by Jim C. Hines
The monsters crowded around had begun to whisper. Very soon now the shock would pass, and then things would get messy indeed. Already the goblins were backing away from the orcs. The orcs were eyeing the goblins. The few kobolds who had come were still jumping up and down to try to see what was going on.
The only one who didn’t appear to notice the tension was Relka. She seemed to see nothing but Shadowstar as she limped closer.
‘‘Who is that?’’ she whispered. Her voice shook. She clutched her amulet so tightly her hands bled.
‘‘He’s the one who got me into this mess,’’ Jig said.
Shadowstar chuckled. ‘‘It’s one of my gifts.’’
Relka stopped just beyond arm’s reach. For the first time that Jig could remember, she appeared unsure. She glanced at Jig, then back at Shadowstar, like a rat trying to decide which way to flee. ‘‘You’re him, aren’t you? Tymalous Shadowstar.’’
Shadowstar bowed his head.
‘‘Billa was going to kill me,’’ Jig said. ‘‘You pushed me out of the way. Why?’’
Because you didn’t think to duck. And because it was the only way to get my hands on Isa’s sword long enough to destroy it. His bells rang as he coughed again, an odd combination of sounds. I did say I’d try to protect you.
‘‘The runt killed Billa!’’ shouted one of the orcs.
Good job, said Jig. He drew a deep breath, pointed at Gratz, and said, ‘‘He did the actual killing.’’
Braf frowned. ‘‘Does that mean he’s in charge of Billa’s army now?’’
Before Jig could answer, another orc snarled and raised an ax. ‘‘I’m not taking orders from some scrawny goblin.’’
The goblins began readying their own weapons. ‘‘Better than following another stinking orc!’’ someone shouted.
One of the kobolds chimed in, saying, ‘‘Orcs and goblins both stink.’’
Jig guessed it would be the orcs who killed him. They were closest, and they had the best weapons and armor. But instead of sheer, skin-chilling terror, Jig mostly felt sad. All of Billa’s work was melting away with her death. The monsters would turn on one another, decimating their own ranks. The survivors would scatter, to be hunted by humans and other adventurers.
I never thought I’d say this to you, but I think you’re being optimistic.
Jig turned to look at Shadowstar, who pointed to the northern side of the valley.
Maybe Shadowstar’s wounds had sapped too much of his strength for him to continue stealing Jig’s fear. Or maybe there was only so much terror a god could take away.
Regardless, the cloud of arrows arching from the upper edge of the valley was enough to shatter Jig’s divine courage.
‘‘Oh, dung.’’ His voice was little more than a whisper.
‘‘What is it?’’ Relka asked.
‘‘Wendel’s army.’’
CHAPTER 16
The manifestation of Tymalous Shadowstar, currently resting in the snow as Jig panicked, showed no wound from Billa’s attack. Unfortunately, things in his temple were quite different.
All that blood, dripping onto his temple floor. How messy.
‘‘You’ve looked better.’’ Isa stood in the doorway. Snow swirled around her white gown, and her breath turned to frost. ‘‘Really, Tymalous. Sacrificing yourself for a goblin?’’
He coughed and said, ‘‘I like that goblin.’’
‘‘He’s going to die anyway. If my orcs don’t kill him, the humans will.’’ Isa ran one hand through her windswept hair, almost as if she were checking for spiders. ‘‘This isn’t what I wanted, you know.’’
Shadowstar pushed himself higher, propping his back against the wall. ‘‘I know.’’
She stomped across the temple. ‘‘What were you thinking, throwing yourself between Billa and that goblin? Aren’t you taking this whole protection thing a bit too far?’’
‘‘It’s what I am.’’ Shadowstar smiled. Her eyes were the color of the northern glaciers, and they shone when she was angry.
‘‘I would have spared your pet goblin,’’ she said. ‘‘If you’d—’’
‘‘If I’d helped you kill my son?’’
Isa spun away, and Shadowstar chuckled. For thousands of years, mortal poets had associated passion and rage with the element of fire. That might have changed, if Noc’s curse hadn’t robbed their memories of Isa and her temper.
