by Jim C. Hines
The most tortuous spot so far was a steep slide of loose stone, conveniently hidden by a blanket of snow. Braf had been the first to stumble, but his weight pulled the next goblin off-balance, and soon the entire line was tumbling down the hillside.
Hobgoblins could learn a few things about traps from this place.
Jig had taken some satisfaction in knocking the legs from beneath a few humans as he fell. Unfortunately, they hadn’t stopped long enough for him to heal his scrapes. The blood seeping from his elbow kept sticking to his sleeve.
The goblins stayed close to one another as they walked, in part to keep from choking, but also for warmth and reassurance. Jig had never explored more than an hour beyond the lair, and that had been years ago, when he was fleeing from a bully named Porak. Most goblins spent as little time as possible on the surface.
‘‘I hate the outdoors,’’ Jig muttered, shoving his hands into his sleeves for warmth. The sound of the branches humming in the wind conjured images of dragons and worse. The trees here were skeletal, their dead leaves covering the ground to turn it even more treacherous. The clouds drifting overhead made him feel as though the ground were shifting beneath his feet.
The world was simply too big. Back home in the lair, there were only so many caves and tunnels to explore. Out here, they could be going anywhere.
Eventually they left the tree-covered stone of the mountainside for a road of frozen mud. Even more armed humans waited here. Most were tending to their horses.
Jig stared at the closest horse. He had never actually seen one before. Oh, adventurers would occasionally have an image of a horse painted on their shield or armor, and once the hunters had brought back most of a horse for dinner. But living, breathing horses were very different.
For one thing, they were a lot bigger. And scarier. The closest had gray fur with white spots. Its eyes were huge, and it bared a row of enormous flat teeth as the goblins limped forth from the trees. It pawed the road, and Jig realized it wore a heavy piece of curved iron on its feet. No doubt to help it crush goblin skulls.
Most of the humans were already climbing onto the horses. Theodore jabbed his heels into his horse’s sides, and the horse trotted to the front of the line. The elves followed. They remained on foot, but seemed to have no problem keeping up with the horse.
The goblins were dragged into the middle of the road. Soldiers rode on either side, tugging the reins to keep their horses under control. Those horses were even bigger than tunnel cats! A single one could probably kill and eat half the goblins here.
Now, instead of tripping over tree roots and icy rock, Jig found himself tripping over ruts in the road and frozen horse tracks. The horses also left other less savory signs of their passage. Some of those piles must have been from the journey here, as they were frozen hard as rocks.
Trok had already thrown one at Relka’s head.
Jig twitched his ears, trying to restore feeling to the tips. He could hear Theodore joking with one of the elves up ahead, though the wind kept him from making out their words. Genevieve rode behind, along with another group of humans.
A low hooting sound made Jig jump.
‘‘They’re going to feed us to the monsters,’’ said one of the goblins.
‘‘I’m doubting the owl would be interested in making a meal of you.’’ Darnak chuckled as he jogged to catch up with the goblins. Thankfully, he had managed to find clothes. His trousers bagged out of the tops of his boots, and his shirttails hung down to his knees. He had twisted his beard into a rope and tied a knot in the end to keep it out of the way. Staring at Jig, he said, ‘‘Keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told, and you’ll be all right.’’
Jig nodded. ‘‘But why did you tell them—’’
‘‘Mouth shut I said.’’ Darnak shook his head and stopped walking, allowing the goblins to draw away. ‘‘Ears the size of saucers, and they still don’t listen.’’
The sky was dark by the time Prince Theodore ordered a halt. A yank on the rope punctuated his cry. ‘‘We’re here!’’
By now Jig had lost any sense of distance or direction. Even if he were to escape, he would never be able to find his way back to the lair. Jig pulled to one side, trying to see past the other goblins, but it was no use.
Genevieve rode to join her brother. Her horse was black, naturally, all except a spot of white above its front foot. Its tail flicked like a whip as she passed.
Jig cringed away from that tail, then turned around, trying to get a sense of their surroundings.
