by Jim C. Hines
The goblin below climbed up another rung. His breath heated Jig’s neck. Jig tried not to think about the fact that every one of these goblins carried a knife.
They wouldn’t stab him in the back now. Not while they still needed him to cut them free.
After that, well, anyone who turned his back on another goblin deserved what he got.
Jig set Smudge on the rope. This time, unaffected by elf beer, Smudge clung easily to the thin rope. He turned around and stared up at Jig.
‘‘Go on,’’ Jig said. He poked a finger at Smudge’s face, driving him back a few steps.
‘‘What’s wrong?’’ asked Braf.
‘‘He’s not scared enough.’’
Jig cringed as soon as the words escaped his mouth. But before he could take them back, Braf shrugged and tried to stab Smudge with his knife.
He missed, but the knife jabbed Jig’s cloak in passing. Smudge scurried back toward Jig, the rope smoldering where he walked. But then he jumped onto Jig’s throat.
‘‘Well, he’s hot enough to burn,’’ Jig said through gritted teeth. He tried to catch Smudge, but the fire-spider had already darted toward one of his pockets.
Holding the ladder with one hand, he reached into his cloak, trying to figure out which pocket—‘‘Oh, no.’’
‘‘What’s wrong?’’ asked the goblin below him.
Jig tried to stop the explosive sneeze building in his skull. He failed. The sneeze shook the ladder. He gasped for breath, which only earned him another mouthful of flower smell. He sneezed again, and his hand slipped from the rung.
The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, sandwiched between Braf and the other goblins. From the pained shouts, a few of those goblins had fallen on their knives.
‘‘Hey, what’s going on down there?’’ Atop the wall, the elf gestured with his longbow.
Jig tried to burrow deeper into the pile of goblins, but they were already sorting themselves out.
Where was the rope? He had lost it when he fell. One of his fangs was loose. No doubt the rope had tugged it before snapping out of his mouth. Could the elf see that he wasn’t tied up?
‘‘You in the lavender cloak. What are you doing?’’
‘‘Purple, not lavender,’’ Jig muttered. One of the humans near the gate was hurrying away, presumably to fetch more guards.
Jig didn’t move. He didn’t have to. The other goblins had already backed as far from Jig as their ropes would allow.
‘‘Where did you come from?’’ the elf asked. ‘‘How did—’’
A rock hit the elf in the middle of the forehead. He grunted, staggered forward, then slowly toppled over the edge of the wall. Apparently Prince Theodore hadn’t remembered to strengthen this elf before he and the others left.
Jig turned around. ‘‘Thanks, Braf.’’
Braf picked up another rock. ‘‘I’ve wanted to do that for days!’’ His vicious grin was a reminder that Braf had been a warrior long before he was a priest.
Jig ran toward the elf. He kicked the bow as far away as he could. The elf wasn’t moving, but Jig didn’t mean to take any chances. He knelt and grabbed the knife from the elf’s belt.
Forged from a single curved piece of gray metal, the knife was light as air. The unstained wooden handle was warm to the touch. He tested the edge on the elf, then grinned. ‘‘Braf, come here!’’
Braf hurried toward Jig, dragging goblins behind him. A single swipe with the elf’s knife cut Braf free.
Jig managed to free four more goblins before the first of the guards arrived.
‘‘Use your rakes,’’ Jig shouted. ‘‘Knives are no good against swords and spears.’’
A crossbow bolt buried itself in the ground beside Jig. Atop the wall, several more humans leaned over the edge, searching for targets.
Jig started to flee, then changed his mind and ran to the base of the wall. He couldn’t get too close without impaling himself on the spikes growing from the trees, but the humans would have to lean out awfully far to shoot him. They were shouting for reinforcement, and he could hear horses thundering out through the gate. ‘‘Stay close to the wall,’’ he yelled. ‘‘Make them chase us!’’
The farther the goblins fled, the longer the gates would stay open. If the wolf-riders were fast enough, they might still manage to get into the city and capture Genevieve.
Jig tried to follow the other goblins, but tripped over the elf. The goblins, being goblins, kept right on going, leaving him to be killed. He started to rise, but there was no way he could catch up with the others.
Jig snagged a broken crossbow bolt from the ground and clenched it in his armpit. Hopefully, anyone who passed would assume he was dead. If they didn’t, he would be soon enough.
