‘‘You’re not stupid,’’ Trok said, shaking his head. ‘‘You’re a whiny, puny, irritating little runt. But you’re not stupid.’’
‘‘Oh, no?’’ Jig pointed in the general direction of the gate. ‘‘Weren’t you there when I led everyone against Genevieve’s soldiers? A handful of wolf-riders against an entire city?’’
‘‘Shut up, sir.’’ Trok glanced at the other goblins. ‘‘You think we haven’t been talking about you? How any one of us could break you with our bare hands? How Porak used to dangle you over the garbage crack by your legs, or slip bat guano into your drink when you weren’t looking?’’
‘‘Wait. Porak did what?’’ And here Jig hadn’t thought anything could ruin his appetite more than that elf biscuit.
‘‘I was there the day you came back from slaying Straum,’’ said Trok. ‘‘I remember how those adventurers followed you. You led them away from the lair and beat them all by yourself. I remember how you helped everyone fight off those pixies and their ogre slaves, too. I was one of the goblins you sent to help the hobgoblins fight the ogres. I figured we were all dead, and I’d rather die quickly, smashed by an ogre’s club, than face the nastiness those pixies were dealing out. Blasted bugs and their magic. But you, you went down there and killed every last one of them.’’
He grabbed the biscuit from Jig’s hand and tossed it into the snow. ‘‘You’re the one who helped me and Relka escape from this lot,’’ he said, pointing toward Genevieve. ‘‘You got us away and found Billa. Then, when she turned out to be a conniving, backstabbing orc, you escaped again. You killed Silverfang, and then you came back here and took an entire town away from the humans.’’
‘‘They took it back,’’ Jig said.
‘‘Doesn’t matter.’’ Trok spat. ‘‘I’m not as smart as you, and I know it. But I like to fight. We all do. We’re warriors, Jig. It’s what we do. And we like to win. That doesn’t happen too often when you’re a goblin.’’
That was true enough.
‘‘You’re a pathetic excuse for a warrior, hardly worth killing, even for the food. But you’re clever. If you’re staying, so are we. Even if we lose, it should be a great fight.’’ Trok grinned. ‘‘Besides, if you stay here all alone and get yourself killed, who’s going to make me chief when Grell dies?’’
He dug his claws into Jig’s arm and dragged him back toward the fire. ‘‘Now hurry up and get your share of Grappok.’’
Jig shivered in the darkness of the stables. He pulled his blanket tighter over his head, tucking his ears in for warmth. Even if he hadn’t been too scared to sleep, the snoring of the other goblins would have kept him awake. How many hours had he lain here staring into the darkness and trying not to think about what was to come? He was almost grateful when Darnak opened the door and whispered, ‘‘Jig? Genevieve’s wanting to see you.’’
Jig’s teeth chattered. ‘‘It’s about Billa, isn’t it? She’s coming.’’
Darnak was little more than a silhouette, but Jig could see him tilting his head to one side like a bird. ‘‘Now, how would you be knowing that?’’
‘‘The cold. It’s getting worse.’’
‘‘Aye. Something unnatural in that wind.’’ Darnak waited while Jig gathered his blanket and retrieved Smudge from the tiny web he had woven at the base of the wall.
Outside, lanterns flickered by the gate. Even as Jig watched, one of the lanterns died, extinguished by the wind. ‘‘Where are we going?’’
Darnak pointed.
‘‘Oh, no.’’ Whereas the outer wall was covered in thorns and a few scattered flowers, the interior was formed of a different kind of tree, covered in smooth, slippery bark. But the tree Darnak indicated was wider than the rest, with some sort of lichen growing on it. The brown disks were spaced evenly to the ground, each one large enough for a man’s foot.
‘‘Don’t worry about it,’’ Darnak said. He planted a boot on the lowest shelf of lichen, grabbed a higher one, and pulled himself up. ‘‘Took me weeks to get used to this place.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘Sticking a dwarf up a tree is a violation of nature, like expecting fish to fly and build nests.’’
Fear dried Jig’s mouth and throat. Though that was better than his nose, which was frozen on the inside from the cold. If the lichen could support Darnak’s weight, with all his armor and everything he carried in that pack, surely it would hold Jig.
Unless Darnak’s weight weakened it. Jig looked back at the stables. ‘‘Are you sure Genevieve doesn’t want to come down here instead?’’
‘‘Don’t make me carry you,’’ said Darnak.
Gritting his teeth, Jig grabbed the lowest lichen and hauled himself after the dwarf.
