‘‘Send word to your father,’’ Jig said. ‘‘You don’t have to tell him the idea came from a goblin. Isn’t saving everyone’s lives more important than your father’s pride?’’ He bit his lip. King Wendel was the father of Barius and Ryslind, which made that a very stupid question.
Genevieve didn’t answer. The shouts outside were drawing closer.
Braf glanced around. ‘‘Should we do something?’’
‘‘Probably.’’ Jig leaned against a tree, still holding Smudge. He stiffened and moved away an instant later, remembering what those trees were.
‘‘Darnak said you were their guide,’’ Genevieve said, her voice oddly soft. She looked at Jig in a way that made him want to squirm into the dirt and hide. ‘‘You escaped. Just like you escaped from me before. Tell me, did you humiliate my brothers the way you’ve humiliated me?’’
Jig dug his claws into his palms to keep himself from shouting. ‘‘I’m trying to save you! And us. Mostly us, really.’’
‘‘Take it easy, lass,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘This is hardly the time for—’’
‘‘My father gave Avery to me because it was worthless,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘Too close to the elves. Poor strategic location. An incompetent coward of a mayor. Now, thanks to this goblin, he’ll take it away and give it to my equally incompetent brother.’’
‘‘Theodore and his elves are nothing to laugh at,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘I’ve never understood his fixation with the tree-lovers, but they’ve turned him into quite the warrior.’’
‘‘Barius was a warrior,’’ Genevieve said. ‘‘As was Ryslind, in his way. Yet they fell to the goblins, just as I did. And both times, this goblin was there.’’ She stared up at the trees. ‘‘Tell me, Jig. Did you lead that ambush as well, or did you simply lure my brothers into the trap?’’
Distracted by shouting from the streets, Jig didn’t realize what she was saying until it was too late. He was too far away to stop Braf from blurting out—
‘‘What trap?’’ asked Braf, turning to Jig. ‘‘I thought you killed them with the rod.’’
Darnak closed his eyes. Relka walked over and punched Braf in the gut.
‘‘Thanks, Relka,’’ Jig whispered.
‘‘You did, didn’t you?’’ Genevieve shook her head. ‘‘I didn’t really believe it. How did those idiots let you get your hands on the rod?’’
Jig’s fingers crept to his sword, but so far, Genevieve wasn’t making any hostile moves. She actually looked more amused than anything else. Amused and tired.
‘‘You lied to me, Darnak.’’ Genevieve shook. Her face was wet, and she made no sound, but it almost looked like she was laughing.
Relka glanced over her shoulder. ‘‘You definitely broke her.’’
‘‘No, he didn’t.’’ Genevieve hugged her knees to her chest. Darnak moved toward her, but she waved him away. ‘‘Everyone talks about how my brothers were killed by goblin warriors,’’ she said, wiping her face. ‘‘But
him
? He defeated Barius and Ryslind both? He’s the one who turned Darnak into that hideous bird?’’
She stared at Jig. ‘‘You had the rod, and you gave it back to your chef. Why?’’
Jig shrugged. ‘‘If I kept it, the other goblins would just kill me and take it. I have a hard enough time holding on to my boots.’’ Slowly Jig released his grip on his sword. He set Smudge on his shoulder. The fire-spider was warm, but not hot enough to burn.
‘‘Why didn’t you tell us the truth, Darnak?’’ Genevieve asked.
Darnak shrugged. ‘‘Knowing you lot, you’d have all killed yourselves from shame, and then I’d be out of a job.’’
Hearing that made Jig wish Darnak
had
told them. It would have saved Jig a great deal of trouble.
Darnak clapped a hand on Genevieve’s shoulder. ‘‘Your brothers died because they were cruel, short-sighted, petty men. I’d not say as much to your father, but it’s the truth. I loved them like my own sons, but had they been mine, I’d have boxed some sense into their skulls.’’
Braf tapped Jig’s shoulder. ‘‘Is she going to try to kill you or not?’’
‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Jig.
‘‘If Barius or Ryslind were here, they’d stab this goblin, slaughter the rest, and charge into battle against Billa,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘And if Jig’s right, they’d get themselves and everyone else killed in the process.’’
‘‘My father would—’’
‘‘Your father’s the one who raised his sons to be jackasses,’’ Darnak interrupted. ‘‘What would your mother do, were she here?’’
Genevieve’s mouth quirked. ‘‘You mean before or after she lit your beard on fire for lying to us?’’
