Goblin War (34 page)

Jig’s ears perked up. He liked the sound of that. But Shadowstar had already said Isa was stronger. ‘‘What if I say no?’’

‘‘You’re mortal,’’ Shadowstar said. ‘‘Your fate is yours to choose.’’

‘‘Good. I choose—’’

‘‘Though I’m not sure you’d appreciate the consequences.’’ Shadowstar patted Jig’s shoulder and stepped away, dragging his fingers over the broken walls and humming ‘‘The Song of Jig.’’

‘‘What consequences?’’ Jig asked. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t help it.

‘‘Reject me, and you reject all I’ve given you.’’ Shadowstar still didn’t look at him. ‘‘It would be as though you had never felt my power. Including all of that nice healing magic.’’

Slowly, Jig realized what Shadowstar was saying. Without that magic, any number of his wounds would have killed him. The worst was when another goblin stabbed him in the back last year, during their battle with the fairies. And that didn’t begin to count all of the scrapes and cuts and burns—

‘‘You’re lying,’’ Jig said. ‘‘You just told me you’re a god of comfort and protection. You can’t kill your own follower!’’

Shadowstar shrugged, ringing the bells on his sleeves. ‘‘You wouldn’t be my follower anymore, would you?’’

Jig shook his head. ‘‘But you still can’t—’’

‘‘Maybe not.’’ Shadowstar turned around, and Jig could see him struggling to keep from laughing. His lower lip twitched, and his eyes literally sparkled. ‘‘But that’s one of the wonderful things about you goblins. You’re cowards. I don’t mean that as an insult. Cowardice is a far better survival trait than heroism. But it means even if you’re almost certain I’m bluffing, you’re still not going to risk it.’’

Jig stared at him for a long time. ‘‘Please don’t do this to me.’’ Strange, to be so afraid of losing his fear. But fear kept goblins alive.

‘‘I’m sorry, Jig.’’ Shadowstar’s amusement had vanished. He actually sounded like he meant it. He reached out to press one hand over Jig’s chest. ‘‘Your people need you. I need you.’’

 
Jig tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Shadowstar might have taken away his fear, but Jig would have preferred to lose his nausea. His head throbbed like a drum, and when he touched his scalp, his hand came away bloody.

‘‘He’s alive!’’ That was Trok, his voice sending new cracks through Jig’s skull. Other goblins formed a loose circle in the road.

‘‘Of course he’s alive. Earthmaker’s not failed me yet.’’ Darnak’s meaty hand pushed Jig flat. ‘‘This was a stubborn wound, but I’ll have him up and about in no time.’’

‘‘Good.’’ That was Princess Genevieve, standing beside Trok and looking annoyed.

Jig squinted at the sky. Hadn’t the sun been on the other side of town? And why was Darnak the one healing him? ‘‘Where’s Braf?’’

‘‘I’ll be healing him next, so we can ask him a few questions,’’ Darnak said.

Healing Braf? Jig tried a second time to push himself up, but Darnak held him in place. Jig might as well have tried to move a mountain. He settled for twisting his head and squinting. His spectacles were covered in snow and blood, but he could still make out Braf sprawled in the snow a short distance away. ‘‘What happened?’’

Trok started to snicker. ‘‘Relka nearly killed him. Big, bad Braf, knocked senseless by a little kitchen drudge.’’

‘‘You should have let me kill that coward!’’ Relka shouted. Several other goblins held her by the arms as she kicked and struggled. Her face was wet. Had she fallen in the snow while she was fighting with Braf? And why had she attacked Braf in the first place?

Fortunately, Jig had long ago learned to ignore his god’s snider comments.

‘‘There we go,’’ Darnak said. The pounding in Jig’s head eased. Darnak hauled him upright. ‘‘Any idea what led him to try to split your skull like that? I’m thinking he’s one of Billa’s men, myself.’’

‘‘You mean a spy? Braf?’’ Jig grinned despite his pain. ‘‘He was just confused, that’s all. It happens a lot. Relka, you don’t have to kill him.’’

‘‘But he—’’ She squirmed and wiped her nose. She was calmer now, but the other goblins still kept firm hold of her upper arms. Twisting to face Darnak, she said, ‘‘He’s really going to be all right?’’

‘‘Good as new,’’ Darnak said. He patted Jig’s head hard enough to knock him down again. ‘‘So tell me, Jig, when have you been finding the time to get yourself a new cloak?’’

‘‘A new what?’’ Jig tugged his cloak out so he could see. The material was still torn and stained, with the same ugly vines along the edges. Only there was a new design over the chest, right where Shadowstar had touched him. A starburst and lightning bolt were embroidered in black and silver thread.

