by Jim C. Hines
Unlike Genevieve, this human wore elven armor: thin scales of magically hardened wood, each one polished until it gleamed like metal. ‘‘What’s the trouble, Genevieve? Did the goblins turn out to be too much for you? You’re not trained for such things, Sister. It’s as I was telling Father.’’
Genevieve sounded bored. ‘‘If you’ll recall, goblin treachery got the best of Barius, too. And he used to thrash you with ease. Tell me, Theodore, how many times did you run to Mother, crying because Barius had made you clean out the stables with your bare hands, or—’’
‘‘Enough,’’ snapped Theodore. His face was bright red, and he looked like he had completely forgotten about the goblins.
Jig was barely listening. He should have learned by now. No matter how dark and dire the situation, things could always get worse. And they usually did.
No wonder they had known about Golaka’s spoon. Prince Barius Wendelson had been one of the adventurers who came to the mountain two years ago in search of the Rod of Creation. He and his fellows had killed the rest of Jig’s patrol and dragged Jig deep into the mountain as an unwilling guide.
‘‘Aye, enough indeed.’’ A hefty, black-haired dwarf stepped into the cave. ‘‘Let’s be getting that garbage out of your sister’s blood before I have to go back and tell her folks how a goblin finished off their only daughter.’’
Jig pressed himself back against the cave wall. I don’t suppose your magic can make me invisible? he prayed.
The dwarf glanced at the goblins as he moved toward Genevieve. He whirled back around, his mouth round with shock. ‘‘Jig?’’
I’m afraid not, said Shadowstar.
Jig’s shoulders slumped. ‘‘Hello, Darnak.’’
CHAPTER 2
How many of Autumnstar’s companions still fought? Blind Ama had been the first to fall after Noc’s betrayal. Whose idea had it been to let a blind god charge into battle, anyway? The old fool had raced straight into Noc’s lightning.
And now Noc had come for Autumnstar.
‘‘You’ve gotten stronger,’’ Autumnstar commented.
Noc’s tactics were simple but effective. Lightning struck Tymalous Autumnstar’s shield over and over until it glowed from the heat.
The bells on Tymalous Autumnstar’s sleeves began to melt. Molten silver dripped over his free hand to splash upon the floor. He winced and raised his hand to his mouth, sucking the singed flesh.
‘‘The two have pronounced sentence upon you and your fellows,’’ Noc said. His voice had gotten deeper, too.
‘‘The two gods of the beginning couldn’t even pronounce my name,’’ Autumnstar answered. ‘‘They’re mindless, so caught up in their own struggles they never even noticed us.’’ The lightning made it difficult to see, but Autumnstar thought he saw Noc shrug.
‘‘The upper gods have pronounced sentence in their stead,’’ Noc admitted. ‘‘Now stop interrupting. Entire civilizations once looked to you for guidance and comfort, and you betrayed them. In punishment—’’
‘‘We tried to protect them!’’ Autumnstar dropped to his knees.
The lightning grew brighter. The edges of Autumnstar’s shield began to smoke, the god-forged metal boiling away under Noc’s assault. Vision was useless in such an onslaught. Closing his eyes, Autumnstar felt the floor for anything he could use to protect himself. His weapon had been lost in the last battle, but surely there was something. . . .
His fingers brushed one of the fallen stones. He traced the familiar impression of the child’s starburst.
‘‘As punishment, you and all who turned against our forefathers shall be erased from history. Civilizations shall fall, and civilizations shall rise, but none shall remember your existence. None shall ever again speak their praise to the Autumn Star. None shall whisper your name, begging for comfort in their final hours. You are forgotten, Tymalous Autumnstar.’’
‘‘And you talk too much.’’ Autumnstar threw the stone as hard as he could. It caught Noc in the chest, knocking him right out of the temple.
In that moment, Tymalous Autumnstar turned and fled like a frightened mortal.
So this was how a rat felt right before Golaka skewered it for lunch.
Everyone was staring at Jig. For the most part, they appeared confused. Except for the elves, who looked bored, and Darnak, who had begun to gnaw his knuckles.
‘‘Sorry,’’ Darnak said, yanking his hand from his mouth. ‘‘Bird habit.’’
