Goblin War

by Jim C. Hines

  ‘‘They’re past the lancers.’’

  The king froze. ‘‘How?’’

  Before anyone could answer, a second guard followed the first. ‘‘The kobolds. They’ve circled around our lines, and they’re running this way.’’

  Jig shrunk back. He knew exactly how it had happened. The wolf-riders had fled around to the far side of Avery before turning back. Wolves were faster than anything in Wendel’s army. They would have raced past the lines, never slowing as they charged the camp. Then, as Wendel’s army tried to pursue, the kobolds would have done the same from the opposite end of the monster line. Kobolds weren’t as fast as wolves, but they were quick, and none of the monsters were stopping to fight Wendel’s soldiers. No doubt some would be cut down by human archers, but most should reach the camp. A perfect flanking maneuver. Gratz should be thrilled.

  Genevieve turned to stare at Jig. Her father followed her gaze.

  The king’s face got even wrinklier when he was angry. He drew a gleaming sword and stepped around the table. ‘‘Treachery! You beg for mercy in order to buy time for your army.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t mean to!’’ Jig squeaked.

  ‘‘And you! You helped these creatures?’’ He pointed his sword at Genevieve. ‘‘Arrest my daughter. Darnak as well. And kill the goblins!’’

  Clearly stunned, Darnak didn’t react fast enough as Relka snatched her sword from him. She leaped toward the king. ‘‘For Shadowstar!’’

  She made it only a single step before a crossbow bolt knocked her to the ground. The king walked forward and shoved his sword through her belly.

  It happened so fast. Jig ran toward Relka, barely noticing the other guards closing in around him. The crossbow bolt had struck Relka in the shoulder. She could survive that wound. But as the king yanked his sword free, blood spurted from her stomach.

  Jig covered the wound with both hands. Help me.

  I don’t have a lot of power to spare right now, Jig. I’m sorry.

  Jig tightened his fingers, trying to hold the wound shut to slow the bleeding. The king’s sword had pierced Relka’s stomach just below the scar left by Jig’s own blade the year before. She’s dying because she believed in you. Because she wanted to protect the goblins, like you told us to do. Now help her!

  Slowly, magic filled Jig’s fingers. Always before, Shadowstar’s power had heated Jig’s hands like a fire. Now only his fingertips felt anything at all.

  ‘‘Father, no!’’

  Jig glanced back, then yelped and dove out of the way. The king’s sword tore through his cloak and sliced a shallow gash along his back. Jig rolled and crawled as fast as he could, nearly burning his hand in the fire.

  He reached back to touch the cut, and his fingers came away bloody. Shadowstar must not be strong enough to keep Jig’s cloak swordproof. That wasn’t a good sign.

  The king followed, stabbing at Jig’s legs. At least none of the guards appeared willing to shoot their crossbows, not with the king so close to Jig. So all Jig had to do was stay close to the king without getting killed. Also, he had to finish healing Relka. And find a way out of here.

  The guards moved to block his escape. Everywhere he looked, boots crowded together like trees.

  Jig tried to crawl beneath the table, but Wendel stabbed his sword through the end of Jig’s cloak, pinning him in place. Jig gagged and rolled over. A sharp tug tore the cloak free, but Wendel was already standing over him.

  ‘‘Wait!’’ Jig said. ‘‘If you want to fight me, do it with honor. A duel.’’

  The king was going to kill Jig anyway. At least this way he wouldn’t have to worry about the guards interfering. If Wendel was as stupid about honor as his sons had been . . .

  ‘‘Stabbing an unarmed prisoner is the sort of treacherous, dishonorable thing a goblin would do,’’ Jig added.

  Wendel’s jaw clenched. ‘‘True.’’

  Darnak grabbed the king’s arm. ‘‘Wendel, don’t be an—’’ He clenched his jaw. ‘‘Sorry, sire. What I was meaning to say is, that’s an ill-advised choice. We need you leading our defense against their counterattack, not wasting your time with this goblin.’’

  Wendel’s sword shook. It was a large weapon, with ornate engravings all along the blade. The pommel held a ring of emeralds and diamonds, surrounding a carved animal head. ‘‘They murdered my boys, Darnak.’’

  ‘‘And we’ve killed more goblin sons than I can count,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘Both before and after they killed the princes. Your daughter promised to put an end to the slaughter in exchange for this goblin’s help against Billa.’’

