometimes that Braf only pretended to be stupid. Probably because he did such an amazing job of pretending.

Slowly Jig started to smile. The best part of Braf’s plan was that it would save him from having to ride Bastard again. He turned to the other goblins. ‘‘Relka, I’m leaving you in charge. You’ll know when to attack. Try to be as quiet as you can. The closer you can get before they notice you, the less time they’ll have to react. Remember, we have to capture Genevieve alive.’’

‘‘I won’t fail you.’’ Relka saluted with every bit as much sincerity and stiffness as Gratz.

Jig tried not to laugh. She was worried about failing him? He was the one sending goblins into battle against humans.

The loop of rope from Bastard’s harness finally slipped down from Jig’s ankle. He kicked it to Trok. ‘‘Someone needs to fix Bastard’s harness again,’’ he said.

‘‘What will you be doing?’’ Trok asked, his voice gruff with suspicion.

Jig stared at the mounds of flowers. ‘‘Trying not to sneeze.’’

 
Brown stalks tickled Jig’s face as he crept through the field. He squinted, wiping his face as he watched the goblins climbing down from their ladders. Behind him, sunlight turned the snow-covered hills and mountains a fiery orange. He saw no sign of his wolf-riders, which was good. Hopefully, the elf couldn’t see them either.

He jogged the rest of the way to the edge of the field, then stopped. Not only could he see the flower petals piled up beside the farmhouse, he could smell them. His vision blurred, and his nose began to drip. He covered the lower part of his face with his cloak. Smudge crept around Jig’s neck and perched on his shoulder.

Holding his breath, Jig ran to the pile and lay down behind it, out of sight of the wall. If anyone had seen him, he was dead. Though at least then he wouldn’t have to keep inhaling flower perfume. He pulled his hood over his head and tried to breathe as little as possible.

A tiny spider crept out from beneath the flowers, drawn by the warmth of Jig’s body.

Smudge pounced. A quick burst of heat cooked the tiny spider, and then Smudge was retreating back to the warmth of Jig’s hood, carrying his meal in his forelegs. Jig felt strangely sympathetic for the smaller spider.

His ear twitched as the goblins left the wall, trudging toward the farmhouse. Jig rubbed his eyes and peered around the side of the pile. That elf was watching the goblins closely now. This was the best opportunity for them to run off, so he would have an arrow ready to discourage them. After Jig’s escape, he doubted the elf’s pride would allow anyone else to take a single suspicious step.

As if the goblins would have cooperated long enough to escape. They had no way to cut the rope around their necks, which meant they would have to run together. Goblins rarely did anything together.

No, that wasn’t true.
Billa’s
goblins worked together. They marched as one, fought as one, and if Billa and Isa had their way, they would die as one.

The scritch of rakes signaled the arrival of the prisoners. Jig waited until they had all reached the pile, then darted into line behind Braf.

‘‘Jig!’’ Braf grinned. So did the other goblins, to Jig’s surprise.

‘‘Braf told us he was talking to you,’’ said one. He shrugged. ‘‘I figured all that human food had rotted his brain.’’

‘‘So, how are you going to get us out of here?’’ asked another.

‘‘Wait, before you free us, can you do something about these blisters on my hands?’’

‘‘And my feet are killing me!’’

‘‘Quiet,’’ Jig snapped. He glanced at the wall. The elf was still watching them. Had he noticed anything? Probably not, since Jig was still arrow-free. He concentrated on looking like another miserable prisoner. Keeping his voice low, he said, ‘‘Once I cut everyone free, you’re going to distract the guards.’’

‘‘Us?’’ The goblins’ grins began to fade. ‘‘We’re supposed to fight armed humans?’’

‘‘And an elf,’’ Braf said, ever helpful.

‘‘Only until my . . . my army attacks.’’ Jig braced himself, but the other goblins didn’t even smirk. To his shock, they actually sounded reassured.

Jig sniffled and sneezed and did his best to help with the flowers. By the time they started back, he was about ready to cut off his own nose to stop it from dripping.

Jig bit the rope as they walked, clutching it in his fangs so that, from a distance, he might appear to be tied up with the rest. When they reached the wall, he climbed up the ladder after Braf. The goblin tied behind him crowded uncomfortably close, but hopefully he wouldn’t have to stay here for long.

The goblin below climbed up another rung. His breath heated Jig’s neck. Jig tried not to think about the fact that every one of these goblins carried a knife.

They wouldn’t stab him in the back now. Not while they still needed him to cut them free.

After that, well, anyone who turned his back on another goblin deserved what he got.

Jig set Smudge on the rope. This time, unaffected by elf beer, Smudge clung easily to the thin rope. He turned around and stared up at Jig.

