To a bird that size, Jig was nothing more than a rat. A scrawny rat. So hopefully the hawks would go after plumper prey.
As usual, luck was not on Jig’s side. The lead hawk banked sharply, then dove.
‘‘They look like they’re coming right at us,’’ said Braf.
Jig dropped to the ground and crawled beneath Shadowstar. Braf and Relka promptly dropped the god on top of Jig and pulled out their weapons.
None of it made any difference. The hawk drew up sharply, and one of the enormous wings knocked Braf backward. The other batted Relka to the ground. Huge talons curled around Jig’s neck and chest.
‘‘Jig!’’ Relka pushed to her feet and leaped. Wrapping one arm around the hawk’s other leg, she tried to drive her knife into the chest. And then they were airborne.
‘‘Easy down there.’’ Windswept black hair all but obscured Darnak’s face as he peered down from atop the hawk. ‘‘Aha! No wonder she’s having trouble climbing. If your friend was so eager to come along, she should have grabbed Genevieve’s bird.’’
Jig tried to answer, but whatever faint squeak he might have managed was lost in the beating of wings. They were already far above the treetops. He could see Braf still standing there, a confused look on his tiny face. Behind them, Genevieve clung tightly to her hawk. Her black cloak flapped behind her.
‘‘Let us go!’’ Relka shouted. She clung with her arm and both legs as she tried to stab the bird in the foot.
‘‘Hey there, none of that. What are you planning to do if you actually hurt the beast, eh? Last I knew, you goblins couldn’t exactly sprout wings.’’ Darnak had abandoned his bulky pack, as well as his armor. He carried nothing more than his war club, no doubt to minimize the burden on his mount.
‘‘What do you want?’’ Jig shouted.
Genevieve guided her hawk alongside. ‘‘My father sent orders to my men to confine me for ‘collaborating with the enemy.’ He lied about when he would arrive, because he didn’t want to spur me into doing anything rash.’’
‘‘Like breaking out and escaping on your brother’s elfhawks?’’ Darnak asked, chuckling.
‘‘Why are you here?’’ Jig asked. ‘‘I mean, why am
I
here?’’
‘‘I gave my word I’d try to protect you,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘There’s nothing we can do to help your army, but we can at least get you back to your lair. I’m sorry, Jig. It’s the best I can do for you.’’
Darnak leaned out to rub the hawk’s neck, ruffling the wide blue feathers. This close, Jig could see the leather harness and stirrups Darnak used to ride the hawk. If he leaned any farther, he would tumble right off.
‘‘Be careful!’’ Jig yelled.
‘‘Nothing to worry about, lad,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘You know, if you’d told me two years ago that I’d miss this, I’d have called you mad. Flying through the air, not a care in the world. There’s nothing like it.’’
Jig craned his head, trying to pick out Braf and Shadowstar, but he was too high. The goblins were little more than panicked blue dots on the ground.
He hoped the wind wouldn’t knock off his spectacles. The frames hooked pretty securely around his ears, but still. . . .
There was Wendel’s army, moving out of the trees. Lines of foot soldiers marched in unison, their shields and spearheads gleaming in the sun. Behind them, archers continued to loose their arrows. There were horses as well, but as Gratz had predicted, they weren’t galloping after the monsters.
Wendel’s army had broken into two distinct groups. One attacked the orcs, who were busy assaulting Avery. The other spread out to pursue the retreating goblins and kobolds.
From up here, it reminded him of a tunnel-sweep, where goblins would line up and march through the caverns and tunnels to drive out the rats and other pests. Usually a second row of goblins waited in front to catch the rats for Golaka’s stewpot. In this case, the elves at the top of the valley would provide the second line, killing anyone who retreated a step too far.
Trying to move as little as possible, Jig turned to look up at Darnak. ‘‘I’m not very good at directions, but isn’t our lair that way?’’
‘‘Er.’’ Darnak scowled. The hawk was flying them to the opposite side of the valley, directly toward King Wendel’s army. ‘‘Like any intelligent beast, they sometimes get ideas into their heads.’’
Without warning, Darnak threw his weight to the right. The hawk tilted.
Jig closed his eyes, but that only made things worse. He could feel his bacon from this morning fighting to escape. Thankfully, the hawk soon leveled back out. Once again it flew straight toward the humans.
‘‘Your cloak!’’ Genevieve swore. ‘‘Jig, get rid of your cloak!’’