He turned his head slightly as movement from the woods caught his eye. He had never realized how quickly those wolves could move. Already the lead goblins were halfway to Avery. As far as he could tell, the humans hadn’t yet noticed.
Several horses pounded past, the thudding of their hooves a startling contrast to the silence of the wolves. Jig held his breath, but nobody paid him any attention. Humans on foot followed. Some appeared to be guards, while others were ordinary men with axes and spears. No doubt everyone who had resented the intrusion of goblins into their town was taking this opportunity to express their unhappiness.
‘‘It’s an ambush!’’ The voice was familiar, and far closer than Jig preferred. Genevieve stood with her sword drawn, pointing toward the wolves. Jig held his breath and hoped she wouldn’t notice him.
An arrow or crossbow bolt arched from the wall, hitting one of the wolves. Wolf and goblin tumbled into the snow, and neither one got up again.
‘‘Everyone back inside,’’ Genevieve shouted. ‘‘Forget the prisoners! Archers, concentrate on those wolves!’’
Jig clenched his jaw. Genevieve had spotted them too soon. They wouldn’t reach her before she got her people back inside the gate. Humans rushed past, their rage turned to panic at the sight of the wolves.
‘‘That goes for you too, Ginny!’’ Darnak’s voice, closer to the gate. ‘‘We can pick them off from atop the walls.’’
So much for Jig and his army. His first attempt at tactics and strategy had fallen apart before his goblins even had the chance to draw their weapons. Genevieve would reach safety, and then they would kill every one of the goblins at their leisure.
Unless someone stopped her.
‘‘I hate this,’’ Jig said as he got up and ran after Genevieve. She moved at a relatively slow pace, all of her attention on the wolves.
Standing at the gate, Darnak was the first to notice Jig. ‘‘Princess, ’ware the goblin!’’
He was too late and too far away. Genevieve started to turn, and then Jig pounced. He landed on Genevieve’s back and clung with one hand. With his other, he pressed his stolen knife to Genevieve’s neck.
‘‘Tell your people to stop fighting, Princess!’’ He had done it! He had captured—
Genevieve grabbed his wrist and twisted the knife away from her neck. Her elbow thudded into Jig’s side. The knife fell. Genevieve’s free hand snaked up to grab Jig’s ear, and then he was flying over her shoulder to slam into the ground.
Genevieve’s own knife appeared in her hand. ‘‘I know you. You’re the runt who helped steal my horse!’’ She knelt and placed the tip of her knife on Jig’s chest. ‘‘Jig, wasn’t it?’’
Oh, dung.
Darnak ran toward them, his heavy boots clomping through the snow. ‘‘Princess, forget the goblin and get inside!’’
Jig held his breath, waiting for Genevieve to kill him.
A snarling wall of fur shot over Jig, and Genevieve disappeared.
‘‘Ginny!’’ Darnak raised his war club overhead and charged.
Ignoring the pounding in his head, Jig rolled onto his side. Genevieve lay pinned beneath Bastard’s front paws, her knife lost. Bastard looked from Darnak to the princess and back, as if he co
uldn’t decide whether to eat her before he killed Darnak or after.
‘‘Bastard, down!’’ Jig yelled. Bastard turned, his head cocked in confusion.
Jig lay back down, fumbling through his pockets. He had only a single troll toe left. He threw it to the wolf. ‘‘Sit!’’
Bastard obeyed. Genevieve had time for one panicked squeal before disappearing beneath Bastard’s backside. Only her legs still protruded, kicking furiously.
‘‘Let her go, Jig.’’ Darnak stopped between Jig and Bastard. ‘‘I’ve no mind to fight you.’’
Bastard growled again. The other wolf-riders spread around Jig and Darnak, forming a ring of teeth and claws and swords. Darnak didn’t seem to notice.
Jig glanced at the wall. Several humans stood with crossbows ready. They were watching Darnak, waiting for his order.
‘‘I can’t let you kill her,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘Not Ginny.’’
‘‘I don’t want to kill her,’’ said Jig.
‘‘So what is it you’re wanting, then?’’ Darnak lowered his club. ‘‘If you’ve come to free your goblins, so be it. Take them and be gone.’’
Jig waved the other goblins back. They obeyed, though Trok had to tug Smelly’s reins several times to get the wolf to turn away.