  ‘‘Genevieve exceeded her authority.’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ said Darnak. ‘‘And you’d have done the same thing in your youth.’’

  ‘‘Enough, Darnak.’’ Wendel picked up Relka’s sword and threw it to Jig. Jig barely managed to grab the hilt, and then Wendel swung.

  Jig rolled out of the way. Unfortunately, he rolled right into the fire pit. The searing pain in his hand was annoying, but his years with Smudge had accustomed him to such things. He scrambled back, brushing embers from his skin. The edges of his cloak began to burn. Some of the guards snickered.

  He patted himself out, and something jabbed him in the side. He checked his pocket as he backed away. Perhaps Shadowstar had slipped an extra weapon into the cloak.

  His fingers found the tiny goblin figurine Darnak had given him. Having no better ideas, he flung it at the king.

  The metal goblin bounced off of the king’s forehead, right beneath the crown. Wendel stepped back. A dot of blood formed on his skin, then dripped down over his nose.

  Jig lunged.

  Wendel was faster than he looked. He parried Jig’s thrust down and to one side. The blade barely scratched the side of his leg. Then the king punched Jig’s face with his other hand.

  The sword slipped away, and Jig found himself on the dirt, staring up at the top of the tent. His mouth tasted like blood. Wendel punched hard. Jig tried to sit up, but movement made him want to vomit.

  King Wendel filled his vision. Two of them, actually. Two Wendels and two big swords. As if one wasn’t enough. Jig blinked, trying to clear his eyes and reconcile the two kings. Which sword should Jig try to avoid?

  Wendel swung. Jig’s panicked scream almost blocked out the simultaneous thud and clang that followed.

  A slender sword blade crossed with a battered war club over Jig’s head. Both weapons held the king’s sword away from Jig. ‘‘You dare to raise arms against your king?’’ Wendel asked.

  ‘‘I raise arms to support your daughter,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘To support the future queen of Adenkar.’’

  ‘‘You swore an oath to me.’’

  ‘‘To you and Jeneve, aye,’’ Darnak said, showing no sign of strain as he held the king’s sword at bay. None of the guards so much as breathed. ‘‘She’s the one who’ll be cursing my shade if I let the two of you get killed, and she’d have the right of it. I’ve been helping to raise your children from the time they were in diapers, and I’ve watched too many of them die. I’ll not see Ginny lost to the same foolishness. We’re about to be overrun. They’ve already reached the edge of our encampment. That goblin you’re about to murder is the only one who might be able to stop them from slaughtering every last one of us.’’

  Wendel turned toward Genevieve, who used her own sword to shove the king’s weapon to the side. ‘‘Besides,’’ she said, her voice light, ‘‘if you kill him, you’ll never find out what poison he used.’’

  He blinked. ‘‘Poison?’’

  Genevieve pointed to the cut on the king’s leg. ‘‘When we attacked the goblin lair, I learned that goblins poison their blades.’’

  ‘‘Pah. Darnak can heal the wound.’’ Wendel shoved Genevieve back, then raised his sword again.

  ‘‘Begging Your Majesty’s pardon, but goblins have been known to use some nasty toxins,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘Without knowing the actual poison, well, I might b
e able to save your life, but the side effects could be unpleasant.’’

  Jig stared from Darnak to Genevieve and back, trying to understand. They both knew perfectly well that goblins didn’t use poison on their weapons. Given the number of self-inflicted injuries Jig had healed over the years, poison would have wiped out half the lair.

  They were bluffing. Like Grell had done. Only they were doing it to protect him.

  Wendel spun to face Jig. ‘‘Was the blade poisoned?’’

  Jig managed to sit up without losing his last meal. ‘‘Well, I am a goblin.’’

  ‘‘Tell Darnak what toxin you used, or—’’

  ‘‘You’ll kill me?’’ Jig glanced at Relka. She was pale, but still breathing. ‘‘You’ll do that anyway. And how many goblins can die knowing they killed a king?’’

  Slowly Wendel lowered his sword. ‘‘What do you want, goblin?’’

  ‘‘A treaty,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Like you have with the elves.’’ His lip was puffy and split, making his voice sound funny. ‘‘I want you to stop killing us.’’

  Which was stronger, Jig wondered, the king’s hatred of goblins or his desire to survive? From the fury on his face, it was a close thing.

