Goblin War (9 page)

Jig started to protest, then changed his mind.

‘‘Paugh!’’ Trok spat. ‘‘Tastes like something that came from the wrong end of a carrion-worm!’’

Jig fought a grin as he took the flask from Trok, then poured a bit of elf beer onto the rope. He did the same on his other side, then put the flask away and grabbed Smudge.

‘‘Hey, what are you doing?’’ Trok grabbed Jig’s arm. His claws poked right through Jig’s sleeve, until it felt as if they were gouging the bone beneath. ‘‘If you’re going to escape, you’re taking me with you.’’

‘‘I can’t,’’ Jig said. Freeing himself would also free Relka, since she was tied to the rope behind him. But that couldn’t be helped. And the longer he stayed, the more likely someone would notice. Already the human farmer was walking out with his pitchfork, either to help move the flowers or to protect himself from the goblins, Jig wasn’t sure.

‘‘You won’t get far with a broken arm, either,’’ said Trok.

Jig tried to tug free, but it was no use. ‘‘Fine,’’ he said. ‘‘Give me your rope.’’

There was a choked squawk from the next goblin as Trok pulled his own rope into Jig’s reach. Jig poured a bit more beer over the rope, then grabbed Smudge. He wasn’t even certain this would work.

He placed Smudge on the rope.

Smudge listed to one side, faster and faster, until he swung down to dangle upside down from the rope. One pair after another, his legs gave way, and he dropped into the snow.

Jig picked him up again. Smudge promptly scrambled up Jig’s sleeve and set it on fire.

‘‘Stop that,’’ Jig hissed. He patted himself out, and Smudge fell again. ‘‘No more elf beer for you,’’ Jig muttered.

By now, the other goblins had slowed in their efforts so they could watch Jig. They didn’t realize what Jig was trying to do, but a drunken fire-spider was more entertaining than anything else they had seen since leaving the lair.

‘‘Make him fall off the rope again,’’ said Braf, grinning.

Jig wrapped his hand in the edge of his cloak and grabbed Smudge from the snow. He took the beer-soaked rope and yanked it down, choking Trok in the process. When he lifted the rope again, it burned with a merry blue flame.

‘‘Smells like burned hair,’’ Trok complained.

Jig said nothing. Next to Trok’s own stench, the burning rope was almost pleasant.

Trok grabbed the rope on either side and pulled. The rope snapped. With a triumphant snarl, he flung his rake into the snow.

‘‘Wait,’’ Jig shouted. ‘‘We’re still tied together!’’

Trok began to run, dragging Jig and Relka behind him. Jig barely managed to get Smudge back into his hood. He hoped Smudge didn’t set it on fire.

If any of the humans had missed Jig’s attempted escape, the cheering of the other goblins took care of that.

‘‘Get past the farmhouse,’’ Jig shouted.

Trok veered away from the farmer and his pitchfork. The farmer did the same, fleeing in the opposite direction. Jig grinned as he struggled to keep up with Trok and Relka.

He craned his head to look behind. Several humans were running after them. The lead human tripped as a rake flew into his legs. Braf turned to Jig and waved.

The farmer was running back toward the town, shouting. Shouting to the elf on the wall. Jig squinted, trying to see through the smeared lenses of his spectacles.

The elf only needed to shoot one of them. Dragging the dead weight of a dead goblin would slow the other two enough for the humans to catch them. Jig watched as the elf drew an arrow from his quiver.

Jig grabbed the rope on either side of his neck, then lifted both legs from the ground. He fell, and his full weight yanked the rope, choking Relka and Trok. They collapsed on top of him.

Trok swore. ‘‘What are you—?’’

An arrow thumped into the snow just ahead of them.

‘‘Praise be unto Shadowstar,’’ Relka whispered.

‘‘I don’t see Shadowstar down here, dodging elf arrows,’’ Jig muttered. He crawled toward the farmhouse, craning his head to watch the distant figure on the wall. The elf would be mad now. They didn’t like to miss. Jig waited, trying to hear over the shouting and his own gasping breath. There it was, the sharp
twang
of another shot.

Jig pulled out Darnak’s flask and turned it over, gripping it in front of his throat with both hands.

The impact flung him back into the snow, but by now they were almost to the farmhouse. Trok and Relka hauled him the rest of the way, ducking behind the corner of the building as another arrow buzzed past.