‘‘Oh, no.’’ The hawks were trained by color. Genevieve had used a strip of his cloak to send one of the smaller hawks to her father. Jig tried to squirm free, but the hawk’s claws circling his body made it impossible.
‘‘Does this mean we’re going to your father’s palace?’’ Relka asked.
‘‘They’re not trained to deliver messages to the palace,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘They’re trained to fly to the king. Elfhawks have senses that go beyond ours. They know exactly where Wendel is, and once they’ve accepted a message, nothing short of death will divert them.’’
Killing the hawk was hardly an option, even if Jig had a weapon that would penetrate the bird’s skin.
‘‘I’m not afraid,’’ Relka said. ‘‘Shadowstar will—’’
‘‘Shadowstar is dying, Relka.’’ It came out far angrier than Jig had intended. For all he knew, Shadowstar might already be dead. The thought made his stomach hurt.
I’m not dead yet,
said Shadowstar.
This isn’t how I’d choose to spend my last moments in this realm, though. Bouncing through the snow, staring up at Braf’s backside. You’d think he could at least pull me headfirst.
‘‘Father’s going to kill me,’’ Genevieve said.
‘‘He’s going to kill
you
?’’ Jig yelled. As they reached the top of the valley, Jig saw bright green circles scattered throughout the woods. Tents, he realized. From the look of things, most of the camp’s inhabitants were off chasing orcs and goblins and kobolds.
The hawk circled lower, giving Jig a better view. The humans had made their camp along a frozen stream. The tents appeared to be arranged in rings with the largest, fanciest tents near the center.
Jig spotted any number of horses, as well as other animals. Squat gray things, like miniature horses. Larger, dark-furred animals with curved horns, tied next to oversize carts. They reminded him of goats, only fluffier. Heavy tarps hid the contents of the carts, though Jig could see men unloading barrels from one. Closer to the middle of the camp, men and women melted pots of snow over the fires.
Darnak’s hawk appeared to be flying toward one of the largest tents, near the center of camp. Genevieve followed, even though she probably could have flown elsewhere. Her hawk wasn’t carrying a ‘‘message,’’ after all.
A green and white banner hung limply from the center pole of the tent. The horses and other animals spooked and pulled away as the hawks swooped down. Jig did his best to keep from throwing up.
With a loud flapping, the hawk hovered lightly in the air, so Jig was roughly level with the top of the tents. The claws relaxed, and Jig dropped into the snow. Relka landed beside him.
By the time the hawks landed, Jig and Relka were surrounded by humans with spears. The king had kept at least some of his soldiers here. Why they needed so many weapons to capture two goblins was beyond Jig. After that ride, he could hardly stand, let alone fight.
‘‘Sorry about this,’’ Darnak muttered, dropping to the ground. He kept one hand on his war club.
Genevieve went a step farther, drawing her own sword and stepping in front of Jig. ‘‘We’ve come to speak with my father,’’ she said. ‘‘You’re welcome to try to stop us.’’
Darnak clucked his tongue. ‘‘I wouldn’t envy you the job of explaining why you had to stick Wendel’s daughter with your spears.’’
One of the guards lowered his spear. ‘‘But Your Highness, the goblins—’’
‘‘Have come to beg for mercy.’’ Genevieve glanced at Jig, an apologetic expression on her face.
‘‘The champion of Tymalous Shadowstar doesn’t beg,’’ said Relka.
Jig cleared his throat. ‘‘Actually—’’
‘‘He fought Billa the Bloody and single-handedly saved your father’s army.’’ Relka folded her arms. ‘‘Your king should be on his knees to thank Jig.’’
Genevieve rolled her eyes. ‘‘When you beg, don’t let her say anything.’’
‘‘The goblins will have to surrender their weapons,’’ said another of the guards.
Jig handed his sword over to Darnak. Relka did the same with her own weapons.
‘‘Darnak, what happened to Smudge?’’ Jig whispered.
The dwarf turned to show a metal box hanging from the side of his belt. Darnak had fashioned a light wire cage with a hinged top. Inside, Smudge sat happily munching the charred remains of an enormous moth.
‘‘I used a bit of Earthmaker’s magic to forge the bars,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘Your pet’s not the prettiest beast in the world, but he grows on you after a while. I imagine you could hang his cage by a lantern at night, and he’d do a nice job of clearing the insects from your tent.’’
