by Jim C. Hines
The goblins spread apart, obeying without thinking. Had they been thinking, Jig was sure they would have run the other way. But even he had jolted into motion at Gratz’s sharp tone.
Hessafa threw her short spear as she ran. The elf twisted easily out of the way, but at least he couldn’t shoot anyone and dodge at the same time. Trok stooped to grab a rock, then threw it without breaking stride.
The elf caught it. With a crooked smile, he threw it back.
Trok ducked his head. The rock that would have crushed his face instead rang off of his helmet. Trok staggered and toppled into the snow. Even from here Jig could see the dent in the top of his helmet.
By now the remaining goblins had almost reached the elf. Still smiling, the elf stepped back from his branch, dropping lightly into the snow. He used his bow to parry the nearest goblin’s attack, then whirled, putting himself behind the goblin. A kick to the backside launched the goblin straight into the tree. The sound of skull hitting wood reminded Jig of the war drums back home.
Gratz and Relka reached the elf next, and both attacked at once. The elf tossed his bow into the air, where it hooked neatly over one of the branches. He caught Relka’s wrist and twisted her arm so her sword pressed her neck. Had the blade been sharper, it would have cut her throat. The elf pressed harder, then grimaced in disgust. He slammed his elbow into Relka’s temple, knocking her to the ground, and then Gratz swung his sword down onto the elf’s bare wrist.
Nothing happened. Gratz tried again, and this time the elf caught the blade and yanked it from his hand.
Jig stopped running. He looked at Hessafa, who had started to follow him up the hill. Both took a tentative step back.
Another goblin screamed as he charged the elf, sword swinging. Jig wasn’t sure if he was screaming to try to intimidate the elf, or because he still had an arrow dangling from his ear. Either way, the elf barely blinked as he parried the attack with his arm, then used Gratz’s sword to run the goblin through. The body tumbled down the hill toward Jig’s feet.
Dull or not, that blow should have shattered the elf’s arm. And Gratz’s weapon was certainly better than anything the others carried. Yet the elf hadn’t even flinched as he grabbed Gratz’s blade.
‘‘Elf magic?’’ Hessafa whispered.
‘‘No, this magic is worse.’’ He recognized this elf now. This was one of Theodore’s companions. Theodore must have used the Rod of Creation to strengthen the elf’s skin, turning it tough as armor. The elf flexed his arms, stretching as though he had just awakened from a pleasant nap, then retrieved his bow from the branches.
‘‘Run?’’ Hessafa asked.
Jig didn’t move. They couldn’t run fast enough to escape an elven archer. Is this the part where we all die?
No, said Shadowstar. Well, it’s not the danger I’ve been sensing, at any rate. That danger is magical and widespread. This one should be quick and efficient.
Jig lay flat, hiding behind a tree and the dead goblin with the arrow in his ear. The upper edge of his armor pressed into his throat, cutting off his breath, but it didn’t matter. He was too scared to breathe anyway.
Hessafa crouched beside him. He could see the elf approaching.
Why didn’t goblins ever get the magical armor and the enchanted weapons and the—Wait. Jig reached out to yank the elf’s arrow from the dead goblin’s ear. If Theodore had used the rod to strengthen the elves, would he have done the same to their weapons? Jig brushed a finger over the arrowhead, grinning as a dot of blood appeared. The tip was so sharp he hadn’t even felt the cut.
I don’t suppose you could distract him for me? Jig asked.
There’s one thing I could try, said Shadowstar. I haven’t done it in several thousand years, and it probably wouldn’t work, but—
Jig would have laughed if his throat hadn’t been so tight. A magic elf is about to snap me in half. Try it!
Stand up.
Jig cradled the arrow in both hands. What?
Warmth rushed through Jig’s body. The sensation was similar to what he experienced when he used his healing magic. But where the healing magic was concentrated in his hands, this bubbled up from his chest and spread outward. And while healing magic usually warmed his hands, this felt as though he had swallowed a fire-spider.
Rise, Jig Dragonslayer. Rise, and tell your kobold friend to close her eyes.
Why?
Shadowstar sighed. Because if you don’t, the elf is going to kill you.