‘‘How did you do that?’’ Relka asked. She plucked the dented flask from Jig’s hands. ‘‘It’s like you knew exactly where the arrow was going to hit. Did Shadowstar bless your vision so you could see the future?’’

Jig shook his head. He was still gagging from being dragged through the snow. ‘‘No self-respecting elf is going to shoot someone in the chest, not if they can make a harder shot to the neck.’’ He glanced at the dented flask and shivered. Darnak made a good flask. This thing was thicker than armor.

‘‘At least I grabbed the arrow,’’ Trok said, grinning. The tip was bent from the impact.

‘‘Good,’’ said Jig. He tugged Trok around. ‘‘You can use it to fight the humans with their swords and axes.’’

Trok’s grin disappeared. Goblins weren’t the smartest warriors, but even he knew better than to take on armed humans with nothing but a sharp stick. He handed the arrow to Jig.

As soon as Jig recovered enough to stand, they were off again. They made for the trees, keeping the farmhouse between themselves and the elf.

It didn’t stop the elf. Arrows continued to arch over the roof, landing disturbingly close. ‘‘Unfair,’’ Jig complained as another arrow hissed past his ear.

And then they were shoving past branches and stumbling over roots and low-growing plants. A branch snapped into Jig’s face, making him yelp.

Trok grinned. Deliberately, he reached out to bend another branch. Jig ducked, and this one hit Relka instead. Then Trok ran face-first into a tree.

‘‘Concentrate on running away,’’ Jig said. Trok grunted his agreement as he rubbed his jaw.

One of their pursuers shouted, ‘‘Their tracks go this way!’’

‘‘Tracks?’’ Relka asked.

Jig looked back. The snow was thinner here, little more than a white crust sprinkled with fallen leaves and pine needles. But even Jig could see where he and his companions had gouged the snow with every step. He kicked the snow, trying to fill in a footprint, but only made things worse.

‘‘Go deeper into the woods,’’ Jig said. ‘‘There are more trees, so there’s less snow.’’

According to what Darnak had told him, this was the human side of the valley, which meant he didn’t have to worry about crossing some invisible boundary into elf lands. For once, luck was with him.

On the other hand, fleeing through elf-infested woods would at least have resulted in a quick death.

Jig tugged the rope, leading Trok and Relka to a long cluster of thorn plants. He tore his cloak and scraped his hands on the way through, but hopefully the thorns would slow the humans, too.

‘‘Don’t let them escape!’’ That was Genevieve. Jig cocked his head, aiming his good ear at the sound. He heard hoofbeats, but he guessed she was still at the edge of the woods. He still had trouble judging distances and sounds out here in the open, though.

‘‘She never should have brought those monsters into our town to begin with.’’

Jig swore under his breath.
That
voice was far closer than Genevieve’s. Jig was still thinking like he was back in the lair, assuming the humans would have to follow the same route the goblins had taken. But there were no tunnel walls here, and the humans had spread out. They could send an entire line sweeping through the woods to make sure they didn’t miss the runaway goblins. They had probably even avoided those stupid thorns.

He didn’t know how many of the humans were soldiers, but it was a good bet they all had better weapons than Jig’s lone arrow.

He could hear two sets of footsteps closing in from the left. ‘‘Under here,’’ Jig whispered, hurrying toward a small stream. The water was frozen save for a thin trickle in the center. There were fewer trees here, but one was a fat pine with branches sagging to the ground. Jig crawled beneath the branches, then waited while Trok and Relka crowded in behind him. Jig reached out with one hand to smooth the pine needles the best he could.

‘‘Where’d you go, Samuel?’’ shouted one of the humans.

‘‘Stopped for a rest.’’

Jig gripped the arrow with both hands. He could see the second human, Samuel. His legs, at least. Samuel had stopped less than a stone’s throw from their hiding spot. He rested his weight on a large, double-headed ax.

Trok pressed something cold and scaly into Jig’s hand.

‘‘What’s that?’’ Jig whispered, once he regained control of his breathing.

‘‘Pinecone. I thought you could pour more of that elf piss on it and set it on fire, then maybe throw it at the humans.’’