Black shadows rose in the distance to either side. The road appeared to run through a wide valley. Jig sniffed, hoping the smell of the air would tell him more. All it told him was that Trok had worked up a good, sour sweat over the course of the day.
The land immediately to either side of the road was flat and clear of trees. Jig squinted at a bulky shape to the left. Could that be a building of some sort? Tall, bulky animals stood in a tight group to one side of the building, letting out an occasional moaning cry.
‘‘Get those goblins out of here,’’ someone yelled. ‘‘They’re scaring the cows!’’
‘‘Welcome to Avery,’’ Darnak said as the line of goblins began to move again. He had made the entire journey on foot, and he kept muttering about how it would have been so much faster with wings.
Up ahead, flickering torches illuminated a wooden wall that rose four times as high as a goblin. There had to be some sort of platform near the top, supporting the soldiers who stood with spears and crossbows. The light of the torches turned them into flickering, ghostly figures. The platform was low enough that only the soldiers’ upper torsos could be seen. It was a bit disconcerting, watching all those half-soldiers moving around to point their weapons down at the goblins.
Guards on the ground dragged open a door that was nearly as tall as the entire wall. Theodore and Genevieve were the first through. From where Jig stood, it looked as though they were steering their horses into one another, each one trying to shove the other aside so they could be first into the city.
‘‘What’s going to happen to us, Darnak?’’ Jig asked, wiping his eyes. His vision kept blurring, and his nose wouldn’t stop running. The cold had been making his face leak all day, but the problem was even worse here.
‘‘Genevieve means to put you to work,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘You’ll be helping fortify the town. Be careful. Folks around these parts aren’t too fond of goblins.’’
‘‘Nobody’s fond of goblins,’’ Jig said.
‘‘True enough.’’ Darnak’s arms twitched as he walked, and he kept shaking his backside. Was he sick? It was only when he shook his head, fluffing out his black hair, that Jig recognized the movements. He had seen birds do the same thing, twitching their wings and shaking their tailfeathers when they were nervous. Darnak had spent far too long as a bird.
But why would he be nervous? Darnak wasn’t afraid of anything!
‘‘What about food?’’ Relka asked.
Farther up the line, Braf twisted around to add, ‘‘And a privy?’’
‘‘Some blankets would be nice,’’ said another goblin.
‘‘What about a nice hot cup of lichen tea?’’
‘‘And maybe some wood for a fire?’’
‘‘I’ll need a new pair of trousers if you don’t give us that privy soon!’’
‘‘That’s enough,’’ bellowed one of the humans. He pointed his crossbow at the line, and the goblins fell silent.
Jig blinked, trying to focus on the wall. Rather than the logs or planks Jig had expected, the wall appeared to be made of individual trees, growing so closely together that there was hardly a finger-width of light between them. The branches had been cut away, except for the very top, where they grew together into the bushy platform where the guards watched. And the bark appeared to be moving, rustling like a swarm of rats.
Jig sneezed, spraying the back of Trok’s furs in the process. Not that anyone would notice.
> As they walked closer, Jig realized it wasn’t the tree bark that was moving. The trees were covered in drooping yellow flowers. Even the smallest was as large as Jig’s hand. He sneezed again as the sickly sweet scent of the flowers overpowered even Trok.
‘‘What is this place?’’ Relka whispered.
‘‘Used to be an elf town,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘There was a bit of a disagreement between the elves and the humans about sixteen or so years back. They eventually hammered out a treaty that gave this valley to King Wendel. It’s not all that comfortable for humans, but the land is great for farming. Unnatural, the way elves and plants get along. One of them pisses on a rock, and the next day you’ve got a sapling. Avery produces twice as many crops as any other town its size. Of course, if you wander into the poison ivy on the south side, you’ll pray for a quick death. Vines as thick as your finger. I suspect the elves planted it deliberately, as a going-away present.
‘‘For the most part, the elves stay on their side of the border. But every once in a while, they try to ‘recruit’ a human to their way of thinking.’’ Darnak scowled at Theodore as he spoke. ‘‘Humans are suckers for all that grace and so-called wisdom. Not to mention the hair. As if one of those pointy-eared tree-lovers could grow a proper beard.’’