  More and more guards were glancing around, their expressions tense. Even Darnak jumped as a wolf howled nearby.

  ‘‘As if these beasts would listen to you,’’ Wendel said.

  ‘‘They’ll listen to him.’’ Relka’s voice was weak as a child’s, and she drooled blood as she spoke. ‘‘He’s Jig Dragonslayer.’’

  Jig prayed she was right. Have Braf get to the drummers and the orcs. Tell them to order a halt. Don’t retreat, but wait for my signal.

  There was no answer. Shadowstar? Jig’s chest tightened.

  Then in the distance, the drumbeats changed to a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. The horns blew a moment later.

  Jig was already moving toward Relka. He could barely feel Shadowstar’s magic anymore, but he pressed what power he could into her wound.

  ‘‘Sire, the goblins—’’ One of the guards stood in the open flap of the tent, gasping for breath. ‘‘They’ve stopped.’’

  ‘‘How?’’ For the first time, the hatred had faded slightly from Wendel’s voice, replaced by genuine curiosity.

  ‘‘The power of Tymalous Shadowstar,’’ Relka said, holding her necklace.

  ‘‘Who?’’ asked Wendel.

  Shadowstar, god of idiot goblins. Jig pinched the skin together, trying to physically force the wound to seal. What had Relka been thinking? Every time Jig thought he had seen the limits of her madness, she proved him wrong. Leaping onto a hawk, attacking a king, all in the name of a god who—

  Shadowstar’s laughter, soft and strained, made Jig jump. You think she did that for me?

  Ever since I stabbed her, she hasn’t been able to shut up about the glory of Tymalous Shadowstar.

  You’re a smart one, Jig. For a goblin. Silence followed, long enough that Jig started to wonder if something had happened. Then Shadowstar said, She could have stayed behind with her dying god. Instead she went with you. Why do you think she did that?

  Because she’s crazy!

  Another quiet chuckle. Probably.

  ‘‘Order the men to withdraw, Father,’’ said Genevieve. ‘‘Sign the goblin’s treaty.’’

  ‘‘Your sons are gone,’’ Darnak said softly. ‘‘This won’t bring them back. And losing you and Genevieve will destroy the queen.’’

  Wendel’s shoulders slumped. He wiped blood from his face and nodded. ‘‘The cure, goblin.’’

  What cure? Oh, right. The poison.

  ‘‘You do have an antidote, don’t you?’’ Genevieve’s glare rivaled Grell’s.

  Keeping one hand on Relka’s wound, Jig used his other to fish through his cloak. ‘‘Swallow this, and you should be fine.’’

  The king backed away. Rarely had Jig seen such an expression of horror from anyone, goblin or human. ‘‘It’s a toe.’’

  ‘‘It’s been soaked in lizard-fish blood,’’ Jig lied. ‘‘Something about their blood counters the poison.’’

  ‘‘It’s a toe,’’ Wendel repeated.

  Darnak handed a flask to the king. ‘‘Drink deep, sire. Dwarven ale’s strong enough to mask most any taste.’’

  Jig ignored them. He could feel Relka’s muscle repairing itself one strand at a time as Shadowstar’s magic trickled from Jig’s fingertips. He hadn’t even tried to pull the crossbow bolt from her shoulder yet, but if he could heal the worst of the damage to her stomach, she should survive.

  Angry voices outside the tent made him cringe. At least one belonged to a goblin. What were they doing here? Hadn’t they heard the drums? If they attacked now, everything would fall apart.

  Several of the humans readied their weapons. Both Genevieve and Darnak looked at Jig. He shook his head. This wasn’t anything of his planning.

  The voices drew closer, and then the tent flap was flung open. Two figures stood in the blinding sunlight.

  ‘‘Jig?’’ Trok’s voice.

  The smaller figure shoved him aside. ‘‘See? Hessafa told you smelly goblin was here! Always trust scent!’’

  CHAPTER 17

  Jig had never realized how many people could fit onto the mountainside. He tried not to shiver as he glanced around. Kobolds and a few orcs covered the rocky ground. Many of the kobolds watched from the branches, shoved aside by a small delegation of orcs. Most of the orcs had already left, claiming the colder, treeless land higher up the mountainside. Apparently they liked the snow and wind. It gave them more opportunity to prove how tough they were. Rumor had it that a few of them had even taken to diving naked into the icy lake.