‘‘Shortsighted as always, Tymalous.’’ She kept her back turned, but Shadowstar could hear the pain in her voice. ‘‘Who will stop me next time? I’ll raise a new army, recreate my sword—’’
‘‘That sword took years to make.’’
Isa laughed. ‘‘That’s the beauty of Noc’s curse, love. They’ve forgotten us. I have all the time in the universe.’’
Shadowstar closed his eyes, remembering the last time Isa had spoken to him of the inevitability of victory. That war had almost destroyed them, but Isa had learned nothing. She couldn’t. She was the winter wind, returning each year without fail. Unstoppable and inevitable.
‘‘Isa, what do you think will happen when this wound kills me?’’
Isa turned to face him. ‘‘I’m sorry, Tymalous. I would save you if I could, but healing has never been my strength.’’
‘‘That’s not what I meant.’’ He coughed, then grimaced as more blood seeped through his fingers. ‘‘Who comes to oversee the death of the gods?’’
Isa went still. ‘‘There are several gods of death,’’ she whispered. ‘‘It might not be—’’
‘‘He’s my son, Isa. He will come for me, and he will remember.’’
‘‘You planned this.’’ She stepped toward him, hands balled into fists, then caught herself. Throttling him would only speed Noc’s arrival. ‘‘I’m not ready! Without my sword—’’
‘‘You should leave now,’’ Shadowstar said. ‘‘Get a head start. If you elude him long enough, he might even forget you again. But I’m told it’s very difficult to escape death once he adds your name to his list.’’
‘‘You let Billa kill you, all so you could destroy my sword and send your traitor son after me.’’
‘‘I was hoping to avoid the part where Billa killed me, but otherwise, yes.’’ Shadowstar shrugged and spread his hands. ‘‘He’s my son.’’
Snow blinded him, and then Isa was gone. Frost covered the stones.
‘‘I’m sorry about your orc!’’ Shadowstar called out. He chuckled to himself. ‘‘Maybe you should have gotten yourself a goblin instead.’’
The arrows fell like rain, landing mostly among the kobolds—either deliberately or because that was the limit of their range. The attack sent the kobolds into a panic. The injured howled and yipped. The healthy trampled the injured.
‘‘I thought the humans weren’t supposed to arrive for another day or so,’’ Trok said.
‘‘Brilliant tactical move on their part,’’ said Gratz. ‘‘Using Jig to take out Billa the Bloody, throwing our forces into chaos.’’
Except that if Jig had failed, Wendel’s strategy would have gotten his entire army killed when Billa triggered her spell.
‘‘The goblins betrayed us to the humans,’’ shouted an enormous, bare-chested orc with muscles like a mountain range. A scar on his arm showed him to be one of Billa’s high-ranking orcs. Either that, or a wolf had gnawed on his shoulder for a while.
‘‘No, the humans betrayed us to the other humans,’’ Braf argued.
The orcs didn’t listen. ‘‘Kill them all,’’ said another, a cry which quickly spread through the ranks. The bare-chested orc snarled and stomped toward Trok and the goblins, waving an enormous ax overhead. Halfway there, a ball of snow and mud exploded against the side of his head.
Everyone turned to look at Jig. Jig wiped his hand on his cloak to dry it. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more, that he had thrown the muddy snow at the orc, or that he had actually hit what he was aiming at. Did you take away my fear again?
&
nbsp; Not this time, said Shadowstar. You did that all by yourself.
Right. Jig wouldn’t be shaking so hard if Shadowstar was still stealing his fear.
The orc pointed his ax. ‘‘Pound that one into the mud.’’
‘‘Pound me yourself,’’ Jig yelled. He hugged himself to hide his trembling. You said you’d have to wrest control from Billa and Isa in order to use the spells in those scars. Are you strong enough—
Shadowstar smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes. Billa is dead, and Isa is . . . busy. I can guide you, but you’ll have to trigger the spell.
The orc was laughing as he readied himself, but at least the others had drawn back to see what happened. He swung his ax through the air, stretching the muscles in his arms. He managed to kill a goblin on the backswing. He blinked in surprise, then shrugged and wiped the edge of his ax on his trousers.
‘‘Wait,’’ Jig squeaked. ‘‘Let me get my sword.’’ He scrambled away from the orc. Ten paces ought to be enough distance.
Make it twenty.