‘‘Cover your eyes, Hessafa,’’ Jig said. Hessafa buried her face in the snow. Jig wasn’t sure if she was obeying his instructions, or if she just didn’t want to see the elf kill her. Not that it mattered.
Smudge scurried out of Jig’s hood and leaped off of his shoulder, a single line of silk slowing his fall. Snow melted beneath the spider’s body, and he disappeared as he scrambled toward the shelter of the tree. Smart spider.
Jig stood. The elf was almost within reach. Would he shoot Jig with his bow and arrow? Break Jig’s neck with one hand? Use Jig as a club to beat Hessafa to death? There were so many possibilities.
The elf hesitated. His skin and armor had a reddish tinge. So did the snow. Jig glanced behind, but the sky had only begun to take on the orange hue of the sunset.
The red light grew brighter and brighter. Blinking didn’t help. In fact, it made the glare worse. The light was coming from Jig’s own skin, including the inside of his eyelids.
The light didn’t bother Jig too much, but the elf was squinting. Jig raised his arrow. If he could attack while the elf was distracted—
Wait.
Jig stared at his hands. Red fire danced over his fingers. Curls of flame danced out from his skin, spitting wisps of fire into the air. You’re turning me into a fire-spider?
A fire-spider? This is the Light of the Autumn Star! The divine mark of my champions! Well, a mild version of it, anyway. Still, the universe hasn’t seen this aura of power in thousands of years!
The light brightened faster now, painting everything the color of human blood.
Hessafa whimpered. The elf moved quick as thought. An arrow buried itself in the tree in front of the kobold.
The elf had missed. The light must have blinded him. Already the elf had begun to retreat.
Jig stepped closer.
An arrow tore through Jig’s armor. And through Jig. He could see the hole where it had entered the armor. He could feel a matching hole in the back, though this one was wet with blood.
It cut your side and grazed a rib. You’ll live. Shadowstar hesitated. Unless he shoots you again, I mean.
Jig clamped his jaw, trying not to whimper. Even blind, elves were dangerous archers. There were no fancy throat shots here. The elf was shooting for Jig’s chest. A handspan to the left, and he would have taken Jig in the heart.
Stupid snow. Jig couldn’t move without his boot crunching loud enough for even a human to hear. Tears streamed down his cheek from the pain. He held his breath. The elf had to realize Jig hadn’t fallen. He should have fallen down and pretended to die. Then when the elf came closer, Jig could have stabbed him.
Either that, or the elf would have put a few more arrows into him to be safe. I don’t suppose you can do anything about his hearing?
Sorry. I wasn’t even sure I could still do the Light of the Autumn Star anymore. What did you think? Pretty impressive, isn’t it?
The creak of wood drew Jig’s attention back to the elf and his bow. He held the string steady at the side of his face, listening. Jig’s chest hurt from holding his breath, but he didn’t dare exhale. He could throw the arrow to distract the elf, but throwing away his only decent weapon wasn’t much of a plan.
Behind him Hessafa craned her head and howled. Jig flinched and flattened his ears against the sound. Another arrow buried itself in the tree, but Jig could barely hear the impact over the echo of Hessafa’s cry.
He stared at the arrow. If he couldn’t hear . . . Jig leaped forward and stabbed his own st
olen arrow into the elf’s chest.
The elf dropped his bow. Both hands touched the arrow. He squinted at Jig, and his expression was one of mild puzzlement. Slowly he toppled back into the snow.
Jig’s whole body sagged with relief. Terror must have helped block the pain, but now that his terror was fading, the hole in his side felt as though it were on fire. Jig reacted by screaming and clutching the wound with both hands.
Hessafa scurried out from behind her tree. She retrieved her spear and prodded the elf. ‘‘Killed by noisy goblin. How?’’ Her fur bristled as she turned to point her spear at Jig. ‘‘More magic?’’
‘‘No, it—’’ Jig clenched his jaw. His breath hissed past his fangs. Would you mind helping me?
What? Oh, sorry.
Jig gasped with relief as the skin along his side began to heal. Eventually he managed to stand. He grabbed the hem of his cloak from beneath his armor and tried to wipe the snow from his spectacles, but between the snow, swamp muck, and various colors of blood, his cloak was a complete disaster. Albeit a colorful one. He ended up cleaning the lenses on the sleeve of the elf’s shirt instead.