Jig smiled and poked a finger through the bars to scratch Smudge’s back. He squeezed his thumb against one of the bars, testing its strength. The cage was sturdier than it appeared. Not that this should have come as a surprise, given its creator. Dwarves probably even made their socks from plates of reinforced iron.
‘‘You’d better hold on to him,’’ Jig said.
‘‘Aye.’’ Darnak clapped Jig’s shoulder. ‘‘Don’t be giving up hope just yet, though.’’
Jig cocked his head, trying to hear the sounds of battle. By now Wendel’s army had to be most of the way across the valley. The monsters would be fleeing in both directions, pinned between the elven forest and the charging soldiers. Which meant that any moment now—
The goblin drums changed from the panicked chaos of retreat to an even, three-beat rhythm. At the same time, the kobolds howled as one. The wolves joined in, their cries deeper and louder than the kobolds’.
‘‘Sounds like they’re rallying for one last attack,’’ said one of the guards.
Darnak frowned and turned to Jig. Before he could say anything, Genevieve grabbed Jig by the arm and shoved him into the tent. ‘‘Say nothing until I signal,’’ she whispered.
Large as the tent was, it felt as crowded as the goblin dining tables a year or so back, when Golaka was making ogre chitterlings. King Wendel practically had his own army crammed within these flapping walls. Jig could barely move without bumping into angry-looking men with big swords and heavy armor.
Grudgingly, the guards stepped back to clear a path.
The canvas walls turned the sun to twilight. In the center of the room, a long table sat to one side of a crackling fire. Smoke rose through a hole in the top of the tent.
Jig recognized more of Darnak’s maps spread across the table. A heavyset man with short gray hair and a heavy cloak of black fur sat studying the maps. He wore a gold crown around his forehead. It looked terribly uncomfortable. The weight pushed his ears outward, making him look a bit like a goblin child.
Genevieve and Darnak pulled Jig toward the fire. He stumbled, nearly toppling headfirst into the flames before regaining his balance.
Genevieve sighed and said, ‘‘Father, I present to you the goblin who slew Billa the Bloody.’’
Where your son failed.
The words were unspoken, but Jig suspected everyone heard them just the same.
King Wendel’s pale, leathery face tightened. Jig heard unhappy mutters from the guards as well.
‘‘He comes now to beg for mercy in exchange for that boon,’’ Genevieve continued. ‘‘To throw himself before you, a broken and—’’
‘‘Can I surrender yet?’’ Jig asked. He perked his ears, straining to follow the sounds of battle in the valley. He glanced over his shoulder, but the guards had closed their circle, blocking any escape.
‘‘Cowards, all of them,’’ the king muttered. His voice was like a rusty sword being drawn from a too tight sheath. He stood, resting his hands on the edge of the table as he stared down at Jig. ‘‘What would you have me do, goblin? Allow thousands of monsters to roam freely through my land, slaughtering and eating my people? Turn Avery over to the orcs who even now assault its walls?’’
‘‘Your land?’’ Relka stepped up to stand beside Jig. One blue finger jabbed in Genevieve’s direction. ‘‘She and her brother came into
our
mountain, killing our warriors and dragging the rest off to serve as slaves! You’re lucky Jig doesn’t slay you all!’’
Genevieve grabbed Relka’s ear and yanked her back. Darnak sighed and shook his head.
The king’s face turned dark. Jig remembered Barius’ face doing the same thing, generally right before he punched Jig. Would the king punch the goblins himself, or did kings order others to do their punching?
‘‘We owe him, Father,’’ Genevieve said. The corner of her mouth quirked up. ‘‘Besides, he’s kind of cute, with those big spectacles and—’’
‘‘Cute?’’ The king stared at Jig, as if he wanted nothing more than to shove the table out of the way and snap Jig’s neck with his bare hands.
‘‘Oh, Genevieve,’’ Darnak murmured. ‘‘Always having to tug the griffin’s tail.’’
‘‘They murdered your brothers,’’ the king said.
‘‘And they saved your daughter,’’ Genevieve snapped. ‘‘Is that worth nothing to you?’’
On the bright side, at least Wendel’s fury was no longer directed at Jig. Were kings allowed to punch their own daughters? If they were anything like goblin leaders, they could probably do whatever they liked. Though Genevieve looked fully prepared to strike him in return.
‘‘Tell me, Father,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘What do you think Mother will do if she learns you ordered her only daughter arrested?’’
The king glanced away. ‘‘I meant only to keep you safe.’’