Darnak stepped aside as the goblins passed through the opening. The ground was softer here, covered in rotting flower petals. The walls were two trees deep. Thick branches grew together overhead, and a nest of birds squawked angrily from behind the flowers.
Inside, a wide path of snow-crusted wood chips led through more living buildings. Everywhere Jig looked, he saw vines and leaves and flowers of all colors and shapes. He wiped his nose again and blinked to clear his vision.
Genevieve dismounted from her horse. ‘‘Take them to the stables for now. Bring food and water. Blankets as well. I didn’t drag these filthy creatures down here only to have them freeze.’’
‘‘What about that privy?’’ Braf stood with his legs tightly crossed, and his voice was higher than usual.
Genevieve turned away. ‘‘Bring a bucket.’’
Jig had a hard time falling asleep that night. Maybe it was the fact that nobody had bothered to untie them, so every time Trok or Relka shifted in their sleep, Jig choked. Or maybe it was the human food they had been forced to eat.
The humans had brought two barrels. The first contained hard, green, smelly things called pickles. He had tried to feed some to Smudge, and the fire-spider grew so hot he nearly burned Jig’s hand. The slimy, hard vegetables smelled a bit like Trok. Hardly an appetizing aroma.
The other barrel contained grungy brown bulbs with white shoots sprouting from them like tentacles. The humans called them potatoes, and they were cold, hard, and tasteless.
Still, after trying a pickle, ‘‘tasteless’’ was a significant improvement.
One of the horses snorted and shifted position. That was the real reason Jig hadn’t slept. The goblins shared the stables with at least thirty horses. Sure, the horses were penned in their stalls, but Jig doubted those flimsy gates would stop them.
The dry air coated Jig’s mouth and nose, though at least there were no flowers in here. He and the rest of the goblins huddled together at the far end of the narrow wooden building.
Do you know why we’re here? Jig asked.
Shadowstar’s answer was anything but helpful. Probably because it’s the only place in town big enough to hold forty goblins.
‘‘Jig?’’ Relka’s whisper interrupted Jig’s retort.
‘‘What is it?’’
‘‘Do you think they’re going to kill us?’’
Jig closed his eyes. ‘‘Probably.’’
‘‘Do you think I’ll get to meet Tymalous Shadowstar when I die?’’
He didn’t answer. If he said no, Relka would spend the rest of the night praying and singing, trying to prove herself worthy. And if Jig said yes, he had no doubt that Relka would immediately provoke Trok into killing her, just to hurry things along.
Eventually exhaustion overpowered fear. Jig didn’t sleep comfortably, not with Trok’s elbow wedged into his gut and Relka’s knees in his back, but he slept.
The clang of bells ripped him from a dream in which elves leaped from the walls to shoot pickle-tipped arrows at Jig and his fellow goblins. Trok leaped to his feet, nearly breaking Jig’s neck in the process.
‘‘Everyone out!’’ The stable door swung open to reveal the shapes of Genevieve and several of her soldiers. The bright sunlight made it impossible to discern anything more.
The horses in their pens bared their huge teeth as the goblins passed. Those round eyes seemed to bore right through Jig’s skin. Maybe that was the real reason Genevieve had brought goblins to Avery. They had run out of horse food, and the horses were too smart to settle for pickles or potatoes.
‘‘How are we going to fight them?’’ Trok whispered.
Jig looked around, trying to see who Trok was talking to. A tug of the rope yanked his attention back to Trok. ‘‘Me?’’
‘‘You’re the dragonslayer, right? You’re the one who fought all those pixies.’’ Trok glanced at Genevieve. ‘‘So how are you going to kill this lot?’’
Technically, Jig hadn’t really killed the dragon. And while he had fought pixies, most of the goblins who had accompanied him in that battle hadn’t come back.
‘‘No talking,’’ Genevieve said, saving him from having to come up with a response. She walked along the line, studying each goblin. Behind her, several men handed out more potatoes. Another dipped water from a barrel, offering each goblin a drink. These were no soldiers. They were unarmed, and their wide eyes barely blinked as they watched the goblins.