‘‘Go on,’’ Jig said. He poked a finger at Smudge’s face, driving him back a few steps.

‘‘What’s wrong?’’ asked Braf.

‘‘He’s not scared enough.’’

Jig cringed as soon as the words escaped his mouth. But before he could take them back, Braf shrugged and tried to stab Smudge with his knife.

He missed, but the knife jabbed Jig’s cloak in passing. Smudge scurried back toward Jig, the rope smoldering where he walked. But then he jumped onto Jig’s throat.

‘‘Well, he’s hot enough to burn,’’ Jig said through gritted teeth. He tried to catch Smudge, but the fire-spider had already darted toward one of his pockets.

Holding the ladder with one hand, he reached into his cloak, trying to figure out which pocket—‘‘Oh, no.’’

‘‘What’s wrong?’’ asked the goblin below him.

Jig tried to stop the explosive sneeze building in his skull. He failed. The sneeze shook the ladder. He gasped for breath, which only earned him another mouthful of flower smell. He sneezed again, and his hand slipped from the rung.

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, sandwiched between Braf and the other goblins. From the pained shouts, a few of those goblins had fallen on their knives.

‘‘Hey, what’s going on down there?’’ Atop the wall, the elf gestured with his longbow.

Jig tried to burrow deeper into the pile of goblins, but they were already sorting themselves out.

Where was the rope? He had lost it when he fell. One of his fangs was loose. No doubt the rope had tugged it before snapping out of his mouth. Could the elf see that he wasn’t tied up?

‘‘You in the lavender cloak. What are you doing?’’

‘‘Purple, not lavender,’’ Jig muttered. One of the humans near the gate was hurrying away, presumably to fetch more guards.

Jig didn’t move. He didn’t have to. The other goblins had already backed as far from Jig as their ropes would allow.

‘‘Where did you come from?’’ the elf asked. ‘‘How did—’’

A rock hit the elf in the middle of the forehead. He grunted, staggered forward, then slowly toppled over the edge of the wall. Apparently Prince Theodore hadn’t remembered to strengthen this elf before he and the others left.

Jig turned around. ‘‘Thanks, Braf.’’

Braf picked up another rock. ‘‘I’ve wanted to do that for days!’’ His vicious grin was a reminder that Braf had been a warrior long before he was a priest.

Jig ran toward the elf. He kicked the bow as far away as he could. The elf wasn’t moving, but Jig didn’t mean to take any chances. He knelt and grabbed the knife from the elf’s belt.

Forged from a single curved piece of gray metal, the knife was light as air. The unstained wooden handle was warm to the touch. He tested the edge on the elf, then grinned. ‘‘Braf, come here!’’

Braf hurried toward Jig, dragging goblins behind him. A single swipe with the elf’s knife cut Braf free.

Jig managed to free four more goblins before the first of the guards arrived.

‘‘Use your rakes,’’ Jig shouted. ‘‘Knives are no good against swords and spears.’’

A crossbow bolt buried itself in the ground beside Jig. Atop the wall, several more humans leaned over the edge, searching for targets.

Jig started to flee, then changed his mind and ran to the base of the wall. He couldn’t get too close without impaling himself on the spikes growing from the trees, but the humans would have to lean out awfully far to shoot him. They were shouting for reinforcement, and he could hear horses thundering out through the gate. ‘‘Stay close to the wall,’’ he yelled. ‘‘Make them chase us!’’

The farther the goblins fled, the longer the gates would stay open. If the wolf-riders were fast enough, they might still manage to get into the city and capture Genevieve.

Jig tried to follow the other goblins, but tripped over the elf. The goblins, being goblins, kept right on going, leaving him to be killed. He started to rise, but there was no way he could catch up with the others.

Jig snagged a broken crossbow bolt from the ground and clenched it in his armpit. Hopefully, anyone who passed would assume he was dead. If they didn’t, he would be soon enough.

He turned his head slightly as movement from the woods caught his eye. He had never realized how quickly those wolves could move. Already the lead goblins were halfway to Avery. As far as he could tell, the humans hadn’t yet noticed.

Several horses pounded past, the thudding of their hooves a startling contrast to the silence of the wolves. Jig held his breath, but nobody paid him any attention. Humans on foot followed. Some appeared to be guards, while others were ordinary men with axes and spears. No doubt everyone who had resented the intrusion of goblins into their town was taking this opportunity to express their unhappiness.

‘‘It’s an ambush!’’ The voice was familiar, and far closer than Jig preferred. Genevieve stood with her sword drawn, pointing toward the wolves. Jig held his breath and hoped she wouldn’t notice him.