The wind was even stronger atop the wall than it was below. Jig would have been blown clear off if Darnak hadn’t seized his wrist.
Genevieve stood nearby, blankets and furs protecting her from the cold. There were no lights.
‘‘Did you enjoy your rest, goblin?’’ Genevieve asked.
‘‘No.’’ Jig clung to Darnak’s hand as he took his first step. The platform was nothing but sticks and leaves, woven tightly together. There were enough gaps to allow the snow to slip through, but the branches were still wet and slippery. They creaked and moved under his weight. ‘‘I miss my lair.’’
Darnak chuckled.
The top of the wall was wide enough for two people to stand side by side, though it required both people to stand closer to the edges than Jig liked. Waist-high railings ran along either side of the platform. Jig crouched against the inner railing. The branches and leaves were woven tightly enough to block the worst of the wind. A thick vine ran horizontally along the top, a railing of sorts. Jig gripped it with both hands and tried not to move.
His ears perked. He could just make out the sound of drums in the distance.
‘‘Are the gates sealed?’’ Genevieve asked.
Darnak nodded. ‘‘We didn’t have time to finish preparing the steelthorn, but the lower portion is clear. Nobody’s going to be after climbing these walls. The trees might not be as strong as dwarf stone, but they’ll do.’’
Genevieve glanced back at Jig. ‘‘Billa’s army is coming.’’
‘‘He knows,’’ said Darnak.
Jig took a deep breath, then lurched across the platform to the outer railing. Staring out at Billa’s army, he wondered if it would be better to simply fling himself off the wall and be done with it.
Torches and lanterns burned like tiny fireflies, stretching back along the road as far as Jig could see. Was it his imagination, or had Billa’s army grown since Jig fled? Maybe it just seemed larger compared to the paltry numbers here inside the town walls. His ears twitched with each beat of the war drums.
Genevieve pressed a wooden tube to her eye. ‘‘Goblins march in the front of the column. She has kobolds scouting ahead and to either side.’’
‘‘What is that?’’ Jig asked, pointing to the tube.
‘‘The lenses provide a closer view of our foe,’’ said Genevieve. She barely even blinked as she stared out at the approaching army. ‘‘Goblin, how will your men react in the face of this threat? Do you trust them to obey orders and do their duty?’’
Jig stared at her. ‘‘They’re goblins, remember?’’
Genevieve sighed. ‘‘Billa seems to have no problem controlling her troops. Perhaps the goblins need a stronger leader.’’
Jig agreed completely, but the disdain in her voice made his hands clench. ‘‘Do you know how Billa raised such a large army, Princess?’’ Jig asked. ‘‘She told them . . . she told
us
that if we joined her, we’d never have to worry about people like you or your brothers again.’’
Genevieve started to say something, then bit her lip and turned back toward the approaching monsters. ‘‘We’ll have to hold them for at least a day. Darnak, get every available archer to the walls. Nobody attacks until I give the order. Our arrows and quarrels are too limited. Goblin, rouse your men. Position them along the wall in pairs.’’
Jig didn’t move. ‘‘And what will you do with us when this is over?’’
‘‘I’ll figure it out then. Assuming any of us survive.’’ She raised the scope to her eye again. ‘‘None of the reports said anything about winged creatures in Billa’s army.’’
Jig rubbed his spectacles on his cloak. Given the condition of his cloak, that wasn’t much of an improvement. But by the time he hooked the frames back over his ears, he could make out dark shapes against the moonlit clouds.
‘‘Dragons?’’ Darnak guessed. Jig edged closer to the ladder.
‘‘The wings are the wrong shape,’’ Genevieve said. ‘‘And the tails are more birdlike than serpentine.’’
‘‘They’re coming from the north,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘If Billa sent a force through the mountains, our scouts would have known.’’
‘‘Those are elfhawks,’’ Genevieve said softly. The hand holding the scope dropped to her side. ‘‘They carry men upon their backs.’’
‘‘Theodore.’’
Genevieve’s lips twisted into a sour expression. ‘‘He must have used the rod on those birds.’’
As bad as it had been riding Bastard, the mere idea of riding a giant elfhawk made Jig dizzy. He grabbed the railing for balance as he watched the birds approach. He could see the shapes of the riders, each one bent low against bird’s neck.
The first rider drew a sword that burned with orange fire. Why didn’t goblins ever get the magical weapons? The rider raised his weapon in salute as he circled toward the wall. Prince Theodore, Jig guessed. He couldn’t discern the rider’s features, but he doubted the prince’s pride would allow anyone else to lead.