He checked Relka next. She would have a nasty bruise on her head, but she should live. Trok was snoring, so Jig figured he was okay. So was Gratz. His arm was broken from when the elf had tossed him aside, but that could wait until Jig checked the others. Of the two goblins who had been pinned by the same arrow, the one in back still lived. Barely. Jig managed to keep him alive as he pulled the arrow free, then did his best to heal the wounds.
By the time he finished, Jig was exhausted and covered in goblin blood. But only two of his companions had died.
‘‘First you catch on fire, then you kill the magic elf. Now you heal stupid goblins.’’ Hessafa was still staring, her fur making her head appear comically large. Her teeth were bared, and her eyes wide. ‘‘What are you, goblin?’’
Don’t tell her, Shadowstar said.
I don’t want to. Can you imagine what it would sound like if she and Relka started singing together? But how am I supposed to explain catching on fire in the middle of a battle, not to mention—
Jig, you’re not going to like this.
Jig closed his eyes. If Shadowstar was bothering to warn him, the news had to be truly unpleasant.
When I placed the mantle of my star upon you, something noticed.
The mantle of your star? Oh, you mean the light. Jig stiffened as the rest of that sank in. What noticed? Are there other elves out here?
They didn’t notice you, Jig. They noticed me.
From Shadowstar’s tone, this was a bad thing. Yet Jig couldn’t help feeling relieved. For once, the unimaginably scary monster wasn’t after him!
That’s true, but anything searching for me is going to find you as well. Don’t tell her anything, Jig. Don’t tell anyone until I learn more.
So much for relief.
‘‘What are you?’’ Hessafa asked again.
Jig glanced at the other goblins. Gratz was groaning, and Relka had begun to stir. ‘‘Hessafa, I didn’t kill the elf.’’
‘‘Kobolds not stupid. I saw!’’
Jig shook his head. ‘‘You killed her.’’
‘‘Elf attacked stupid goblins. Hessafa hid. Then you—’’
‘‘Think what the stupid goblins will say when you explain how you saved them,’’ Jig said. ‘‘How you snuck up and stabbed that elf with his own arrow. The kobolds sent you with us because they’re mad at you. Imagine how they’ll react when you tell them you killed the elf.’’
Hessafa hesitated, glancing at the elf, then back at Jig. She straightened. ‘‘Hessafa killed elf!’’
‘‘Did I hear that mutt right? A kobold killed an elf scout?’’ Gratz’s voice was hoarse but firm. He sat up and rotated his arm. ‘‘Huh. I could have sworn I heard bone crack.’’
Jig glanced around, searching the hillside and the trees. Shadows had begun to stretch as the sun sank lower.
Trok was the next to recover. He groaned and climbed to his feet, brushing snow from his furs. His ears perked when he saw the body. ‘‘Hey, fresh elf!’’
‘‘No eating.’’ Gratz rubbed his arm again. ‘‘The last thing we need is for an entire squadron to come down with the runs from raw elf.’’
‘‘Who said anything about eating him raw?’’ Trok asked. He jabbed a finger at Relka. ‘‘She’s a cook!’’
Their brief argument ended when Trok realized his knife wouldn’t pierce the elf’s skin. They might be able to cook the elf, but they had no way to eat him.
Even though Jig’s stomach gurgled at the thought of roast elf, he was just as happy to move on. Cooking the elf meant more time alone in the woods, with wild animals and magically armored elves and whatever was hunting Tymalous Shadowstar.
What could possibly hunt a god?
Generally, nothing but another god, said Shadowstar. As Jig followed Gratz and the others back toward Billa’s army, he tried very hard not to think about that. He failed.
Do you remember what Darnak said, back when he first told you about me? Shadowstar asked as they crossed through the swamp.
Jig could feel Smudge rustling in his hood. Was he sensing Jig’s nervousness, or was Shadowstar’s hunter already closing in on them?
They had been deep in the tunnels of the mountain. Jig had seen Darnak’s own healing powers and had asked about the gods. Darnak had been delighted to have an audience, and he had talked until Jig’s ears were literally numb. He mentioned you were one of the fifteen Forgotten Gods, and said something about a war.