‘‘I just got this beard back,’’ Darnak said, grabbing his beard in both hands. ‘‘Anyone comes near it, and they’ll be tasting Earthmaker’s wrath.’’
‘‘She would work to save lives,’’ Genevieve said.
Darnak nodded. ‘‘The king left your upbringing to your mother, which means you actually had a chance to learn a little common sense. Whether or not you choose to use it is another matter. But I swore an oath to Earthmaker himself that I’d serve your family, and that means not letting you wipe yourselves out through your own bloody stubbornness.’’ Darnak hesitated, then added, ‘‘With all due respect, Your Highness.’’
‘‘Of course,’’ Genevieve said dryly. She stood and looked at Jig for a long time. ‘‘He’s so small.’’
‘‘Begging Your Highness’ pardon,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘But some of us view our small stature as an asset. There’s an advantage to presenting less of a target.’’
‘‘Darnak, order our people to stand down,’’ Genevieve said. ‘‘Tell the soldiers to fall back and wait for orders. Everyone else . . . should leave Avery tonight. They can take the northwest road toward Jasper Valley. If the goblin is right, Billa shouldn’t bother to pursue them.’’
Jig was too stunned that she hadn’t killed him yet to really understand what was happening. ‘‘Does that mean we can leave too?’’
‘‘Oh no, little goblin.’’ Genevieve’s grin was enough to make Smudge sear black spots onto the shoulder of Jig’s cloak. ‘‘You conquered Avery. As ruler of this town, it’s your duty to stay and defend it. To the death, if necessary.’’
CHAPTER 11
The sloped paving stones around the temple were designed to draw people toward the entrance, where a woman in dark red robes stood waiting. The outline of her silver-trimmed mask suggested a skull.
The domed temple was taller than the surrounding buildings. The arched entryway made those who passed through look like children. Bits of metal had been mixed into the mortar between the stones, causing them to sparkle in the sunlight. ‘‘He stole that from me,’’ Autumnstar muttered.
A marble path inside descended to a blazing fire in the middle of the building. Black smoke rose from the top of the temple, the deathpath of whoever’s funeral they celebrated today. The smoke was said to guide the soul to the star of Noc.
‘‘
My
star,’’ Autumnstar muttered. He had stood outside since before the ceremony, watching, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he turned to the priestess. ‘‘The masks are a bit much, don’t you think?’’
‘‘My mask?’’ She touched one bony cheek.
‘‘Robes the color of blood. Skull masks.’’ Upon closer inspection, the masks appeared to be painted clay. Heavy, hot, and uncomfortable.
‘‘Our garments are a sign of respect. The masks are a reminder that death walks among us.’’ Her voice held the certainty of youth.
The fire turned those within the temple to shadows. Autumnstar could see several acolytes tossing damp straw onto the fire, sending up new plumes of black smoke. Those nearest the fire did their best to smother their coughs. ‘‘Do you think Noc would mind if you wore trousers? A loose shawl, maybe? With a nice hat to protect you from the sun.’’
She drew a deep breath, visibly trying to compose herself, then extended a hand in a well-practiced gesture of welcome. ‘‘Most people come to worship in the twilight of their years. Perhaps you’ve felt the breath of Noc, heard his whispered call? Many choose to donate to the temple, in the hope of turning Noc’s eye from their—’’
Autumnstar dug a square coin from his purse and pressed it into her palm. ‘‘I hate to break it to you, but the breath of Noc always smelled of fish. He spent too much time eating seafood with Ipsep.’’
Even through the mask, Autumnstar could see the priestess struggling with his words. He grinned and stepped closer to the entrance. Being careful not to cross the threshold, he pointed to a series of carvings on the inside of the arch. ‘‘Tell me, who is this poor creature here? The one writhing in agony beneath Noc’s lightning.’’
‘‘Ah, the challenges.’’ The priestess straightened her robes, clearly relieved to be discussing something familiar. ‘‘During the War of Shadows, Noc faced fifteen challenges before conquering death itself. Here he throws down one of the demons sent to—’’
‘‘War of Shadows?’’ Autumnstar shook his head in disbelief. ‘‘Is that what they’re calling it?’’
‘‘Named after the demons who attacked from the darkness.’’
‘‘Demons, eh?’’ Autumnstar ran his fingers over the carving. ‘‘Awfully handsome, for a demon. The nose is a bit off, though. Does anyone know the poor creature’s name?’’