‘‘ ’Ware the goblin!’’ Theodore shouted. His hawk swooped toward the wall.
No, not toward the wall. Toward Jig. Talons the size of Jig’s foot reached out.
Jig screamed and leaped away, barely avoiding the prince’s magical sword.
Unfortunately, Jig’s desperate leap took him to the gap in the railing. He tried to twist around, to catch the lichen ladder and stop his fall.
He missed.
CHAPTER 12
The priest in the middle of the temple missed a beat as Tymalous Autumnstar fell. He lay sprawled on the worn tile floor, waiting for Noc’s response. Would it be the lightning again, or had Noc developed new skills since their last battle? Autumnstar was betting on the lightning. Noc had never been the most creative of the gods. Hopefully Noc wouldn’t incinerate too many of his followers in the process.
‘‘Are you hurt?’’ The young priestess knelt beside him and touched his arm. She had stripped off her mask, and her brown face revealed both her youth and her terror. No doubt there were rules against assaulting the elderly. ‘‘Forgive me. I only wanted to help you face your fear.’’
Autumnstar peeked around the temple as the chanting resumed. Noc
was
present, as much as any god ever was in a temple. But Autumnstar couldn’t sense any change in the death god’s attention.
‘‘Isn’t that why you came?’’ the priestess asked. ‘‘To prepare yourself for death?’’
Autumnstar pushed himself to his feet. ‘‘I came because . . . because I’m tired.’’ Tired of being alone. Tired of living as a mortal. Tired of being afraid.
Giddiness knotted his chest. For him to step into this temple was like walking up to Noc and punching him
in the nose. Yet Autumnstar sensed nothing. ‘‘Noc doesn’t see me.’’
‘‘All come to Noc’s domain,’’ the priestess said, her voice stern. ‘‘Your time is written on the scrolls.’’
‘‘Noc erased my name from the scrolls,’’ Autumnstar whispered, remembering what the priestess had said before. He started to laugh. ‘‘He cursed us, sentenced us to be forgotten . . . and now he doesn’t remember me.’’
People turned to stare. The priest in the center of the temple stopped again. The priestess tried to take Autumnstar’s arm and pull him back outside, but he tugged free.
‘‘I’m right here, Noc!’’ Centuries of hiding, all for nothing. He was invisible. Tears and laughter mixed, until he was gasping for breath.
The shadows shifted as the acolytes ran toward him. Autumnstar hadn’t even noticed them lurking in the dark corners. He raced down the aisle, past rows of stunned worshipers, until he reached the center of the temple. He dodged the high priest and climbed onto the edge of the fire pit. ‘‘Tymalous Autumnstar lives!’’
The fire flared higher, even as the air chilled.
‘‘Whoops.’’ Autumnstar bit his lip. Perhaps that last defiant shout had been a little too much. He gingerly lowered himself from the pit and allowed the acolytes to grab his arms.
Halfway out of the temple, he turned to the priestess. ‘‘This body has served me for more than a hundred years. Take care of it. The coins in my pouch should make up for any disturbance I’ve caused.’’
The acolytes caught his body as it fell, but Tymalous Autumnstar was already gone. He would have to remember not to flaunt his survival. Noc’s curse hadn’t blinded him completely. Like Noc’s own acolytes, Tymalous Autumnstar would have to keep to the shadows.
The sound of bells was muted as he stepped through the broken doorway of his ruined temple. Tymalous Autumnstar—Tymalous
Shadowstar
—was home!
Jig’s left nostril was on fire.
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Smudge’s fuzzy backside. Four of the spider’s legs clung to the edges of Jig’s spectacles. Smudge reached out again, searing Jig’s nose with one of his forelegs.
‘‘Stop that,’’ Jig mumbled. Smudge backed away. Had he been trying to rouse Jig, or simply checking to see if he was safe to eat?
‘‘Jig!’’
He tilted his head to see Darnak and Genevieve climbing down the wall. Prince Theodore was already on the ground.
Why was it that every time Jig faced a prince, he ended up flat on his back? He started to sit up, then gasped. His knee felt like someone had smashed it with a rock.
‘‘Easy, lad,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘You’re lucky you didn’t land on your head! A fall like that can be fatal.’’
‘‘Goblins have thick skulls,’’ Jig said. He reached down to touch his knee. All he learned was that his shoulder was in equally bad shape. He lay back, grabbing his shoulder with his other hand and drawing on Shadowstar’s healing magic. His jaw clenched. The pain of rebuilding a joint was bad enough, but couldn’t Shadowstar do something about the popping sounds coming from his shoulder?