Goblin War (13 page)

Trok practically shoved him to the ground in his haste to see. ‘‘They’re enormous! Those things could toss a tunnel cat about like a toy! Do we get to choose which one we ride? When can we take them into battle?’’

Jig moved to another corner of the pen. The walls were tightly secured with loops of thick rope, but a bit of light still shone through. He pressed one eye to the gap.

He had to grab the ropes to keep from falling. His legs had simply gone numb. Which was the only thing preventing him from running away as fast as he could.

The beasts inside the pen were the size of small ponies. Jig counted fourteen in all. To these creatures, a goblin would be little more than a rat to a tunnel cat. Their teeth were the size of his thumbs, and they had an awful lot of them. Bristly brown fur covered their bodies. The fur stood straight up on their necks and backs, except where it was covered by heavy leather harnesses.

One turned to snarl at Jig. Long tufts of fur dangled from the tips of the wolf’s ears, an effect that might have been comical on another creature. Like one that wasn’t currently gnawing on an arm.

Any snow or plants here had long since been trampled into the mud. Red-brown earth was caked onto their legs and fur. Looking at the slick mess of mud and worse, Jig doubted he would be able to take two steps without slipping.

‘‘The big one is named Bastard,’’ Gratz shouted. ‘‘He’s the pack leader.’’

Jig had no trouble picking Bastard out of the pack. He would be the one who had wandered over to casually lock his jaws around the throat of the one with the arm. The arm dropped to the mud, and Bastard snatched it up.

Wolf discipline had a lot in common with the goblin kind.

‘‘The one rolling around in the back is Smelly,’’ Gratz continued. ‘‘Nobody rides him unless all the other wolves are taken. The one with the patchy fur is Fungus. Ugly is the girl whose food Bastard just swiped. The one with the scarred muzzle and missing eye. She tried to steal Bastard’s food once. Not smart.’’

Jig barely listened as Gratz named the other wolves.
You’re one of the forgotten gods, right?
he asked silently.

And now Braf and I are your only real followers?
Jig continued.

It wasn’t easy to shout inside your own mind, but Jig managed.
So if we goblins are all you have, why aren’t you working harder to keep us from being eaten by wolves?

The abruptness of Shadowstar’s response left Jig too stunned to reply, and then Gratz was dumping shovels and buckets in front of the gate. ‘‘Make sure they don’t get out of the pen. Silverfang gets really mad when the wolves escape. They gorge themselves on whoever’s closest, and then they’re too stuffed to fight for at least three days.’’

Relka was the first to move, picking up a battered shovel and walking toward the gate. ‘‘I’m not afraid. Shadowstar watches over me.’’

And laughs,
Jig added.

‘‘They do their business near the back,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘That spot where Smelly keeps rolling.’’ He handed shovels to Jig and Trok.

Jig took the shovel with both hands and slammed it into the back of Gratz’s head, knocking him face-first into the door. He bounced back and collapsed in the snow, groaning and holding his nose.

‘‘Ha!’’ said Trok. ‘‘Good thinking, Jig!’’ He grabbed the bar holding the door shut. ‘‘Come here, wolves. Snack time!’’

‘‘Tymalous Shadowstar frowns upon the murder of our fellow goblins.’’ Relka tried to push Trok aside, but he barely noticed.

‘‘I’m not the one killing him,’’ Trok said. ‘‘Shadowstar can talk it out with the wolves.’’

‘‘Maybe we could feed them one of those goats instead.’’ Relka turned to Jig. ‘‘Does Shadowstar say anything about killing goats?’’

‘‘I don’t think so.’’ Jig grabbed Gratz’s sword and glanced around. A few other goblins were watching them, but nobody tried to interfere.

‘‘Hey, that’s right! He told us we were allowed to loot the dead,’’ said Trok, seizing Gratz’s helmet. ‘‘What else does he have worth taking?’’

‘‘I don’t think he’s dead yet, but. . . .’’ Relka shrugged and started tugging at Gratz’s boots.

‘‘Wait,’’ said Jig. Relka backed away. ‘‘Trok, stop.’’

‘‘Why, did you want the belt?’’ Trok glanced at Jig. ‘‘I don’t think it will fit you.’’

Jig shook his head. If Silverfang were like other goblin leaders, this wouldn’t be the last time he tried to feed Jig to the wolves. Next time Jig might not have the chance to whack his captor with a shovel.

There had to be a better way to control the wolves. The goblins couldn’t feed someone to the wolves every time they mounted up for battle. Well, they could, but it would be awfully messy, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to keep feeding them goblins. Not if you didn’t want them to start seeing goblins as meals instead of riders.

Jig knelt beside Gratz and poked him a few times until he groaned. ‘‘You’re one of their riders. How do you keep them from eating you?’’

Gratz reached up to touch his fang, which was loose from his collision with the gate. ‘‘According to the manual, as a prisoner I’m required to give you only my name and rank. You already know all that, so I don’t have to tell you anything.’’

‘‘Fine.’’ Jig stood. ‘‘I’ll open the door. Trok, you throw him through.’’