‘‘Looks a bit like her pendant,’’ Darnak said, cocking a thumb at Relka.

‘‘It does, doesn’t it?’’ Jig ran his fingers over the design.

I like her work,
Shadowstar said.

Jig turned to Genevieve. ‘‘Why are you here? I thought you were busy reading that message from your father.’’

‘‘That was six hours ago,’’ she said.

Darnak tugged his beard. ‘‘Fixing your skull was easy enough, but waking you was a bit of a trick.’’

Six hours. That would explain the sun’s movement. Jig shivered. The air always felt colder in the evening.

Genevieve rubbed her forehead and said, ‘‘There’s been a lot of snowfall in the mountains. My father’s army won’t arrive until late tomorrow. When he does . . . he means to attack.’’

‘‘What?’’ The revelation didn’t frighten him one bit, thanks to Shadowstar’s power. But the loss of Jig’s fear meant there was plenty of room for other emotions. Dismay, anger, even a bit of despair. ‘‘Didn’t you tell him about Billa’s plan? That’s what she wants!’’

‘‘He didn’t believe me,’’ Genevieve said. ‘‘He’s ordered me to secure Avery and do nothing until he arrives. I’ve sent a second hawk to my mother, hoping she’ll be able to talk some sense into him. But even if she could reach him in time, I doubt he’d listen.’’

‘‘Wendel’s a stubborn one, even for a king. He’ll hear nothing of any plan that allows Billa’s army to live.’’ Darnak shook his head. ‘‘I’m sorry, Jig. I never should have told him of Theodore’s death. He might have listened had I not—’’

‘‘My father? Listen?’’ Genevieve laughed. ‘‘You’ve been a bird too long, Darnak. He’s never listened to me, and your counsel has been less than welcome since you returned bearing news of Ryslind and Barius.’’

‘‘What about Billa?’’ Jig asked. ‘‘You said one of her kobolds had come with a message. Why would she do that?’’

‘‘She offered to let me and my soldiers go free,’’ Genevieve said. She took a deep breath. ‘‘All I have to do is turn you over to her.’’

That made sense. Why waste her own soldiers coming after Jig when she could get the humans to do it for her? Jig checked to see if he was armed. He still had the knife he had taken from that elf, but Shadowstar hadn’t given him any divine weapons.

I’m not that good at weapons,
Shadowstar said.

Naturally. Embroidery he could do. Weapons, no. Resting one hand on his knife, Jig asked, ‘‘What did you tell her?’’

Genevieve raised an eyebrow and touched her own sword, as if daring him to attack her. ‘‘That you were a sneaky, conniving little coward who had managed to escape. I asked that she give us until tomorrow night to capture you, at which time I would hand you over.’’

‘‘And Billa agreed to this?’’

‘‘Aye.’’ Darnak had wound his hands into his beard, presumably for warmth. It made him look like he was wearing snarly black mittens. ‘‘From what you said, Billa doesn’t care about Avery. She’d rather preserve her forces for King Wendel. She’ll want as much death as possible. Taking the town would cost her a few hundred soldiers, and every monster she loses is one less death to attract Noc’s attention.’’

Before Jig could ask anything more, Relka shouted, ‘‘Watch out!’’

Jig spun. A single goblin leaped from behind one of the houses and ran toward him. Jig squinted and lowered his head, trying to find a clear spot on his lenses. Through the smeared blood and snow, he thought he recognized Gratz.

‘‘Traitor!’’ Gratz shouted. He pointed a crossbow at Jig as he ran. ‘‘Regulations require me to arrest you for treason. You are ordered to—’’ Gratz slipped on a patch of ice, and the crossbow discharged.

The impact as the bolt thudded into Jig’s shoulder wasn’t as bad as, say, being struck by a dragon. But it was enough to knock Jig backward several steps. He waved his arms to keep from falling.

Gratz was already drawing a sword from his belt. Where had he gotten all of these weapons? He was supposed to be locked up, not—

‘‘Why am I still standing?’’ Jig whispered. He looked down. The crossbow bolt lay in the snow a few steps away. His cloak was unmarked, though Jig could feel a bruise forming on his chest . . . right below the symbol Shadowstar had created on his cloak.

I do make good armor, though,
Shadowstar said smugly.

That won’t do me much good if he stabs me in the face.
Jig drew his knife and started toward Gratz. Maybe Gratz would stumble again and impale himself, but Jig doubted it. Gratz was a trained soldier. As trained as goblins got, at any rate.