Jig kept backing away. Behind the orc, Jig saw Braf tugging the other goblins and dragging them back. Shadowstar must have warned him what Jig was about to do.
‘‘Hey, you forgot your sword!’’ Another orc grabbed Jig’s weapon and tossed it.
Jig dove out of the way, barely avoiding being impaled by his own weapon.
Focus on the scar, said Shadowstar.
Jig began to shiver. His skin pimpled from cold that seemed to come from within, as if the blood had frozen in his veins. His fangs were the worst. This cold had come on so quickly that they actually froze to his lips.
Concentrate, Shadowstar snapped.
Jig nodded and turned toward the orc. Even at this distance, he could feel the scar on the orc’s shoulder, the bitter cold that threatened to freeze Jig’s eyeballs in his skull. Those spots of cold were everywhere, scattered throughout Billa’s army, but Jig concentrated on the orc.
Imagine yourself melting the ice within that scar to release the spell.
Jig closed his eyes. He could still see the scar, a blur of blue cold jostling about in the darkness. All he had to do was—
Limping footsteps crunched through the snow. Jig stepped back, his eyes snapping open. Relka stood between Jig and the orc, holding a bloody sword in both hands. ‘‘I’ll kill you all before I let you hurt Jig Dragonslayer.’’
‘‘Fair enough,’’ said the orc.
Now, Jig. Melt the ice.
Jig held his breath and imagined a fire-spider in his hand. He could almost feel Smudge’s terror burning his palm. Praying Shadowstar knew what he was doing, Jig visualized himself throwing the spider.
His imagination was a bit too true to life. In his mind, Smudge flew wide and landed in the snow, where he turned to glare back at Jig.
The spider is in your mind, Jig! Shadowstar shouted. How could you possibly miss?
Jig concentrated, imagining a nest of whiteworms on the orc’s arm. Plump, delicious whiteworms, one of Smudge’s favorites.
His vision blurred. Was the cold freezing his eyeballs? He hoped Shadowstar would be able to heal them. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Smudge.
In his mind, Smudge raced up the orc’s body and settled directly onto the scar to feast.
Hurry, Jig.
Jig could hear the orc approaching. Clenching his fists, he imagined Golaka the chef coming up to Smudge with a pot and spoon. Jig wasn’t terribly fond of fire-spider soup, but many of the goblins loved it. The risk of biting down on a flame gland and burning through your lip was part of the fun.
The imaginary Smudge looked up from his whiteworms and reacted with the same terror anyone would feel when faced with a hungry Golaka. Heat seared the scar on the orc’s arm, and Jig cried out as a wind colder than any Jig had known passed through his body.
The wind passed in an instant. Jig didn’t know how much was in his mind, but the cold had been real enough to freeze Jig’s fangs to his cheeks. He wrenched his lower jaw, tearing his fangs free as he looked around.
The lenses of his spectacles had fogged over, so he lowered his head and peered over the top of the frames.
A group of orcs lay unmoving in the snow. Jig’s would-be executioner stood in the center, his ax still raised overhead.
A kobold ran up to kick the closest orc. The orc’s hand snapped off.
With a triumphant howl, the kobold snatched up the hand and raced back to his fellows.
In the distance, arrows continued to pour into the far edge of Billa’s army, but the screams seemed far away, like echoes from a distant tunnel. Jig sheathed his sword and hugged himself to try to control his shivering.
‘‘Who did that?’’ asked an orc.
Trok was the first to respond. ‘‘Jig Dragonslayer.’’ He pointed to Jig. ‘‘The new commander of Billa’s army.’’
‘‘Unless anyone else wants to end up like this lot?’’ Relka added. She folded her arms and contemplated the frozen orcs. ‘‘I wonder how long the meat will keep, frozen like that.’’
‘‘Orders, sir?’’ asked Gratz. Billa’s blood still covered his sword. The orcs kept staring at Jig and muttering to themselves.
How long before they decided to try again? Between Shadowstar’s weakness and the horrible chill of the magic, Jig doubted he could freeze another orc if he tried. He needed to take control before they all killed one another and saved the humans the trouble.
‘‘Tell the kobolds to pull back out of range,’’ he said.