‘‘You want me to use flaming pinecones against humans and their axes?’’ Jig barely stopped himself from shoving the pinecone in Trok’s ear. Only the knowledge that Trok would probably eat Jig’s arm in return stopped him.

‘‘I got the idea from a story. Apparently there was this great wizard, and—’’

‘‘And the best he could do was set pinecones on fire?’’ Jig bit his lip as the humans moved closer.

‘‘Think they took to the stream to hide their tracks?’’ asked one.

Jig grinned. That was a clever idea. Though knowing his luck, he’d slip on the ice and break his knee.

‘‘Who cares?’’ said the other, Samuel. ‘‘If you ask me, we should cut them all loose. Better yet, take the axes to them. My little girl had nightmares all through the night after seeing those monsters.’’

‘‘I hear they eat their young.’’ The first human tromped closer.

‘‘Only if they can’t get ours,’’ Samuel answered. ‘‘And you’d better mind your wife, Virgil. You know how goblins lust after human women.’’

Jig glanced at Trok, who grimaced. How could any self-respecting goblin be attracted to a human female and her tiny ears? Not to mention their flat teeth and pasty skin.

‘‘Genevieve’s mad, bringing them here. Who knows what kind of disease they’re carrying? My cousin Frederik knew a man whose sister’s husband got his arm scratched by a goblin. The wound spread, and they had to take his arm at the shoulder.’’

Diseases? Well, there was that toenail fungus Jig had been fighting. Shadowstar’s magic helped, but the yellow gunk kept coming back. He didn’t think the humans could catch that, though.

‘‘I hear if they bite you, you turn into one of them.’’

Samuel smacked his companion on the arm. ‘‘That’s wolfmen, you idiot.’’

‘‘Doesn’t matter. I’m not losing my arm to some stinking goblin.’’

Jig hoped that was merely a figure of speech. If the humans could smell Trok from there, the goblins were as good as dead.

‘‘Forget this.’’ Samuel cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, ‘‘No sign of the goblins. We’re heading back.’’

Jig couldn’t believe it. Even as the humans turned and hurried back through the woods, he kept peeking around, waiting for an elf to pop out of a tree and shoot them.

‘‘Why are they leaving?’’ Relka whispered.

Jig thought back to what Darnak had said. ‘‘They’re afraid of us.’’ These weren’t heroes or adventurers. They were ordinary humans, and they had probably never seen a goblin in their lives before Genevieve dragged them all to Avery.

It was like the stories the goblins used to tell about the Necromancer. Even though no goblin before Jig had seen the Necromancer and survived, they still told tales frightening enough to make children cry.

In the Necromancer’s case, most of those tales had turned out to be true, but that was beside the point. The humans were afraid of them!

‘‘What do we do now?’’ Relka asked. ‘‘Go back to the lair and rescue Grell and the others?’’

‘‘We can’t,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Theodore used the rod to seal the lair.’’ Not to mention he wasn’t sure how to find his way back. The woods and mountains were all so big.
Could you lead us to the lair?

Probably,
said Tymalous Shadowstar.
Where you’ll be killed by whatever guards Theodore left behind. Or if he left the lair unguarded, you can sit around and starve to death.

‘‘What’s wrong with him?’’ Trok poked Jig in the neck.

‘‘Stop that,’’ said Relka. ‘‘He’s talking to Tymalous Shadowstar. You can tell, because his eyes cross a little, and sometimes he drools.’’

Jig wiped his mouth.
You mean Billa and her army of orcs and goblins. They could help us fight the humans.

Shadowstar hesitated.
This goes beyond the humans, Jig. Not once in my memory have orcs and goblins come together like this. An army of monsters . . . something is wrong. Do you remember when I warned you about the pixies?

Maybe this was why gods stayed on another plane of existence. If they stayed here in the mortal world, their followers would be too tempted to punch them in the face.
Of course it is. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me exactly what you’re worried about?

I would if I knew
, said Shadowstar.

Shadowstar didn’t answer.

Jig waited to make sure he could no longer hear the humans’ voices, then crawled out from beneath the tree. ‘‘Come on,’’ he muttered. ‘‘We can follow the stream, and—’’

Jig stopped. Far downstream, Genevieve sat on her horse, staring at them. She looked as startled as he felt. Even as Jig watched, she kicked her horse into motion. So much for humans being scared of goblins.