  Orcs were weird. Or maybe the cold helped with the itching. During the attack at Avery, some of the orcs had circled around the town, searching for another way in that didn’t involve being flung by a tree. In the process they had trampled through the vines the humans called poison ivy. They said regular poison ivy was bad enough, but these vines grew on elven soil. . . .

  The hobgoblins were already discussing how best to bring the vines back and incorporate them into their traps.

  Goblins crowded by the cave, packed together like pickles in a barrel. Jig grimaced and tried to force that image from his mind.

  A smaller group of hobgoblins stood nearby, scowling and testing their weapons. Apparently, with Jig gone and the goblin warriors all dragged away to Avery, the hobgoblins had run wild, looting the lair and slaughtering anyone who dared to challenge them. They had tried to do the same thing to Jig and his companions when they finally returned.

  Oakbottom had tossed nine hobgoblins down the mountainside before the rest retreated. They retaliated by loosing some of their tunnel cats.

  Bastard and the other wolves had solved that problem. Fortunately, Braf had managed to heal the stump of Bastard’s leg, and the three-legged wolf was still as mean as ever. Jig just hoped they hadn’t developed a taste for tunnel cats.

  For now, the wolves were being kept at a smaller cave farther up the mountain. Jig still needed to figure out how to feed the beasts. Maybe the hobgoblin chief would donate a few of the warriors who had mocked Jig in the past.

  Jig cocked his head, automatically silencing his thoughts while he waited for Tymalous Shadowstar to rebuke him for such a vindictive, goblinlike thought. There was no response. Jig had heard nothing from his god since leaving the king’s tent four days ago.

  With a sigh, he reached down to stroke Smudge, who sat happily in his cage on Jig’s belt. At least the weather had improved since the battle the humans were calling ‘‘Billa’s Fall.’’ The snow was gone, and Jig could stand outside without shivering. Without shivering from the cold, at any rate. He pulled his cloak tighter, trying not to think about what was about to happen.

  ‘‘They’re coming,’’ said Relka.

  Directly ahead, Princess Genevieve approached on foot, followed by Darnak and her retinue of human soldi
ers. Her face was flushed from the hike, but she was grinning.

  Beside Relka, Gratz was frantically paging through his notes. Dark blue scabs covered his face and arms from being trapped beneath Bastard. He was lucky the wolf hadn’t killed him. Jig had worried that Gratz would try to punish Bastard for his injuries, but Gratz had been delighted. These days, the trick was to get him to stop showing off his ‘‘war scars.’’

  ‘‘Do you remember your lines, sir?’’ Gratz asked. ‘‘Protocol dictates that you speak first.’’

  Jig glanced at Trok, who made a half-hearted grab for his sword, as if offering to shut Gratz up. Jig shook his head, then turned his attention to Genevieve and Darnak.

  The princess wore a new black tabard, this one trimmed with gold. A thin silver band circled her forehead. Jig could hear some of the kobolds admiring the crown.

  Darnak had brushed his beard into twin braids. He carried a new war club of gleaming black wood. If the kobolds liked Genevieve’s crown, they were practically falling out of the trees at the sight of Darnak’s armor. Gleaming steel covered his chest, thighs, and shoulders. Heavy links of mail protected his arms and legs. Combined with the bulging pack on his back, Jig was amazed the dwarf could walk at all.

  Genevieve stopped. Goblins, orcs, and kobolds all began to whisper.

  Oh, right. Jig took a step forward. ‘‘Welcome, Princess Genevieve, to—’’ He swallowed. The other monsters weren’t going to like this. ‘‘To Goblinshire.’’

  Behind him, Braf whispered, ‘‘To where?’’

  There was a sharp thud, like a wooden cane smacking a goblin skull. Jig relaxed slightly. He had worried Grell wouldn’t be able to make it.

  ‘‘Well met, goblin,’’ said Genevieve. With one hand, she slowly pulled her sword from its sheath.

  Every monster went silent. Jig could see them reaching for their own weapons. Others searched the mountainside. Genevieve hadn’t brought enough soldiers to fight, unless this was some sort of trap.

  Indeed, looking at the stern expression on the princess’ face, Jig was half tempted to draw his own weapon, even though they had warned him that this was coming.