He couldn’t tell Darnak the truth. Not here. No matter how softly Jig spoke, goblin ears would hear. ‘‘If she surrenders, we won’t kill anyone else.’’
Darnak turned in a slow circle. Most of the guards had retreated through the gates, following Genevieve’s orders. Darnak was alone, surrounded by goblins. Normally, Jig still would have given Darnak the advantage, but even Darnak couldn’t fight all of those wolves.
‘‘You planned this, did you?’’ Darnak asked.
‘‘Well, this isn’t exactly what I planned.’’
Darnak actually laughed. ‘‘Every field commander knows that feeling.’’
Jig kept his eye on that club. Darnak might not be able to fight everyone, but he could certainly kill Jig before the wolves got him.
‘‘Let Genevieve go.’’ Darnak tossed his war club to the ground in front of Jig. He turned and waved both hands at the men on the wall. ‘‘Lower your weapons, men.’’
Goblins would have shot anyway, out of spite. But the humans obeyed.
‘‘Bastard—’’ Jig hesitated. Was there a command to make a wolf get up off of a human?
Gratz cleared his throat. ‘‘Perhaps a ‘Ready’ command, sir?’’
‘‘Bastard, ready!’’
Bastard stood and bared his fangs, head low. Genevieve coughed and crawled out from beneath him. Her normally bored expression was twisted into one of utter horror. When she spotted Jig, her hands clenched into fists. She spat fur and searched the ground for a weapon.
‘‘Easy, lass,’’ Darnak said.
‘‘That wolf,’’ Genevieve gasped. ‘‘He sat on me!’’
Darnak chuckled, then coughed to cover the sound. ‘‘It’s over.’’
If only Darnak were right. Jig looked around, confused. ‘‘What happened to Relka?’’
Trok pointed toward the woods. Jig spotted Relka limping through the snow, her sword dragging from one hand.
‘‘What happened to her?’’
‘‘She insisted on riding Bastard in your place. When Bastard saw you were in trouble, he took off like a tunnel cat with his tail on fire. Relka tumbled right off.’’ Trok gave an innocent shrug. ‘‘Seems like someone missed a few ropes when he mended Bastard’s harness.’’
CHAPTER 10
Tymalous Autumnstar upended the clay mug, finishing off the last few swallows of . . . he wasn’t sure, actually. From the taste, it could have been anything from gnomish beer to fermented leopard urine. He belched and ordered another.
‘‘Haven’t you had enough, Grandfather?’’ The middle-aged man behind the bar sounded simultaneously impressed and annoyed. Amber earrings dangled from his ears, marking him as an acolyte of Rionisus Yelloweyes. For the right price, he could arrange all manner of mortal pleasures. So long as he contributed a good portion of his profits to the temple, the emperor’s men couldn’t touch him.
‘‘Have I had enough?’’ Autumnstar repeated, adding the empty mug to the collection in front of him. ‘‘My followers are long gone. My star has disappeared from the night sky. Most of my companions are dead. Any who survive seem determined to kill me. And not one of you remembers my name. Do you think I’ve had enough?’’
‘‘More than enough. I think it’s time—’’
‘‘My name is Tymalous Autumnstar.’’ He leaned back, settling into one of the enormous pillows that littered the floor like giant colored animal droppings. There were no chairs in Yelloweyes’ taverns. The bar was formed from overlapping slabs of green shale, running along the walls at knee height. ‘‘Repeat it back to me, and I’ll pay you ten times the value of these drinks. If not, you pour me another and leave the bottle.’’
The bartender sat down and clapped Autumnstar’s back, not unkindly. ‘‘Can you hear yourself? Followers and stolen stars? Go home and sleep it off.’’
Autumnstar smiled. ‘‘My name.’’ Though he hadn’t raised his voice, the few patrons in the tavern fell silent. ‘‘Repeat it.’’
‘‘Sure thing, grandfather,’’ the bartender said, humoring him. And then he frowned. ‘‘Could you say that name again?’’
‘‘Tymalous Autumnstar.’’ He waited while the bartender stammered a second time. In the edge of his vision, he saw one person raise his hand in the sign of the alligator, warding off evil magic.
Eventually the bartender turned and reached for a bottle.