‘‘Of course, the manual also says that as victors, you’re entitled to any spoils,’’ Gratz said hastily. ‘‘Like that blue sack dangling from my belt.’’

Trok held the belt while Jig slid the sack free. The smell of old meat and blood made his eyes water. He reached in and pulled out what felt like a rock wrapped in leather. Something sharp jabbed his palm. He turned the object over to see a thick, yellow-green toenail.

‘‘Troll toes,’’ Gratz said, struggling to sit up. ‘‘The wolves love them. And trolls heal quick. You can get ten toes a week from the healthy ones.’’

There had to be thirty or forty toes in there. Jig stepped toward the pen and tossed one over the wall.

Snarling broke out even before the toe hit the ground. Jig peeked through the crack in the doorframe as the wolves lunged for the toe. Bastard bit another wolf on the rump, and suddenly he was alone. He dropped to the ground and began to gnaw the toe.

‘‘Order them to sit,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Now that they know you’ve got toes, they should obey. Make sure to reward them all when you’re done. They’ll remember if you don’t.’’

Before Jig could move, Trok shoved him out of the way and yanked open the door. Bastard leaped to his feet and snarled.

‘‘Sit!’’ Trok shouted. The wolves obeyed, and Trok laughed. ‘‘It works!’’

Gratz sat up and rubbed his head. ‘‘Go on, then. The sooner you start shoveling, the sooner you’ll be done.’’

Relka was already following Trok into the pen. Jig stared at his shovel. How did he know the wolves weren’t just waiting until all three goblins were within reach?

‘‘I told you Shadowstar would protect his followers,’’ Relka said. ‘‘And Trok, too.’’ She didn’t sound as happy about that part.

Jig tucked Gratz’s sword through his belt, gritted his teeth, and stepped through the doorway. Shadowstar wasn’t the one walking past hungry wolves to clean up six varieties of filth. No, he was busy with more important matters.

Jig reached the back and stabbed his shovel into the nearest pile. A crunching sound startled him, and his feet slipped. He landed on his side, looking back at the wolves. Bastard had gone back to playing with his troll toe, cracking the tiny bones in his jaw.

Relka began to sing as she shoveled.

 
Jig threw the contents of his shovel at her. He missed, but it was enough to shut her up. He heard divine chuckling in his mind.

I like her,
Shadowstar said.

Eventually they shoveled the entire mess into buckets, to be dragged into the woods and dumped. It still wasn’t as bad as privy duty back at the lair on those nights when Golaka made extra-spicy bat skewers.

Jig made sure to feed troll toes to all of the wolves. He dropped a few into his pocket, thinking they might make a good snack for Smudge. He shut and barred the door behind him just as Silverfang arrived.

Silverfang stared. ‘‘What are all three of you doing still alive? Haven’t you cleaned those pens yet?’’

Trok pointed to the buckets.

Silverfang went so far as to sniff the contents. He turned back to Jig. ‘‘You just cost me one of my good knives, runt. I had a bet with Gratz that there’d be nothing left of you but a few bones and scraps of that elf-ugly cloak.’’ He bent to pull a knife from his boot, then slapped it into Gratz’s hand.

‘‘So now are we part of your army?’’ Jig asked.

Silverfang’s face twisted as if he had choked on a troll toe, but he nodded. ‘‘Gratz, take them to get weapons and armor. And take your sword back from the runt. The orcs want us to send out a few more hunting parties to find those blasted elves that have been harassing our flanks.’’

‘‘Elves?’’ Gratz looked surprised. ‘‘What are they doing in human lands, sir?’’

‘‘Who cares? They’ve been snooping and killing Billa’s officers for the last day or so with their damned bows. She wants them dealt with.’’

They were going to hunt elves? Jig wondered if Silverfang would let him stay here with the wolves instead.

‘‘What about our lair?’’ Relka asked. ‘‘Our warriors are imprisoned at Avery, and—’’

Silverfang grabbed the front of her apron with one hand. He twisted the material so tight she could barely breathe, then lifted her off the ground. ‘‘You’re a part of Billa’s army now. I said to get weapons and armor. The next time you run your mouth instead of obeying, I’ll eat your face.’’ He opened his mouth, and the tip of his steel fang dented the skin beneath her jaw. All he had to do was let go, and Relka would be impaled.

He tossed Relka to the ground and walked away. Jig prayed she wouldn’t say anything stupid, but for once she kept her mouth shut.

Gratz had pulled out his parchment and an ink-stained quill. ‘‘Running your mouth instead of obeying,’’ he mumbled. ‘‘Punishable by having your face eaten.’’ He tucked the regulations back into his shirt. ‘‘Come on, let’s get your equipment. And don’t worry too much about Silverfang. He’s much more likely to just turn you over to Oakbottom. I think he’s lost his taste for goblin, to tell you the truth.’’

Jig wasn’t worried about Silverfang. He and the others were being sent to hunt
elves
. Jig suspected he would be dead long before either Silverfang or Oakbottom had the chance to kill him.

CHAPTER 5