Goblin War (26 page)

An arrow or crossbow bolt arched from the wall, hitting one of the wolves. Wolf and goblin tumbled into the snow, and neither one got up again.

‘‘Everyone back inside,’’ Genevieve shouted. ‘‘Forget the prisoners! Archers, concentrate on those wolves!’’

Jig clenched his jaw. Genevieve had spotted them too soon. They wouldn’t reach her before she got her people back inside the gate. Humans rushed past, their rage turned to panic at the sight of the wolves.

‘‘That goes for you too, Ginny!’’ Darnak’s voice, closer to the gate. ‘‘We can pick them off from atop the walls.’’

So much for Jig and his army. His first attempt at tactics and strategy had fallen apart before his goblins even had the chance to draw their weapons. Genevieve would reach safety, and then they would kill every one of the goblins at their leisure.

Unless someone stopped her.

‘‘I hate this,’’ Jig said as he got up and ran after Genevieve. She moved at a relatively slow pace, all of her attention on the wolves.

Standing at the gate, Darnak was the first to notice Jig. ‘‘Princess, ’ware the goblin!’’

He was too late and too far away. Genevieve started to turn, and then Jig pounced. He landed on Genevieve’s back and clung with one hand. With his other, he pressed his stolen knife to Genevieve’s neck.

‘‘Tell your people to stop fighting, Princess!’’ He had done it! He had captured—

Genevieve grabbed his wrist and twisted the knife away from her neck. Her elbow thudded into Jig’s side. The knife fell. Genevieve’s free hand snaked up to grab Jig’s ear, and then he was flying over her shoulder to slam into the ground.

Genevieve’s own knife appeared in her hand. ‘‘I know you. You’re the runt who helped steal my horse!’’ She knelt and placed the tip of her knife on Jig’s chest. ‘‘Jig, wasn’t it?’’

Oh, dung.

Darnak ran toward them, his heavy boots clomping through the snow. ‘‘Princess, forget the goblin and get inside!’’

Jig held his breath, waiting for Genevieve to kill him.

A snarling wall of fur shot over Jig, and Genevieve disappeared.

‘‘Ginny!’’ Darnak raised his war club overhead and charged.

Ignoring the pounding in his head, Jig rolled onto his side. Genevieve lay pinned beneath Bastard’s front paws, her knife lost. Bastard looked from Darnak to the princess and back, as if he couldn’t decide whether to eat her before he killed Darnak or after.

‘‘Bastard, down!’’ Jig yelled. Bastard turned, his head cocked in confusion.

Jig lay back down, fumbling through his pockets. He had only a single troll toe left. He threw it to the wolf. ‘‘Sit!’’

Bastard obeyed. Genevieve had time for one panicked squeal before disappearing beneath Bastard’s backside. Only her legs still protruded, kicking furiously.

‘‘Let her go, Jig.’’ Darnak stopped between Jig and Bastard. ‘‘I’ve no mind to fight you.’’

Bastard growled again. The other wolf-riders spread around Jig and Darnak, forming a ring of teeth and claws and swords. Darnak didn’t seem to notice.

Jig glanced at the wall. Several humans stood with crossbows ready. They were watching Darnak, waiting for his order.

‘‘I can’t let you kill her,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘Not Ginny.’’

‘‘I don’t want to kill her,’’ said Jig.

‘‘So what is it you’re wanting, then?’’ Darnak lowered his club. ‘‘If you’ve come to free your goblins, so be it. Take them and be gone.’’

Jig waved the other goblins back. They obeyed, though Trok had to tug Smelly’s reins several times to get the wolf to turn away.

He couldn’t tell Darnak the truth. Not here. No matter how softly Jig spoke, goblin ears would hear. ‘‘If she surrenders, we won’t kill anyone else.’’

Darnak turned in a slow circle. Most of the guards had retreated through the gates, following Genevieve’s orders. Darnak was alone, surrounded by goblins. Normally, Jig still would have given Darnak the advantage, but even Darnak couldn’t fight all of those wolves.

‘‘You planned this, did you?’’ Darnak asked.

‘‘Well, this isn’t exactly what I planned.’’