Other humans watched from windows and doorways. Those who passed walked faster, either staring at the goblins or averting their eyes.
The roads all seemed to stretch out from the center of town, with smaller paths between them. They reminded Jig a bit of branches growing from a tree. Buildings and trees crowded together between the roads. For the most part, the buildings appeared far younger than the trees. Many were wood and stone, though a few seemed to be built into the base of the trees themselves. Those looked like miniature versions of the wall surrounding the town.
A pair of children whispered and pointed from high up in one of the trees. An older man stood in his doorway holding an ax. They were afraid. Were goblins so terrifying? The rope around Jig’s neck was clearly visible to anyone.
A rough-shaven man slapped a potato into Jig’s hand, and his stomach clenched. He forced himself to take a bite. He picked one of the bitter sprouts from between his teeth. The white sprouts were the only part of the potato with any flavor, but Darnak had mentioned that they were also toxic. It figured.
Genevieve kicked her horse, yanking the reins to lead it back toward the gate. The goblins gagged down the rest of their food as armed guards escorted them out of the city after Genevieve.
There she slid down and drew a knife. Before she could speak, the horse butted its head into her shoulder, knocking her into the wall. Then it stepped past her and began to chew one of the flowers.
‘‘Stop that.’’ Genevieve reached up to tug the reins, then swore as the horse nipped her arm.
Theodore laughed as he rode his own horse alongside hers. Most of the elves rode behind him. Like the elves, Theodore rode bareback, though he still used reins. ‘‘If Windstorm is too much to handle, I’m sure we could find you a more suitable mount. I believe I saw an old mule in one of the farmhouses.’’
‘‘I believe I see one riding horseback with the elves,’’ Genevieve shot back.
Even their insults brought back memories of Barius and Ryslind.
Genevieve handed the reins to Darnak and stepped to the wall.
‘‘This is steelthorn. It’s an elf tree.’’ She wrapped her fingers around the base of a flower, pulling the petals out to expose the brown stem. She placed her knife at the tip of the stem. The flowe
rs must have been tougher than they appeared, because it took several hard tugs to cut through.
She dropped the petals and wiped her hand on her trousers. ‘‘Each of you will be given a knife.’’ She tossed hers to the nearest goblin, who immediately tried to cut himself free. When the rope wouldn’t budge, he shrugged and lunged at the princess.
An arrow pinned his rear foot to the ground. He screamed as he fell, and the knife dropped into the snow.
Genevieve picked it up. ‘‘Use your knife on anything but these flowers, and one of my brother’s pet elves will put an arrow through your throat.’’ She pointed to the top of the wall, where a slender figure waved his bow in salute.
‘‘So you captured goblin warriors to fight flowers?’’ Trok asked.
Genevieve shrugged. ‘‘If you prefer, I can find other uses for you. Your bodies could fertilize the fields.’’
Jig studied the stem where Genevieve had cut away the flower. Thin, reddish-brown leaves had already begun to curl tightly around the stem. Smaller thorns covered the outside of the leaves.
‘‘Every flower must be cut,’’ said Genevieve.
Jig stared at the wall. The flowers in front of him were too many to count, and the wall stretched on to surround an entire town. Not to mention how high they grew.
‘‘A waste of time,’’ Theodore shouted as he rode his horse to the gate. He pulled the Rod of Creation from his belt and held it overhead. He still hadn’t bothered to take the metal bowl off the end of the spoon. ‘‘I take my leave of you, dear Sister. While you play with your pet goblins, Father and I shall protect our kingdom once and for all.’’
‘‘And while you play with your rod, dear Brother, I shall restore this city.’’
Several of the goblins snickered. Theodore pointed the rod at the nearest, but that only caused the goblin to laugh louder.
‘‘That’s enough you two.’’ Darnak walked right past the prince’s horse, completely unafraid of those enormous hooves. ‘‘Teddy, you need to be getting yourself to Skysdale. Your father’s expecting you. Genevieve, stop posturing for the goblins and put them to work already.’’