‘‘What do Billa’s regulations say about attacking a town?’’ Jig asked. Scattered campfires burned as far back as Jig could see. They had taken over the farmhouses too. At least one was on fire, though Jig wasn’t sure that had been deliberate. Goblins swarmed around the burning building in a panic. ‘‘Billa has thousands of monsters. We have—’’
‘‘Eighty-seven soldiers and twenty-nine goblins,’’ Genevieve said.
‘‘And one dwarf,’’ added Darnak.
‘‘Given the weather, Billa’s best choice would be to strike hard and fast,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Audacity, like I said. Surround the town and hit it from all sides at once. Use ladders and siege towers to—’’
‘‘What ladders?’’ Jig pointed. ‘‘Do you see any ladders? Or siege towers?’’ Not that he knew what a siege tower was.
‘‘We left the siege equipment back in Pottersville,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘It got pretty beat up in the attack, and—’’
‘‘So why aren’t they building more?’’ Jig asked. ‘‘All those trees, but they’re just sitting there. Waiting. Billa gave Genevieve until tomorrow to surrender.’’
Gratz shook his head. ‘‘That doesn’t make sense. Giving humans time is always a mistake. They’ll find a secret way out of the city, or some unassuming farm boy will sneak away to summon help, then before you know it a wizard shows up out of nowhere with reinforcements, and everything goes straight into the privy.’’
Jig shrugged and leaned against the railing, his back to Billa’s army. ‘‘So this must be some sort of trick,’’ he said. ‘‘Billa’s secretly moving her forces into an attack formation.’’
Gratz shook his head. ‘‘That’s no formation I’ve ever seen. Most of them seem to be sleeping!’’
‘‘You said the casualty ratio against a walled town was ten-to-one,’’ Jig said.
‘‘Billa has goblins and kobolds out in front,’’ Gratz mumbled. ‘‘Make it fifteen-to-one.’’
‘‘She has plenty of monsters,’’ Jig said. ‘‘She could take Avery by noon tomorrow if she wanted. Then her forces would be safe behind the walls. Doesn’t that make sense?’’
Slowly Gratz nodded. ‘‘I don’t understand it. No siege equipment. No sappers.’’
‘‘That wouldn’t work anyway,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘Steelthorn roots spread wide and deep.’’
Jig frowned, trying to understand what sap had to do with anything. He knew sap came from trees, and the walls were made of steelthorn trees, but why—? It didn’t matter. He could see Gratz’s confusion. Now it was only a matter of pushing.
‘‘Her formation does make sense,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Her lines are spread to face the north. She’s waiting for Wendel’s army to arrive.’’
‘‘Why would she do that?’’ Gratz’s fingers dug into the railing.
‘‘Because I was telling you the truth before. She doesn’t want to beat the humans. She wants to kill them. Them and us, all at once.’’
‘‘No!’’
Relka started forward, but Jig waved her away.
Gratz turned to Jig. His tone was pleading ‘‘That’s not possible. Billa the Bloody is a liberator.’’ He rubbed his arm, the one with the scar of rank.
That gave Jig an idea. ‘‘If you’re still not convinced, I could try to trigger the spell she carved onto your arm.’’
Gratz stared at his arm.
‘‘We should probably lower you down outside the wall, first,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Genevieve, do you have ropes? I don’t know exactly how much damage this is going to do.’’
‘‘No!’’ Gratz blinked, and cocked his head, as if he wasn’t sure who had shouted. In a softer voice, he said, ‘‘No.’’
Genevieve was staring at Jig just as intently as the goblins. ‘‘You could do that? Trigger the spell? That could destroy Billa’s army!’’
It wouldn’t work,
Shadowstar said.
Every spell includes a rune binding the magic to Isa. You’d have to rip each one away from her, and neither of us are strong enough to wrest control from Isa. I doubt you could even trigger Gratz’s spell.
I don’t have to
. Out loud, he said, ‘‘No, I can’t,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Billa created those spells. She’s the only one who can use them.’’
Gratz’s face turned a darker shade of blue. He grabbed the front of Jig’s cloak. ‘‘But you said—’’
Jig kicked him in the shin. ‘‘And you believed me! Deep down, you know that scar isn’t just a sign of rank.’’ He bit Gratz’s arm until he let go of Jig’s cloak. And then Relka slammed into Gratz from the side, knocking him down hard enough to make the branches tremble beneath them.