The War of Shadows. Bells rang sharply, which Jig had come to recognize as a sound of annoyance. Stupid name, I know. I’d bet anything Noc was the one who thought it up. It suits his sense of melodrama. Still, it’s simpler than ‘‘The Folly of Fifteen Gods Who Thought They Could Challenge the Two.’’
That would be difficult to work into a song, Jig agreed.
The realm of the gods is a convoluted place, Jig. At the end of the war, vast stretches of that realm were cast into shadow and darkness. The fifteen rebellious gods were destroyed, their homes eradicated.
All fifteen? Jig repeated. Including Tymalous Shadowstar. They thought you were dead.
I nearly was. I’ve kept quiet since then. None of the magic I’ve used should have drawn the attention of another god. Not unless they were already searching for me.
Jig shivered. The evening had grown colder, and his breath clouded in the air. I thought gods were supposed to be immortal.
Some of us are more immortal than others.
Jig glanced at Relka. What would she say if she knew? For most of a year, she had praised Tymalous Shadowstar to anyone who would listen, and many who wouldn’t. She sang about his strength and wisdom. But what Shadowstar had revealed made him sound less like an all-powerful god and more like . . . well, like a goblin. A goblin among gods, hiding and afraid.
I resent that. I’m far better looking than any goblin.
Jig ignored that. Do you know which god is hunting you? And, more importantly, would that god bother with Shadowstar’s goblin followers?
I have my suspicions. Noc ascended to the role of death god during the war. He earned the name God-slayer. I trust you can figure out why?
‘‘Weapons ready, men,’’ Gratz barked, drawing Jig’s attention back to this world. ‘‘Jig, Hessafa, spread out to either side. Stay out of sight. Flanking formation.’’
‘‘What does that mean?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘It means you get your scrawny arse out of sight and wait for orders. If this is another elf trick, you and Hessafa attack from either side.’’
Jig hurried away, crouching down in the swamp and barely noticing the stench. A part of him wanted to keep on running. Nobody would bother to follow a lone goblin runt.
But where would he run? Even if he managed to avoid elf scouts and Billa’s warriors, he didn’t know how to hide from a vindictive death god. Though he would probably fr
eeze to death long before that became a problem. He squatted in the snow and tried to keep his teeth from chattering too loudly.
‘‘Gratz, is that you?’’ The voice was Silverfang’s. What was he doing out here? Jig peeked through the trees.
Silverfang sat astride Bastard, clutching the wolf’s ropes in both hands. Bastard snarled and tugged his head. Silverfang leaned down and punched him in the head, after which Bastard settled down. Two other wolf-riders waited to either side.
‘‘We were on our way back,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘We found and killed an elf scout.’’
‘‘I see you lost the runt.’’ Silverfang looked pleased.
‘‘No, sir. Jig, Hessafa, get back here!’’
Jig stomped his feet as he walked. His toes were starting to go numb. That couldn’t be good.
‘‘Stupid goblins,’’ Hessafa muttered. ‘‘First go hide. Then come back. Can’t make up their minds.’’
‘‘Corporal Gratz, report,’’ Silverfang said, his voice strange. He wasn’t yelling, exactly. He sounded like he wasn’t sure whether or not to be angry. ‘‘Exactly what happened when you fought this elf?’’
‘‘He had some kind of magical protection,’’ Gratz said. He hesitated, then grudgingly added, ‘‘The kobold finished him off.’’
‘‘That’s right!’’ Hessafa raised her spear. ‘‘Hessafa killed him. Goblins just fell down a lot.’’
‘‘Is that so?’’ Silverfang scowled at Gratz. There was the anger. ‘‘You let a useless kobold fight your battle?’’
‘‘We used the Grab-and-Squeeze formation,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Just like regulations say. We goblins did the bulk of the fighting, wearing the elf down so the kobold could—’’
‘‘Save it.’’ Silverfang smiled. ‘‘You can explain it to the orcs. It seems Billa herself would like to ask you a few questions about your little battle.’’
CHAPTER 6
Tymalous Autumnstar dug his front claws into the sandstone and slid his broken body across the floor. His rear legs and tail were limp and lifeless. From the feel—rather, the lack of feeling past his wings—Anisah had snapped his spine. Fortunately, it was difficult to truly kill a god.