Jig hadn’t seen Darnak since he had used the Rod of Creation to transform the dwarf into an oversized, ugly bird. As a bird, Darnak had still been able to talk.
Darnak had known the rod was disguised as Golaka’s stirring spoon, unknown to anyone in the lair except Jig. He must have instructed Theodore in its use.
Darnak appeared no worse for his time as a bird. His dark hair and beard were a tangled mess, coming well past his thighs. He kept one hand on the wall for balance. Unfortunately, Darnak had already started to chew his other hand again, which meant he had no way to close the oversized blanket which was his only item of clothing.
Apparently Darnak had forgotten to instruct Theodore to create clothes.
‘‘Do you mind?’’ asked Genevieve.
‘‘Right. Sorry about that.’’ Darnak yanked the blanket tight, so that only the tips of his toes peeked out.
Darnak studied Jig just as closely, taking in the cloak, the spectacles, even Smudge, who had crawled out from Jig’s pocket to perch upon his shoulder. ‘‘I see you found yourself another spider.’’
‘‘Not exactly,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Smudge was—’’
‘‘You know this creature, Darnak?’’ asked Theodore. He held Golaka’s stirring spoon with both hands.
Jig looked longingly at the door, wondering who would kill him first if he tried to flee. Probably one of the elves. Or maybe Grell.
‘‘Jig led us down through the tunnels two years ago. He even saved our lives once or twice.’’ Darnak forced a grin. ‘‘Those oversized white worms were a bit of fun, eh?’’
Dwarves clearly had a different concept of fun than goblins.
‘‘This was your guide?’’ Theodore whispered.
Memory was a funny thing. In that moment, Jig remembered Barius and Ryslind so clearly they could have been standing before him. If Grell’s room hadn’t been so crowded, at any rate.
It was almost funny how Theodore got exactly the same cold, angry expression on his face when he was getting ready to kill you.
Jig braced himself, wondering if he had time to swipe some of Grell’s klak beer first.
‘‘Jig ran away when we got to the dragon’s cave,’’ Darnak continued. ‘‘Never thought to see him again.’’
‘‘Typical goblin cowardice.’’ Theodore’s attention wandered back to Grell. He tried to give the rod a quick twirl, and accidentally thumped one of his guards with the spoon. The guard scrambled back, tripping in his eagerness to get away.
Jig stared at Darnak, who blinked and turned his head. Darnak knew Jig had killed the princes. Why was he—
‘‘That’s a lie,’’ Relka said.
Jig’s chest went cold. Relka was too far away for him to stab, so he searched for something to throw at her.
‘‘Jig is no coward,’’ Relka continued. ‘‘He killed Straum himself, and then—’’
‘‘A goblin killed the dragon?’’ Theodore looked genuinely amused. ‘‘And how exactly did he accomplish such a feat?’’
Relka folded her arms, a pose familiar to most goblins who had endured one of her lectures. ‘‘According to ‘The Song of Jig,’ he—’’
Jig finally found something to throw. Grell’s ‘‘poisoned’’ crossbow bolt bounced off Relka’s forehead. She blinked and turned to Jig, her mouth compressed into a pout.
Genevieve coughed and rubbed her neck. ‘‘Much as I’d love to spend the afternoon listening to goblin songs, do you think we could cleanse the poison from my body first? If nobody has anything bet
ter to do, I mean.’’
‘‘Right. Poison.’’ Darnak rubbed his hands together, which had the unfortunate effect of loosening his blanket again. He stepped toward Genevieve, moving in a clumsy waddle. No doubt he was still adjusting to being a dwarf again.
‘‘What were you thinking, coming in here before the area was secured? Are you really so eager to make your brother an only child?’’ Darnak squeezed between the goblins and soldiers until he was close enough to touch Genevieve’s hand.
‘‘There were only three goblins.’’ Genevieve’s cheeks were red. ‘‘Hardly a threat.’’
‘‘That’s the kind of thinking that got your brothers killed,’’ Darnak said. He dug through his beard to retrieve a silver amulet. Either Theodore had restored the tiny silver hammer, or else it had somehow survived Darnak’s transformation. ‘‘Don’t you worry, lass. Poison can be nasty stuff, but it’s no match for Earthmaker’s magic.’’
