‘‘The goblins betrayed us to the humans,’’ shouted an enormous, bare-chested orc with muscles like a mountain range. A scar on his arm showed him to be one of Billa’s high-ranking orcs. Either that, or a wolf had gnawed on his shoulder for a while.
‘‘No, the humans betrayed us to the other humans,’’ Braf argued.
The orcs didn’t listen. ‘‘Kill them all,’’ said another, a cry which quickly spread through the ranks. The bare-chested orc snarled and stomped toward Trok and the goblins, waving an enormous ax overhead. Halfway there, a ball of snow and mud exploded against the side of his head.
Everyone turned to look at Jig. Jig wiped his hand on his cloak to dry it. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more, that he had thrown the muddy snow at the orc, or that he had actually hit what he was aiming at.
Did you take away my fear again?
Not this time,
said Shadowstar.
You did that all by yourself.
Right. Jig wouldn’t be shaking so hard if Shadowstar was still stealing his fear.
The orc pointed his ax. ‘‘Pound that one into the mud.’’
‘‘Pound me yourself,’’ Jig yelled. He hugged himself to hide his trembling.
You said you’d have to wrest control from Billa and Isa in order to use the spells in those scars. Are you strong enough—
Shadowstar smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Billa is dead, and Isa is . . . busy. I can guide you, but you’ll have to trigger the spell.
The orc was laughing as he readied himself, but at least the others had drawn back to see what happened. He swung his ax through the air, stretching the muscles in his arms. He managed to kill a goblin on the backswing. He blinked in surprise, then shrugged and wiped the edge of his ax on his trousers.
‘‘Wait,’’ Jig squeaked. ‘‘Let me get my sword.’’ He scrambled away from the orc. Ten paces ought to be enough distance.
Make it twenty.
Jig kept backing away. Behind the orc, Jig saw Braf tugging the other goblins and dragging them back. Shadowstar must have warned him what Jig was about to do.
‘‘Hey, you forgot your sword!’’ Another orc grabbed Jig’s weapon and tossed it.
Jig dove out of the way, barely avoiding being impaled by his own weapon.
Focus on the scar,
said Shadowstar.
Jig began to shiver. His skin pimpled from cold that seemed to come from within, as if the blood had frozen in his veins. His fangs were the worst. This cold had come on so quickly that they actually froze to his lips.
Concentrate,
Shadowstar snapped.
Jig nodded and turned toward the orc. Even at this distance, he could feel the scar on the orc’s shoulder, the bitter cold that threatened to freeze Jig’s eyeballs in his skull. Those spots of cold were everywhere, scattered throughout Billa’s army, but Jig concentrated on the orc.
Imagine yourself melting the ice within that scar to release the spell.
Jig closed his eyes. He could still see the scar, a blur of blue cold jostling about in the darkness. All he had to do was—
Limping footsteps crunched through the snow. Jig stepped back, his eyes snapping open. Relka stood between Jig and the orc, holding a bloody sword in both hands. ‘‘I’ll kill you all before I let you hurt Jig Dragonslayer.’’
‘‘Fair enough,’’ said the orc.
Now, Jig. Melt the ice.
Jig held his breath and imagined a fire-spider in his hand. He could almost feel Smudge’s terror burning his palm. Praying Shadowstar knew what he was doing, Jig visualized himself throwing the spider.
His imagination was a bit too true to life. In his mind, Smudge flew wide and landed in the snow, where he turned to glare back at Jig.
The spider is in your mind, Jig!
Shadowstar shouted.
How could you possibly miss?
Jig concentrated, imagining a nest of whiteworms on the orc’s arm. Plump, delicious whiteworms, one of Smudge’s favorites.
His vision blurred. Was the cold freezing his eyeballs? He hoped Shadowstar would be able to heal them. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Smudge.
In his mind, Smudge raced up the orc’s body and settled directly onto the scar to feast.
Hurry, Jig.
Jig could hear the orc approaching. Clenching his fists, he imagined Golaka the chef coming up to Smudge with a pot and spoon. Jig wasn’t terribly fond of fire-spider soup, but many of the goblins loved it. The risk of biting down on a flame gland and burning through your lip was part of the fun.
The imaginary Smudge looked up from his whiteworms and reacted with the same terror anyone would feel when faced with a hungry Golaka. Heat seared the scar on the orc’s arm, and Jig cried out as a wind colder than any Jig had known passed
through
his body.