As it turned out, conquering a town was the easy part. Controlling it was another matter altogether. Thirty-five goblins and fourteen wolves couldn’t hope to hold a town of this size for long. Both Genevieve and Jig knew it. Which would explain that small smile on Genevieve’s face as she stared at him.
Or maybe she was simply imagining all of the ways she could kill Jig once she escaped. Even though he had her weapons and she was tied up, Jig still felt as though he were standing before a dragon, waiting to be eaten.
‘‘We need to talk,’’ Jig said.
Genevieve kept on smiling.
‘‘Aye,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘Preferably somewhere other than the middle of the street.’’
Jig agreed completely, but so far, he hadn’t managed to go more than three steps without someone accosting him for orders. Speaking of which. . . .
‘‘The wolves are hungry, sir,’’ Gratz said as he ran up to Jig. A few of the wolf-riders came with him. ‘‘They made short work of that dead elf, but they’re still growling. Are you sure we can’t feed them a prisoner? There are so many humans, they won’t notice just one. I’ll make sure it’s a wounded one, and—’’
‘‘No,’’ said Jig. ‘‘Talk to Braf. The humans must have food stored somewhere. Wait . . . where did you put the wolves, anyway?’’
‘‘That big building down the road. The one with the trees with red leaves.’’
‘‘Blood oaks,’’ said Genevieve. She snickered. ‘‘You put those beasts in the mayor’s house.’’
‘‘It was the sturdiest place I could find,’’ said Gratz. ‘‘Last I saw, the wolves were ripping up the tapestries for bedding.’’
‘‘Poor Detwiler,’’ said Genevieve, a nasty edge to her tone. ‘‘Serves him right for fleeing like a coward when he heard about Billa’s army.’’
‘‘Well, if he comes back, he’ll want to wash out his closet before he uses it again. I’d throw out the bed-covers, too.’’ Gratz glanced at Jig and added, ‘‘Smelly’s been rolling again.’’
Trok and a handful of warriors jogged down the road. ‘‘We’ve finished locking up the soldiers,’’ Trok said, shoving past Gratz. He grinned and added, ‘‘We put them in the stables. The doors are barred, and we’ve got goblins watching the windows.’’
‘‘What about the townspeople?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘So far they’ve kept to themselves. Most of them retreated into that big church and locked the doors.’’ Trok glanced at Gratz. ‘‘They’re afraid we’re going to feed them to the wolves.’’
Good enough. Jig started to turn back to Genevieve and Darnak.
‘‘So when do we burn the stable?’’ Trok asked. ‘‘Relka says if we throw the right kind of wood into the fire, the smoke will flavor the meat, and—’’
Jig groaned. ‘‘Nobody is allowed to kill anyone!’’ he shouted. ‘‘Any goblin who disobeys will be executed.’’
Gratz’s forehead wrinkled. ‘‘Wouldn’t whoever carried out the execution be disobeying your order to not kill anyone, then?’’
‘‘If we let them live, they’re only going to escape,’’ Trok said. ‘‘You know how humans are.’’
‘‘I’ll deal with that later,’’ Jig snapped.
‘‘To think that he defeated us,’’ Genevieve whispered.
Darnak chuckled. ‘‘Your mother would say it’s the gods’ way of teaching us humility.’’
‘‘What do we do now, sir?’’ Gratz asked. ‘‘Now that we’ve taken the town, I mean. This should be enough to earn Billa’s forgiveness. Would you like me to send a messenger back—’’
‘‘No!’’ Jig swallowed and tried again. ‘‘No.’’ That was better. He sounded more like a goblin again, and less like a panicked bird. ‘‘First . . . first I have to interrogate the prisoners.’’
‘‘Billa would at least let us eat the dwarf,’’ someone said. Jig searched the crowd, but he couldn’t identify the speaker.
‘‘We don’t have to kill anyone,’’ Trok added. ‘‘We could take an arm here, a leg there. Humans can survive that, can’t they?’’
‘‘We’re not eating the prisoners!’’ Jig said. Not if he wanted to convince Genevieve to listen. He started to say more, then broke off as Relka ran up and whispered in his ear. Jig sighed. ‘‘We’re not eating any more prisoners.’’
From the looks on their faces, this was not how a goblin leader kept control of his men. They had fought and won, and now Jig was denying them the chance to celebrate. How long could he keep it up before he went from leader to lunch?