Jig glanced around. The other goblins were already making wagers and grinning with anticipation, as goblins did. But these were supposed to be soldiers too.
Jig’s
soldiers.

He sheathed his knife and stopped walking. ‘‘Why are you all standing about, you lazy bastards?’’

He did his best to mimic Silverfang’s disgusted anger. From the shocked expressions on the goblins’ faces, it worked. Before they could respond, Jig pointed at Gratz and yelled, ‘‘Get him!’’

The goblins roared as they charged. Soldier or not, Gratz was still a goblin at heart. He threw down his sword and fled.

Jig smiled. He kind of liked being a general.

 
The dining hall in the barracks had the largest tables, which made them the ideal choice for spreading out all Darnak’s maps. Unfortunately, the barracks was also one of the original elf buildings, and the table was in dire need of a trimming. Budding twigs sprouted from the edges, tickling Jig’s wrists as he leaned in to study the maps. He wiped his eyes and tried not to sneeze.

Candles burned in holders formed of living vines. The too-sweet smell of perfumed beeswax did nothing to help Jig’s nose.

Darnak had placed the bulk of his figurines on one side of Avery to represent Billa’s army. Others were scattered through the woods to either side. ‘‘Billa’s sent scouts through the woods, probably to make sure you don’t try to flee.’’

He set another group of blocks at the top of the valley. ‘‘Once Wendel arrives, he’ll send his cavalry down, hoping to ride right over Billa’s monsters.’’

A third line marked the elves on the opposite side of the valley. ‘‘If we could somehow drive Billa’s forces across the border, the elves would help—’’

‘‘Billa’s monsters won’t retreat,’’ Jig said. ‘‘It’s probably against regulations.’’

‘‘It doesn’t matter,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘We have to stop Billa before my father arrives.’’

‘‘Wendel ordered you to sit tight,’’ Darnak said.

‘‘I know.’’ She picked up several of the figurines from within Avery, setting them in a line outside the walls.

Jig studied the map. Darnak didn’t appear to have a figurine for Billa, so he had used a large gray pebble instead. That pebble was currently guarded by several thousand monsters, most represented by larger metal blocks.

Jig frowned and looked closer. The figurines Genevieve had moved outside the wall were all goblins, though there was something odd about the frontmost one. He picked it up and peered more closely. Darnak had painted amethyst spectacles onto the goblin’s face.

‘‘You promised to kill Billa for me, remember?’’ asked Genevieve.

‘‘Your goblins will pretend you’re a prisoner.’’ Darnak split a path through Billa’s forces, then moved the goblins through. ‘‘Once you’re within range, you charge. It’s a desperate plan, but you’ll have the advantage of surprise. Theodore’s mistake was to attack in plain sight. Might as well have sent a note telling Billa exactly when he’d be dropping by.’’

‘‘
One
of his mistakes, anyway,’’ Genevieve said.

‘‘He was overconfident, and it killed him.’’ Darnak’s voice was tight.

Jig studied the map. Overconfidence wouldn’t be a problem for goblins. He moved the figurines into the center of the army, near the pebble that was Billa. ‘‘Say we somehow manage to catch Billa by surprise and kill her. What happens then?’’

Darnak fiddled with his quill. Genevieve stared at the map.

Jig reached out and pushed the blocks of Billa’s army until they surrounded the goblins. ‘‘We’re all going to die.’’

‘‘I told you this one was clever,’’ Darnak said quietly.

This was the point where any reasonable goblin would have fled for his miserable life. Yet Jig didn’t move.

‘‘The orcs will be closest,’’ he said. ‘‘They’ll probably be the ones to kill us. And then they’ll turn toward Avery.’’

‘‘Not necessarily,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘For those who do, the walls will hold until my father arrives.’’

‘‘We’re hoping there will be some squabbling,’’ Darnak added. ‘‘The death of their leader will be an enormous blow to morale. Not to mention they’ll have to sort out who’s in charge, with Billa gone.’’

Jig tried to imagine the chaos. Whenever a goblin chief died, the smarter goblins made themselves scarce for the next few days, emerging to see who had survived long enough to seize control. Given the size of Billa’s army, Jig wouldn’t want to be anywhere near that power struggle. Though that likely wouldn’t be a problem, since he would be dead before it began.

Genevieve plucked the blocks from Darnak’s map. ‘‘With luck, they’ll give up and go home. Can you imagine my father’s face? Him and his army arriving to an empty field.’’ Her expression was wistful. She frowned as she studied the map. ‘‘What if Jig’s goblins betray him? If he’s smart enough to realize what could happen, maybe they will, too. They’ll rejoin Billa to save themselves.’’