The wind passed in an instant. Jig didn’t know how much was in his mind, but the cold had been real enough to freeze Jig’s fangs to his cheeks. He wrenched his lower jaw, tearing his fangs free as he looked around.
The lenses of his spectacles had fogged over, so he lowered his head and peered over the top of the frames.
A group of orcs lay unmoving in the snow. Jig’s would-be executioner stood in the center, his ax still raised overhead.
A kobold ran up to kick the closest orc. The orc’s hand snapped off.
With a triumphant howl, the kobold snatched up the hand and raced back to his fellows.
In the distance, arrows continued to pour into the far edge of Billa’s army, but the screams seemed far away, like echoes from a distant tunnel. Jig sheathed his sword and hugged himself to try to control his shivering.
‘‘Who did that?’’ asked an orc.
Trok was the first to respond. ‘‘Jig Dragonslayer.’’ He pointed to Jig. ‘‘The new commander of Billa’s army.’’
‘‘Unless anyone else wants to end up like this lot?’’ Relka added. She folded her arms and contemplated the frozen orcs. ‘‘I wonder how long the meat will keep, frozen like that.’’
‘‘Orders, sir?’’ asked Gratz. Billa’s blood still covered his sword. The orcs kept staring at Jig and muttering to themselves.
How long before they decided to try again? Between Shadowstar’s weakness and the horrible chill of the magic, Jig doubted he could freeze another orc if he tried. He needed to take control before they all killed one another and saved the humans the trouble.
‘‘Tell the kobolds to pull back out of range,’’ he said.
‘‘Why?’’ One of the orcs laughed. ‘‘So they kill a few dogs. Why should we care?’’
‘‘Stupid orc!’’ A kobold darted past two of the orcs and plunged a knife into the taunter’s leg.
‘‘No!’’ How had Billa done it? All the monsters wanted to do was kill one another, even with an entire army ready to ride down and destroy them.
Relka tugged his arm and pointed. Slowly Jig started to smile.
‘‘What’s the penalty for brawling on duty?’’ he shouted. He wasn’t loud enough for the orc or the kobold to hear him over their angry cries. If they had, they might have heard Oakbottom’s approach.
The orc grabbed the kobold, and then Oakbottom grabbed them both. Moments later both the orc and the kobold were soaring over the fields.
‘‘Oakbottom, you have permission to toss anyone else who disobeys,’’ Jig said.
‘‘Hey, you’re not—’’ That was as far as the orc got before Oakbottom launched her after the others.
Oakbottom didn’t care about rank or loyalty, so long as he had the chance to throw people. Jig wouldn’t be able to keep control for long, but he doubted anyone would survive long enough for that to matter.
‘‘They’re going to charge right over us.’’ Jig stood on his toes, trying to see. The orcs blocked his view of Billa’s army, but he could see movement atop the far side of the valley as the human archers advanced through the trees.
Gratz shook his head. ‘‘The valley’s too steep and snowy for a true charge. Horses can’t handle it, and the men will have to march slow and careful. But they’ll be thorough. The king will probably send hunting parties out with dogs once he’s broken our forces.’’
And the king wouldn’t stop with the valley. They knew where the goblin lair was, and they knew it was once again open to the world. Wendel had lost yet another son. He wouldn’t rest until every last goblin was dead.
‘‘Billa the Bloody would have marched this army to victory.’’
Even Jig’s ears couldn’t pick out the speaker. ‘‘Billa’s dead.’’ He turned to Gratz. ‘‘How many wolves do we have?’’
‘‘Only a few of ours survived that attack,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘The other goblin regiments have a few more squads of wolf-riders, though. We’ve probably got about eighty or so all total.’’
Good. ‘‘Trok, go get everyone mounted up and ready to retreat.’’
‘‘Typical goblin,’’ muttered one of the orcs. ‘‘Running away like a coward.’’
Jig nodded to himself. That described goblins pretty well. He thought about the tunnels and caves back home, the smell of the muck lanterns, the firm feel of obsidian beneath his feet, the taste of Golaka’s cooking. . . .
Angry roars shook Jig free of his stupor.
‘‘The trolls have gotten loose,’’ Relka commented. Jig couldn’t see the former slaves, but he could hear them rampaging through the ranks. From the screams, it sounded as though they were more interested in escape than revenge.