Jig knelt and grabbed the sheaf of paper sticking out from Gratz’s shirt. The corners were wrinkled and filthy, speckled with dirt and Gratz’s blood. He waved them in Gratz’s face. ‘‘Doesn’t Billa’s plan to kill everyone qualify as treason?’’
‘‘Technically, since it’s her army, she can’t commit treason,’’ Gratz said.
Jig fought the urge to try out his brand new elf sword. ‘‘At sunrise the other goblins are going to pretend to take me prisoner. We’re going to get as close as we possibly can, and then I’m going to kill Billa.’’ At least that was the plan. So far, his plans had been falling apart with annoying regularity. ‘‘It would be much more believable if you were the one leading that group. Billa knows you. Everyone knows you. Even the kobolds said you were a stuck-up, rule-bound arse-kisser.’’
‘‘That’s true,’’ Gratz muttered. Then, to Jig’s confusion, he began to laugh. He hugged himself, shaking so hard Jig worried he would fall down. Tears dripped from his cheeks.
‘‘Goblins have the strangest sense of humor,’’ Genevieve said.
‘‘She could have done it,’’ Gratz said, gasping for breath. He wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘‘Billa raised an army. She could have beaten the humans. She could have won, Jig.’’
Somewhere toward the middle of town, a goblin screamed. Genevieve had her sword drawn in an instant, her eyes wide. Her men raised crossbows, searching for a target.
‘‘That’s probably just Trok,’’ Jig said. He turned his head, perking his ears. As the screaming quieted, he could hear other goblins jeering. Hopefully he would have time to heal the losers before it was time to leave. He reached out to grab Gratz’s arm. ‘‘The princess gave me her word. If I stop Billa, she’ll make sure the humans leave us alone.’’
Gratz grabbed the railing with one hand and pulled himself up. ‘‘Billa played us all for fools, Jig.’’ His hand shook as he pulled out his battered regulations. ‘‘Always wash between your toes,’’ he whispered.
‘‘What?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘First regulation I ever learned.’’ Gratz stared out at Billa’s army. ‘‘If you don’t keep clean, you get fungus and rot and all sorts of nastiness.’’
‘‘Good advice,’’ Darnak agreed. ‘‘And it’s not just toes, either. My cousin Dinla spent too much time in the mines one summer and got herself the worst case of armpit mold you’ll ever see.’’
Behind him, Genevieve looked faintly nauseated.
‘‘You’ll want to hide that sword,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Regulations require all prisoners to be disarmed. If anyone sees it, they’ll know something’s wrong.’’ He stretched his arms, then laced his fingers together to crack the joints in his hands. ‘‘I never liked those stinking orcs anyway. Always strutting about like they’re better than us.’’
‘‘So you’ll help us?’’ Jig asked.
Gratz nodded.
To Darnak, Jig asked, ‘‘Is he telling the truth?’’
‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘When I first told you about Billa, Genevieve had you cast a spell to figure out if I was lying.’’ Jig pointed at Gratz. ‘‘Is he telling the truth? If he means to turn me over to Billa, we should throw him off the wall and I’ll have Trok lead us instead.’’
‘‘Betraying your commanding officer gives your superiors the right to . . . hold on.’’ Gratz flipped through his pages. ‘‘Ah. The right to use your skin as a blanket.’’ He shoved the manual back into his shirt. ‘‘You’re my commanding officer, General Jig. I have no interest in becoming a blanket.’’
‘‘He means it,’’ Darnak said, shaking his head. He looked both surprised and sad.
Jig wasn’t surprised. Gratz was as bad as Relka. Without Billa to believe in, Gratz had latched on to Jig instead. Relka would have him wearing his very own starburst if he wasn’t careful. Goblins were fools.
Their faith gives them courage,
said Shadowstar.
Neither of them needed divine intervention to help them overcome their fear. They’ll stand beside you and die with you.
Jig nodded.
Exactly.
Jig didn’t sleep much that night. Maybe being a champion of Tymalous Shadowstar meant he didn’t need as much sleep. Or maybe the idea of leading an attack against Billa the Bloody was enough to keep him awake, even without his fear. He kept thinking about all the things that could go wrong, and wondering which would be the one to kill him. Falling off of his wolf and breaking his neck would be embarrassing, but at least it would be quick. Slipping in the snow right as he reached Billa would be worse.
When he could lie there no longer, he got up and tiptoed out of the stables, past a heap of snoring goblins. Wrapping an extra blanket tight around his body, he hurried to the wall.
To his surprise, Genevieve was still there, staring out at the campfires of Billa’s army.