‘‘Why?’’ One of the orcs laughed. ‘‘So they kill a few dogs. Why should we care?’’
‘‘Stupid orc!’’ A kobold darted past two of the orcs and plunged a knife into the taunter’s leg.
‘‘No!’’ How had Billa done it? All the monsters wanted to do was kill one another, even with an entire army ready to ride down and destroy them.
Relka tugged his arm and pointed. Slowly Jig started to smile.
‘‘What’s the penalty for brawling on duty?’’ he shouted. He wasn’t loud enough for the orc or the kobold to hear him over their angry cries. If they had, they might have heard Oakbottom’s approach.
The orc grabbed the kobold, and then Oakbottom grabbed them both. Moments later both the orc and the kobold were soaring over the fields.
‘‘Oakbottom, you have permission to toss anyone else who disobeys,’’ Jig said.
‘‘Hey, you’re not—’’ That was as far as the orc got before Oakbottom launched her after the others.
Oakbottom didn’t care about rank or loyalty, so long as he had the chance to throw people. Jig wouldn’t be able to keep control for long, but he doubted anyone would survive long enough for that to matter.
‘‘They’re going to charge right over us.’’ Jig stood on his toes, trying to see. The orcs blocked his view of Billa’s army, but he could see movement atop the far side of the valley as the human archers advanced through the trees.
Gratz shook his head. ‘‘The valley’s too steep and snowy for a true charge. Horses can’t handle it, and the men will have to march slow and careful. But they’ll be thorough. The king will probably send hunting parties out with dogs once he’s broken our forces.’’
And the king wouldn’t stop with the valley. They knew where the goblin lair was, and they knew it was once again open to the world. Wendel had lost yet another son. He wouldn’t rest until every last goblin was dead.
‘‘Billa the Bloody would have marched this army to victory.’’
Even Jig’s ears couldn’t pick out the speaker. ‘‘Billa’s dead.’’ He turned to Gratz. ‘‘How many wolves do we have?’’
‘‘Only a few of ours survived that attack,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘The other goblin regiments have a few more squads of wolf-riders, though. We’ve probably got about eighty or so all total.’’
Good. ‘‘Trok, go get everyone mounted up and ready to retreat.’’
‘‘Typical goblin,’’ muttered one of the orcs. ‘‘Runn
ing away like a coward.’’
Jig nodded to himself. That described goblins pretty well. He thought about the tunnels and caves back home, the smell of the muck lanterns, the firm feel of obsidian beneath his feet, the taste of Golaka’s cooking. . . .
Angry roars shook Jig free of his stupor.
‘‘The trolls have gotten loose,’’ Relka commented. Jig couldn’t see the former slaves, but he could hear them rampaging through the ranks. From the screams, it sounded as though they were more interested in escape than revenge.
If he was going to do anything, it had to be now, before things got any more out of control. He turned to the orcs. ‘‘You’re going to take Avery for us.’’
‘‘How?’’ asked Gratz. ‘‘We have no siege equipment, remember?’’
‘‘Sure we do,’’ Jig said, grinning. He pointed toward Oakbottom. ‘‘We’ve got him. Oakbottom, how would you like to toss an entire army of orcs?’’
Oakbottom’s branches quivered. Presumably that was a good thing, a sign of anticipation. Or maybe it was the wind.
‘‘Do you think you’re good enough to land them on top of the wall?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘Let’s find out.’’ Oakbottom reached for the nearest orc.
‘‘Not from here!’’ Jig shouted.
The orcs backed away. ‘‘I’m not about to let some walking tree throw me about,’’ said one.
Jig folded his arms. ‘‘I understand if you’re afraid. I jumped from the top of that wall and survived, but it was a little frightening. If you don’t think you’re tough enough—’’
You jumped? Shadowstar asked.
Jumped. Fell. What’s the difference?
The difference is that you had Darnak there to fix you.
The orcs were already charging toward Avery. Oakbottom scooped up a few orcs for practice, flinging them toward the walls as he followed. Jig tried to imagine what it would be like to be a human atop the wall, to see orc after orc hurtling through the air, screaming and waving their weapons. Even if most of the orcs died from the impact, Oakbottom would still be able to knock the humans off the wall. And it only took a few survivors to open the gates from inside.