Goblin War (35 page)

‘‘Not Relka,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘I get the sense that one would walk into a dragon’s maw for him. A few of the others, too. As for the rest, well, Jig’s already told them what Billa has in mind.’’

‘‘We should do this soon.’’ Jig turned the tiny, spectacled goblin over in his hand. He wondered if Darnak could sculpt a little spider to go with it. ‘‘Before they have time to think about it.’’

‘‘Sunrise would be best,’’ Genevieve said. ‘‘The sun rises almost directly behind Avery. It will work in your favor.’’

Jig nodded. There were a few things he needed to take care of, if he was to lead the goblins into battle. He stood to go.

‘‘Jig, wait.’’ Genevieve hesitated, then reached down to grab a long, cloth-wrapped bundle from the floor. ‘‘I promised you a sword.’’

Jig took the bundle. It was lighter than he had expected.

‘‘This was my brother’s short sword,’’ she said. ‘‘Companion to the blade he carried when he fell. The elves gave them to him as a gift, the first time he snuck into their woods.’’

‘‘You really think he’d want you giving that to a goblin?’’ Darnak asked.

Genevieve grinned. ‘‘No.’’ She reached out to grab Jig’s arm. ‘‘My father passed the law ordering us to kill goblins on sight. The worst thing you could do to him is to succeed where his son failed.’’

Jig’s answering smile made his jaw ache. He had been clenching it so long it hurt to do anything else. Whatever flaws Genevieve might possess, she certainly knew how to motivate a goblin.

CHAPTER 14

 
Jig scowled at his new sword. The blade was light as air, and stronger than any human steel. Had any goblin ever possessed so fine a weapon?

If they had, Jig suspected they would have soon thrown it away. For Jig had learned the true nature of the elves’ magical weapons. In addition to being so strong and sharp and light, the sword glowed orange in the presence of orcs and ogres . . . and goblins. Every time Jig looked at his own sword, it burned an image of itself onto his eyelids.

‘‘Stupid elves,’’ Jig muttered. He turned to Darnak. ‘‘Can’t you turn it off?’’

Darnak chuckled. ‘‘The steel remembers the light of the forge. Be thankful it doesn’t recall the heat as well.’’ He closed the box of figurines and crammed it into his pack.

Actually, a heated sword would have been nice. At least he would have been able to feel his fingers.

Genevieve had already gone off to prepare her soldiers, leaving Jig and Darnak alone in the barracks. Jig bent to pick up the goblin figurine, which had fallen onto the floor beneath the table.

‘‘Keep it,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘As for the sword, the magic will wear off in time. Most elven blades lose their power after a thousand years or so. Two thousand at the most.’’

The sword cast about as much light as a muck lantern or torch. Still, it was a far cry better than the old kitchen knife he used to carry. Not that he expected it to make much difference. Sure, Jig’s sword could help him avoid stubbing his toe in the darkness. Billa’s could kill a god.

A tugging on his cloak drew Jig’s attention. Smudge crept slowly up the hem, toward Jig’s neck. He took slow, careful steps, as he did when he was hunting. Just beneath Jig’s chin, the fire-spider stopped. One leg at a time, he turned to face the sword.

‘‘Odd pets you goblins keep,’’ Darnak said.

Smudge pounced. The move was so sudden Jig nearly dropped the sword. Smudge landed on the blade, slipped, and fell into the snow.

Instantly, Smudge was scrambling for Jig’s leg. He climbed up again and crouched, waiting.

Jig started to smile. Smudge probably thought he had discovered the world’s largest glow-fly. He waited until Smudge pounced, then flicked the blade out of the way.

Next time, Smudge was smarter. He simply ran down Jig’s arm and onto the blade. He steadied himself on the crossguard and tried to take a bite out of the edge. After a few such attempts, he turned around, all eight eyes glaring up at Jig.

‘‘Don’t get mad at me. I never said you could eat it.’’ Jig ran a finger over the bristly fur on Smudge’s back. ‘‘Darnak, I have to ask you for something.’’

‘‘Genevieve’s in charge,’’ Darnak said. ‘‘Not me.’’

Jig shook his head. ‘‘No, it’s nothing like that. Will you take care of Smudge for me?’’

Darnak cocked his head. ‘‘That’s Smudge? I thought that little guy got himself squished back when you and Barius fought.’’

‘‘He . . . he survived.’’ Had he ever thanked Shadowstar for that miracle?

Jig sheathed his sword and held Smudge out to Darnak. ‘‘He doesn’t deserve to die out there.’’