If he was going to do anything, it had to be now, before things got any more out of control. He turned to the orcs. ‘‘You’re going to take Avery for us.’’
‘‘How?’’ asked Gratz. ‘‘We have no siege equipment, remember?’’
‘‘Sure we do,’’ Jig said, grinning. He pointed toward Oakbottom. ‘‘We’ve got him. Oakbottom, how would you like to toss an entire army of orcs?’’
Oakbottom’s branches quivered. Presumably that was a good thing, a sign of anticipation. Or maybe it was the wind.
‘‘Do you think you’re good enough to land them on top of the wall?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘Let’s find out.’’ Oakbottom reached for the nearest orc.
‘‘Not from here!’’ Jig shouted.
The orcs backed away. ‘‘I’m not about to let some walking tree throw me about,’’ said one.
Jig folded his arms. ‘‘I understand if you’re afraid. I jumped from the top of that wall and survived, but it was a little frightening. If you don’t think you’re tough enough—’’
You jumped?
Shadowstar asked.
Jumped. Fell. What’s the difference?
The difference is that you had Darnak there to fix you.
The orcs were already charging toward Avery. Oakbottom scooped up a few orcs for practice, flinging them toward the walls as he followed. Jig tried to imagine what it would be like to be a human atop the wall, to see orc after orc hurtling through the air, screaming and waving their weapons. Even if most of the orcs died from the impact, Oakbottom would still be able to knock the humans off the wall. And it only took a few survivors to open the gates from inside.
He turned to the goblins and kobolds. The kobolds had already drawn back past the road, safely out of range for now. They really were quick.
‘‘When Wendel’s forces see what we’re doing, they’ll speed up the attack, sending more men to defend Avery.’’ Jig wished he had thought to swipe a few of Darnak’s maps. This would be much easier to plan if he could see everything.
‘‘Is that when we attack?’’ asked Gratz.
Jig shook his head. ‘‘We’re goblins. That’s when we run away.’’
Goblin drums were bad enough. Combined with the braying of orcish horns and the shrill yowls the kobolds used to relay commands, the noise was enough to set Jig’s teeth grinding. He flattened his ears and tugged the cloak off a fallen orc. The material was bloody, but tough. He wrapped it around two spears, tying the sleeves in a tight knot. He did the same with the bottom corners. ‘‘Help me.’’
Braf and Relka gently lifted Tymalous Shadowstar onto Jig’s cloak. Each grabbed the spears and started to lift. Then Braf cursed and dropped his end.
Jig tried not to weep. ‘‘Maybe you should grab the spears
behind
the points.’’
‘‘Sorry.’’ Braf tried a second time. ‘‘Shouldn’t gods be heavier?’’
Loud howls made Jig jump, even though he had been expecting it. He turned to see Trok leading the wolf-riders past Avery. The kobolds fled in the opposite direction, scampering at top speed in the general direction of Pottersville. Just let Wendel’s army try to catch them all.
Promise me something, Jig.
‘‘What?’’
Shadowstar managed a smile.
Don’t let them eat me.
Jig stared at Tymalous Shadowstar. There was no blood, but he looked like . . . well, like someone who had been run through with a big sword. His face was even paler than usual, and his eyes had dimmed.
Despite everything he had seen, Jig still couldn’t accept the idea of a god dying. Gods didn’t do that. Humans and orcs and kobolds and goblins, sure. Especially goblins. But not gods. Part of being a god was that you didn’t die.
You could run away faster if you weren’t carrying me,
Shadowstar pointed out.
That’s why I had Braf and Relka carry you instead of doing it myself,
Jig answered. ‘‘We need to get to the edge of the woods. Make sure nobody crosses the boundary into elf lands.’’
‘‘How will we know?’’ asked Braf.
‘‘If everyone starts getting shot with arrows, we’ve gone too far.’’
The sharp scream of an elfhawk nearly made them drop Shadowstar. Everyone turned to stare at the two enormous birds flying from Avery. Jig squinted through his spectacles, trying to discern whether the hawks carried riders.
As the birds reached the edge of the army, a few goblins and kobolds hurled spears. Most missed, and those that hit didn’t appear to do any damage. Prince Theodore must have hardened his hawks’ skins against attack, the same as he had done to his men.
One of the goblins leaped and swung his sword. The hawk swerved, and its talons dug into the goblin’s arm. Powerful wings pounded the air. The goblin screamed and kicked as the hawk hauled him higher, then dropped him.