Jig announced his arrival with a wet sneeze. At least tomorrow would see him free of all these plants.
Several of her guards moved toward him, but Genevieve waved them back. She started to speak, then wrinkled her nose. ‘‘What is that smell?’’
‘‘What smell? Oh, wait.’’ Jig tugged a pouch from one of his cloak pockets and handed it to her. Genevieve’s face went pale as she opened the bag.
‘‘We were almost out of troll toes,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Trok says the hardest part was convincing everyone to take off their shoes. I guess that makes it easier to score a full sever. I healed them the best I could. The wolf-riders will still be able to ride, and the rest . . . well, they can limp along behind us.’’
‘‘Goblins.’’ She tossed the sack at Jig’s feet. One toe rolled free and disappeared into the cracks of the woven walkway. ‘‘For years, my brothers fought to earn our father’s attention and respect. All they accomplished was to get themselves killed.’’ She sighed and rested her arms on the railing. ‘‘I never blamed the goblins for killing Barius and Ryslind. I blamed him.’’
‘‘Your father didn’t kill them. I’m the one who turned them into trout.’’ And that was why goblins needed their fear. Fear would have stopped him from saying something so incredibly stupid. He braced himself for Genevieve’s response. At the very least, he expected a quick punch to the face. If he was unlucky, Genevieve would just run him through.
She did neither. ‘‘My mother says I’m too harsh. He’s fought for this kingdom his whole life. I remember watching him teach my brothers how to fight. He was
laughing
.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘He never laughs when he wears that stupid crown.’’
‘‘Maybe he should give it to someone else,’’ Jig said.
‘‘My mother has said the same thing, in private. She even used to joke about changing the law so that the youngest daughter could inherit the crown. Then she and my father could retire to Silver Lake and spend their time fishing and watching the griffins on the cliffs. When I told her I’d use that crown to bludgeon the first person who tried to put it on my head, she smiled and said that only proved I was smarter than my brothers.’’
‘‘That’s not saying much.’’ There he went again. But Genevieve only smiled.
‘‘This coming from the goblin who tried to attack an entire city.’’
‘‘We won!’’ Jig said, trying not to sound defensive.
‘‘Only because I wasn’t smart enough to come inside the walls when Darnak told me to.’’ She yawned again, then fumbled through her cloak until she found a long wooden pipe. She walked to the closest lantern and lit a taper, which she used to start the tobacco burning. ‘‘Dwarven tobacco. It helps my nerves, and it’s nice to be able to breathe without feeling like my lungs are about to freeze. Please don’t tell my father, though. He’d kill me.’’
Jig managed to keep from rolling his eyes. ‘‘I’ll try to keep it to myself.’’
She blew a puff of smoke, which quickly disappeared into the cold wind. ‘‘You deserve better than this, you know.’’
‘‘Tell that to Tymalous Shadowstar.’’
‘‘Who?’’
Jig sighed. ‘‘Never mind.’’ He tried to count the campfires, but quickly gave up.
‘‘I can’t imagine what my father would say if he saw me up here talking to a goblin.’’ Her grin appeared strained. She tugged a leaf from the railing and pulled it apart. ‘‘I don’t blame you for hating us, you know.’’
Jig shook his head. ‘‘We don’t hate you. At least not any more than we hate the lizard-fish and the tunnel cats and the hobgoblins and everything else that kills us.’’
‘‘Oh.’’
Jig had a hard time reading her expression.
‘‘You should try to sleep,’’ Genevieve said. ‘‘Nobody dies faster than a tired soldier.’’
‘‘What about a goblin?’’ Jig asked.
That earned a soft chuckle. She blew another stream of smoke into the wind and stared up at the moon. Jig turned to go, then hesitated. ‘‘Aren’t you going to get some sleep too?’’
‘‘Eventually.’’ She sucked another breath through the pipe. ‘‘Darnak used to tell us stories about the great dwarf commanders, and how they would walk among their men the night before the battle.’’ She ducked her head and added, ‘‘Besides, I get nightmares.’’
Jig started down the ladder. He had just lowered himself down so his hands clutched the top disk of lichen when Genevieve said, ‘‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Jig.’’
She sounded almost drunk, but her breath didn’t have the stink of alcohol. Humans were weird.
It’s time, Jig.
Shadowstar’s voice yanked Jig from a dream in which Billa and her orcs had been pelting him with potatoes. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, then hooked his spectacles over his ears. The sight of all those snoring, drooling goblins was anything but pretty.
The stable door slid open, and Gratz peeked inside.