‘‘When Noc slew the demons, he erased their names from the scrolls of—’’
‘‘He slew them all, did he?’’ Autumnstar grimaced. ‘‘Whoever carved this got Noc wrong. His ears stick out like paddles from a boat. You’ll see when you look upon him.’’
Autumnstar stared at the fire. A part of him wanted nothing more than to pass through that archway, to take the single step that would place him within Noc’s domain. Revealing himself to Noc would put an end to centuries of weariness and solitude. Not to mention giving the priests and worshipers quite the show. But now that he was here, he couldn’t bring himself to take that final step.
Other acolytes lurked around the edge of the temple, rushing to and fro without a sound. Autumnstar leaned in to watch as one collected a donation from a little girl and her mother, then disappeared into the shadows by the wall.
‘‘Be not afraid.’’ In what was clearly meant to be a helpful gesture, one intended to aid an old man in conquering his fear, the priestess took Autumnstar’s arm and pulled him toward the arch.
Autumnstar twisted, but his aged body wasn’t fast enough. He was already off-balance, and the priestess was strong and determined.
Autumnstar stumbled into Noc’s temple.
They found the goblins trapped behind what Jig guessed was a bakery, judging from the foul smell of bread. Jig couldn’t see his goblins through the humans, but he could hear their cries, both frightened and defiant.
The closest humans were armed with shovels, pitchforks, axes, and other makeshift weapons. They followed a young man in a leather apron, holding an enormous hammer in each hand.
‘‘It’s always the blacksmiths,’’ Genevieve said, shaking her head. ‘‘Something about working at the forge all day melts their brains, makes them dream about being heroes.’’
Darnak stood in the middle of the crowd, bellowing, ‘‘Stand down, all of you!’’
The blacksmith was the first to respond. ‘‘Let us finish them!’’
‘‘You want to prove yourself, you’re welcome to try that hammer against me.’’ Darnak folded his arms and waited. The others backed away to give him space. ‘‘Otherwise, you’d best be obeying the orders of your princess.’’
The smith lowered his hammer. One of the goblins promptly attacked, and the smith smashed his arm.
‘‘Lower your weapons,’’ Jig yelled, his voice pitifully weak compared to Darnak’s. Now that the humans had spread out, he could see a line of soldiers on the other side of the goblins. The blacksmith must have sent someone to free them from the stables.
‘‘Those of you who wish to stay can do so,’’ Genevieve said. The humans fell silent when they realized who was speaking. ‘‘You can join me on the walls of Avery, to defend this town against Billa the Bloody and her army. Given the thousands of monsters Billa commands, I will need every last man willing to bear arms to help protect our fair town. You there, you hold your shovel like a warrior. Clearly you would be an asset to—’’
The man in question dropped his shovel. ‘‘Sorry, Highness. I’ve got the gout.’’ He limped a few steps and shrugged.
A goblin warrior grinned and started to lunge at him, only to fall squealing when Trok stabbed him in the leg. Trok stepped on the other goblin’s ear, pinning him to the ground for good measure. ‘‘Your commander said to lower your weapons.’’
‘‘I don’t understand,’’ said the goblin, struggling in vain to pull his ear out from beneath Trok’s boot. This was Dimak, one of the wolf-riders. ‘‘I thought we were taking this town for Billa! Now we’re working with the humans?’’
Tell Braf to bring Gratz out.
Jig turned to Genevieve and whispered, ‘‘If they don’t believe me, order your people to kill them.’’
‘‘You would kill your own warriors?’’ Genevieve asked.
‘‘Better than letting them kill me.’’
Gratz shivered and squirmed as Braf and Relka dragged him up the road. He was still bare-chested. His face was bruised and bloody from being thrown into a tree.
Jig took a deep breath. He was fairly sure the goblins from his lair would listen to him, even if they didn’t believe what he said. The wolf-riders from Billa’s army could be harder to convince. But this was the best chance he was likely to get. ‘‘Billa the Bloody plans to betray us.’’
‘‘Don’t listen to that traitorous runt,’’ Gratz yelled. ‘‘Follow him, and you’ll be every bit as guilty of mutiny as he is! Billa will have your heads on spears. She’ll eat your livers, every last one of you!’’
‘‘That’s a lot of liver,’’ Braf said. He tugged Gratz around.
‘‘And don’t call Jig a runt,’’ Relka added, smacking Gratz’s head.
Jig pointed to the scar on Gratz’s arm. ‘‘Those are runes. They’re part of a larger spell. Billa means to use magic to kill the goblins. The kobolds too, probably.’’