‘‘So can we execute this one now?’’ Theodore asked, pointing the spoon at Grell.
Genevieve waited for Darnak to finish, then turned to her brother. ‘‘Idiot.’’ She took a deep breath. ‘‘She’s the leader of the goblins. Kill her, and who’s going to surrender to us?’’
Theodore slammed the spoon onto the edge of Grell’s mattress, raising a small puff of dirt. ‘‘As leader of these goblins, you will surrender yourselves to us. If you continue to resist, we will kill every last goblin in these awful caves. Your blood will seep into the earth, and your bodies will be left to rot. Not one goblin will be left to—’’
‘‘She gets the point,’’ said Genevieve.
‘‘I still say we should kill them all,’’ Theodore muttered. ‘‘Father never meant for you to—’’
‘‘Father’s not here. He charged me with Avery’s defense, not you, remember?’’
From the fury on Theodore’s face, he most certainly did. ‘‘Father only allowed you to take command of that ill-gotten town because no self-respecting army would bother to attack it, even if—’’
Grell groaned and lay back in her bed. ‘‘Would you mind going outside while you argue? I could use a nap. You’re welcome to fight your way back in when you’re finished.’’
Genevieve and Theodore glared at one another a while longer. Eventually Theodore huffed and stormed out of the cave, followed by the elves.
‘‘Your strongest goblins will come with us,’’ Genevieve said, turning back to Grell. ‘‘The rest will remain here, sealed within the mountain by the power of the rod.’’
‘‘Why?’’ Jig asked before he could stop himself. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He had sealed the mountain himself, back when he first found the rod. Then, on Shadowstar’s advice, he had opened the cave again to keep the goblins from stagnating and dying in their isolation. Had he known what would happen, he could have left the cave sealed off and saved everyone a great deal of trouble.
‘‘Part of their orders from the king was to make sure the goblins wouldn’t be a threat,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘Only two ways to make that happen, and only one way that lets you keep breathing.’’
Relka cocked her head. ‘‘So you came onto our mountain, slaughtered our warriors, broke into our lair, attacked our chef, and stomped into the chief’s cave because we were a threat to you?’’
Darnak shrugged.
‘‘Gather your strongest goblins,’’ Genevieve said. ‘‘Except for that chef. I get the sense she wouldn’t be quite as easy to control.’’
That was quite the understatement. When nobody responded, Genevieve shrugged. ‘‘If you prefer, I can let my brother give the order to kill you all.’’
‘‘Can’t you take the hobgoblins instead?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘No time,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘Besides, hobgoblins are a nasty lot. We were thinking you goblins would be easier to manage.’’
‘‘A difficult choice, we know,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘For a leader to willingly surrender those under her protection, or to—’’
‘‘Make sure you take Trok. That sorry excuse for a warrior keeps trying to poison my beer. Better yet, shove his arse over a cliff.’’ Grell cocked her head. ‘‘Will you be passing any cliffs, do you think?’’
They took Jig too, even though he was no more a warrior than he was an ogre. As Genevieve and the others were tying up the biggest and the strongest goblins, Theodore seized Jig’s arm and tugged him along as well. ‘‘We should bring this one. He killed a dragon, after all. Surely he’s the mightiest of goblins.’’
‘‘You are such a child,’’ Genevieve said, even though to Jig’s eye she was significantly younger than her brother.
One of the elves looped a thin rope around Jig’s neck and twisted a tight knot, adding him to a line of almost forty bound goblins. Jig found himself at the end of the line, directly behind Trok. He tried not to breathe through his nose, but it didn’t help. The stench of Trok’s sweat-soaked garments was so potent Jig could taste it.
Maybe if he told Genevieve and Theodore the truth about their brothers’ deaths, they would kill him quickly and get it over with.
Near the front, Braf leaned out and waved at Jig. Whatever he started to say turned into a loud squawk as a passing elf tugged the rope, yanking him back into line.
‘‘Wait!’’ Relka hurried out of the cave. She clutched her pendant with one hand. ‘‘Where Jig Dragonslayer goes, I go.’’
The elf glanced at Theodore, who shrugged. Soon Relka was bound behind Jig, close enough for him to smell her breath. Relka had been dipping into Golaka’s honey wine again . . . which might explain why she had insisted on following Jig.