Darnak actually laughed. ‘‘Every field commander knows that feeling.’’

Jig kept his eye on that club. Darnak might not be able to fight everyone, but he could certainly kill Jig before the wolves got him.

‘‘Let Genevieve go.’’ Darnak tossed his war club to the ground in front of Jig. He turned and waved both hands at the men on the wall. ‘‘Lower your weapons, men.’’

Goblins would have shot anyway, out of spite. But the humans obeyed.

‘‘Bastard—’’ Jig hesitated. Was there a command to make a wolf get up off of a human?

Gratz cleared his throat. ‘‘Perhaps a ‘Ready’ command, sir?’’

‘‘Bastard, ready!’’

Bastard stood and bared his fangs, head low. Genevieve coughed and crawled out from beneath him. Her normally bored expression was twisted into one of utter horror. When she spotted Jig, her hands clenched into fists. She spat fur and searched the ground for a weapon.

‘‘Easy, lass,’’ Darnak said.

‘‘That wolf,’’ Genevieve gasped. ‘‘He
sat on me!
’’

Darnak chuckled, then coughed to cover the sound. ‘‘It’s over.’’

If only Darnak were right. Jig looked around, confused. ‘‘What happened to Relka?’’

Trok pointed toward the woods. Jig spotted Relka limping through the snow, her sword dragging from one hand.

‘‘What happened to her?’’

‘‘She insisted on riding Bastard in your place. When Bastard saw you were in trouble, he took off like a tunnel cat with his tail on fire. Relka tumbled right off.’’ Trok gave an innocent shrug. ‘‘Seems like
someone
missed a few ropes when he mended Bastard’s harness.’’

CHAPTER 10

‘‘Have I had enough?’’ Autumnstar repeated, adding the empty mug to the collection in front of him. ‘‘My followers are long gone. My star has disappeared from the night sky. Most of my companions are dead. Any who survive seem determined to kill me. And not one of you remembers my name. Do
you
think I’ve had enough?’’

 
As it turned out, conquering a town was the easy part. Controlling it was another matter altogether. Thirty-five goblins and fourteen wolves couldn’t hope to hold a town of this size for long. Both Genevieve and Jig knew it. Which would explain that small smile on Genevieve’s face as she stared at him.

Or maybe she was simply imagining all of the ways she could kill Jig once she escaped. Even though he had her weapons and she was tied up, Jig still felt as though he were standing before a dragon, waiting to be eaten.

‘‘We need to talk,’’ Jig said.

Genevieve kept on smiling.

‘‘Aye,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘Preferably somewhere other than the middle of the street.’’

Jig agreed completely, but so far, he hadn’t managed to go more than three steps without someone accosting him for orders. Speaking of which. . . .

‘‘The wolves are hungry, sir,’’ Gratz said as he ran up to Jig. A few of the wolf-riders came with him. ‘‘They made short work of that dead elf, but they’re still growling. Are you sure we can’t feed them a prisoner? There are so many humans, they won’t notice just one. I’ll make sure it’s a wounded one, and—’’

‘‘No,’’ said Jig. ‘‘Talk to Braf. The humans must have food stored somewhere. Wait . . . where did you put the wolves, anyway?’’

‘‘That big building down the road. The one with the trees with red leaves.’’

‘‘Blood oaks,’’ said Genevieve. She snickered. ‘‘You put those beasts in the mayor’s house.’’

‘‘It was the sturdiest place I could find,’’ said Gratz. ‘‘Last I saw, the wolves were ripping up the tapestries for bedding.’’

‘‘Poor Detwiler,’’ said Genevieve, a nasty edge to her tone. ‘‘Serves him right for fleeing like a coward when he heard about Billa’s army.’’

‘‘Well, if he comes back, he’ll want to wash out his closet before he uses it again. I’d throw out the bed-covers, too.’’ Gratz glanced at Jig and added, ‘‘Smelly’s been rolling again.’’

Trok and a handful of warriors jogged down the road. ‘‘We’ve finished locking up the soldiers,’’ Trok said, shoving past Gratz. He grinned and added, ‘‘We put them in the stables. The doors are barred, and we’ve got goblins watching the windows.’’

‘‘What about the townspeople?’’ Jig asked.

‘‘So far they’ve kept to themselves. Most of them retreated into that big church and locked the doors.’’ Trok glanced at Gratz. ‘‘They’re afraid we’re going to feed them to the wolves.’’

Good enough. Jig started to turn back to Genevieve and Darnak.

‘‘So when do we burn the stable?’’ Trok asked. ‘‘Relka says if we throw the right kind of wood into the fire, the smoke will flavor the meat, and—’’

Jig groaned. ‘‘Nobody is allowed to kill anyone!’’ he shouted. ‘‘Any goblin who disobeys will be executed.’’

Gratz’s forehead wrinkled. ‘‘Wouldn’t whoever carried out the execution be disobeying your order to not kill anyone, then?’’

‘‘If we let them live, they’re only going to escape,’’ Trok said. ‘‘You know how humans are.’’

‘‘I’ll deal with that later,’’ Jig snapped.

‘‘To think that
he
defeated us,’’ Genevieve whispered.

Darnak chuckled. ‘‘Your mother would say it’s the gods’ way of teaching us humility.’’

‘‘What do we do now, sir?’’ Gratz asked. ‘‘Now that we’ve taken the town, I mean. This should be enough to earn Billa’s forgiveness. Would you like me to send a messenger back—’’

‘‘No!’’ Jig swallowed and tried again. ‘‘No.’’ That was better. He sounded more like a goblin again, and less like a panicked bird. ‘‘First . . . first I have to interrogate the prisoners.’’

‘‘Billa would at least let us eat the dwarf,’’ someone said. Jig searched the crowd, but he couldn’t identify the speaker.

‘‘We don’t have to kill anyone,’’ Trok added. ‘‘We could take an arm here, a leg there. Humans can survive that, can’t they?’’

‘‘We’re not eating the prisoners!’’ Jig said. Not if he wanted to convince Genevieve to listen. He started to say more, then broke off as Relka ran up and whispered in his ear. Jig sighed. ‘‘We’re not eating any
more
prisoners.’’

From the looks on their faces, this was not how a goblin leader kept control of his men. They had fought and won, and now Jig was denying them the chance to celebrate. How long could he keep it up before he went from leader to lunch?

‘‘All of the goblin prisoners are hereby recruited into our army!’’ he announced. That earned even more muttering, which he had expected. None of the former prisoners would know what this meant, and his wolf-riders looked annoyed that these strangers were now a part of their army. But Jig wasn’t finished yet.

‘‘Everyone who rode with me today is hereby promoted to—’’ His mind went blank. What was a good rank? Gratz was a corporal, and he had said Jig was a lieutenant. ‘‘To . . . to captain?’’

That earned cheers and shouts, so Jig assumed it was a good rank. But Gratz was shaking his head. ‘‘You can’t promote everyone. That’s too many captains. You have to work your way up through the ranks, and—’’

‘‘Are you saying you don’t want your promotion, Captain Gratz?’’

Gratz licked his lips. ‘‘Actually, regulations say that a commander away from Billa’s army does have the right to issue field promotions.’’

‘‘Good.’’ Jig grinned. ‘‘Captain Trok, you’re responsible for keeping the new recruits in line. Nobody eats the prisoners.’’

Trok scowled. He knew what Jig had done, but he wasn’t protesting. Good enough.

Jig wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. His head felt like one of Golaka’s stuffed rats. Stupid elves and their flowers and trees. So many roads and buildings and alleyways . . . how did humans find their way around this place? He turned to Genevieve and asked, ‘‘Where can we go to talk? I mean, so I can interrogate you.’’

She pointed to a thick grove of ivy-covered trees to the left of the gate. The dark, knifelike leaves of the vines turned the trees purple. ‘‘How about there? It’s as peaceful a spot as any.’’

Jig hesitated. ‘‘What is it?’’

Genevieve’s face was hard to read. ‘‘A graveyard.’’ She stepped off of the road, into the snow. ‘‘I thought you might like to see where I’ll be leaving you when this is over.’’