The elf took her knife, then grabbed the pendant.
‘‘No!’’ Relka clawed the elf’s wrists, to no avail. A sharp tug to the side choked off Relka’s protests, and a quick flick of the knife severed the leather thong.
‘‘You’re an idiot,’’ Jig whispered.
‘‘Be not afraid,’’ Relka said. She raised her voice. ‘‘Fellow goblins, this is but a trial of our strength. Believe in Shadowstar, and he shall set us free!’’
Trok snarled and tugged the rope with both hands, pulling Jig off-balance. Jig lurched into Trok’s furs, and then Relka crashed into Jig. Trok reached over Jig’s head to punch Relka in the middle of her forehead. ‘‘Last I checked, both of Shadowstar’s mighty priests were right here tied up with the rest of us.’’
Jig squirmed out from between them and spat in the snow. Trok’s furs were shedding.
‘‘They’re going to eat us,’’ Trok muttered. ‘‘That’s why they wanted the meatiest goblins.’’
Jig shook his head. ‘‘Humans don’t eat goblins.’’
Whatever they were going to do, Jig hoped it happened soon. Anything had to be better than Trok’s smell and Relka’s babbling.
As if to prove him wrong, Relka began to sing.
‘‘My Shadowstar is a glorious star.
He shines upon us day and night.
We are but worms before him.
He guides his goblins from afar,
Forgiving us our every slight.
We are but dung beneath him.’’
With a snarl, Trok shoved past Jig, looped the rope around Relka’s throat, and hauled her off the ground. Relka kicked and squirmed, then slammed her head back into Trok’s chin.
There was little slack in the rope between goblins to begin with, which meant Jig found himself pulled tight against Relka and Trok as they struggled. Relka’s heel kept hitting Jig’s gut, and every time Trok shifted his weight, his elbow smashed Jig’s spectacles against his face.
Where were the guards? Several of the humans were watching, hands on their weapons, but they made no move to intervene. The elves were looking up and down the line, bows ready. As for the other goblins, they mostly appeared relieved. Not that Jig could blame them. Relka’s hymns were, in a word, awful. Jig had heard this one several times, and it only got worse, comparing goblins to rotting meat, vom
it, and in the penultimate verse, hobgoblins.
Still, she was one of Shadowstar’s worshipers, and the god had funny ideas about protecting Jig’s fellow goblins. ‘‘Trok, put her down.’’
‘‘You think just because these idiots worship you, that means you can run around giving me orders?’’ Watery blue blood trickled down Trok’s chin when he spoke.
‘‘No.’’ Jig swallowed and pulled back as far as his bonds would allow. He managed to twist far enough that Trok’s elbow hit him in the ear instead of the eye. ‘‘You think they’re going to cut her body free after you kill her? They think this is a trick, a distraction so the others can escape. Look at the way they’re watching the rest of the goblins. Most likely, they’ll leave Relka tied up, and we’ll have to drag her body along to wherever it is we’re going. You might not mind hauling her weight, but I doubt the other goblins will appreciate it.’’
Low mutters spread through the line, but Trok didn’t let go. Relka had turned a deep shade of blue, almost purple, and her kicks were weaker.
‘‘Besides, what do you think Golaka will do when we get back and she finds out you murdered one of her kitchen drudges?’’ Jig added.
That did it. Trok dropped Relka as if she had sprouted lizard-fish spines.
‘‘Shadowstar’s wrath—’’ Relka coughed and clutched her throat, then tried again. ‘‘His wrath will smite you like—’’
‘‘Shut up, Relka,’’ said Jig. The wind picked up, spitting snow at the goblins, and Jig shivered. He could feel Smudge burrowing in his pocket.
What did the humans want? Darnak had said they were supposed to make sure the goblins weren’t a threat. But if that was all they wanted, why drag the strongest warriors—and Jig—away before sealing the lair?
Whatever it was, Jig was certain he wouldn’t like it.
They marched throughout the day, until the sun was little more than a scattering of red-orange light through the trees. At first they had made their way through the trees, crossing back and forth down the rocky, uneven ground of the mountain until the muscles in Jig’s legs felt as though they were on fire.