Slowly Darnak opened his hand. Jig poked Smudge, gently at first, then harder. Smudge lowered his body, his feet heating Jig’s palm. Finally Jig grabbed him with his other hand and pulled him free. ‘‘Don’t let him get near your beard unless you want to lose it. And try to keep him out of the cold, if you can. When this is all over you can take him back to our lair. There’s a fire-spider nest in the tunnels below our cavern. If you put him into the garbage crevasse, he should remember how to find it.’’

Darnak held the fire-spider at arm’s length. ‘‘Wouldn’t it be making more sense to give this beastie to another goblin?’’

Jig shook his head. ‘‘Most goblins don’t like them very much. Fire-spiders sneak into the distillery and the muck pits. They like to eat the muck. When I was young, a distillery worker startled a fire-spider that was hiding in one of the pans. The explosion killed four goblins and deafened nine more.’’

From the look on Darnak’s face, Jig might as well have given him a pile of wolf scat. With his free hand, Darnak twisted his beard into a rope and tucked it down the front of his shirt. ‘‘You sure it’s me you’re wanting to look after him?’’

‘‘If you say you’ll protect him, you will. You’re like that.’’ Jig glanced at the map. ‘‘And he’s safer with you than with me.’’

Slowly Darnak nodded. ‘‘True enough. I’ll do my best to care for the beast—for Smudge—and to get him back home where he belongs. My word on it.’’

Jig searched his pockets for something to give to Smudge. He found one tiny troll toe, covered in purple lint, but Smudge wasn’t interested.

Jig’s throat felt as though
he
had tried to swallow a toe. A big one. He blinked and turned toward the door.

‘‘Jig!’’ Trok burst inside and stomped snow from his boots. ‘‘We caught Gratz. He’s outside. Nobody knew where you had gotten to.’’

‘‘Oh.’’ That was good. Maybe he could give pieces of Gratz to Smudge as a final present.

‘‘Well?’’ Trok said. ‘‘Aren’t you going to come kill him?’’

Jig blinked. ‘‘He’s still alive?’’

‘‘He said that as an officer, regulations required us to turn him over to our superior for questioning.’’

‘‘Trok, those are
Billa’s
regulations.’’ Jig heard Darnak chuckling behind him. With a sigh, Jig pulled up his hood and adjusted his sheath. This sword was wider than his last, and the end kept catching on his cloak. ‘‘Forget it. I’ll deal with Gratz. There’s something else I need you to take care of.’’

‘‘What’s that?’’ Trok sounded wary.

‘‘I’m down to a single troll toe, and I doubt the other goblins have enough to control the wolves when we attack.’’ Jig pointed to Trok’s sword. ‘‘Why don’t you take some of the goblins and introduce them to Toe Stub?’’

Slowly Trok grinned. ‘‘Yes, sir!’’

‘‘What’s Toe Stub?’’ Darnak asked after he left.

‘‘You probably don’t want to know.’’ Jig pushed open the door and stepped into the cold.

About half the goblins followed Trok to learn about Toe Stub. The rest surrounded Gratz, who was bloody and bruised, but still alive. That he had convinced them not to kill him was quite the trick, particularly given the way Relka kept playing with her torch. Jig got the feeling she would happily cook him right here in the street if Jig gave the word.

Braf stood on the opposite side of the mob, keeping a wary eye on Gratz. Or maybe he was watching Relka. His clothes were still torn and bloody from the beating Relka had given him.

The goblins quieted as Jig approached. Gratz straightened. ‘‘As a prisoner of war, regulations require me to—’’

Relka cleared her throat. Gratz glanced at her, and his mouth snapped shut.

‘‘How did you escape?’’ Jig asked.

‘‘The humans don’t have a proper dungeon,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘So they tied me up in the bakery, surrounded by stale bread.’’

Jig grimaced at the thought.

‘‘I tried to bite through the ropes. These weren’t those blasted elf ropes you told me about, but they were still too tough to chew. I thought I was done for. And then I remembered Billa’s regulations.’’

Jig groaned. He wasn’t the only one.

‘‘Regulations say you’re supposed to dislocate your own thumbs to escape the bonds of the enemy.’’

Jig studied him with a bit more respect. ‘‘You did that?’’

Gratz shook his head. ‘‘I tried. Screamed and passed out from the pain. When I came to, one of the humans was staring down at me, so I kicked him in the giblets and took his weapons. That’s in the regs too, you know.’’

Jig really needed to read those regulations. He gestured at the other goblins. ‘‘And then you attacked me in front of everyone. What do your regulations say about that?’’

‘‘It’s a bit unclear,’’ Gratz admitted. ‘‘Audacity is one of the keys to victory. But it also tends to get you killed.’’

Audacity. So be it. Jig stepped back and raised his voice so all the goblins would hear. ‘‘We’re going to attack Billa in the morning.’’ Several of the goblins cheered. The smarter ones looked worried. Jig tried to ignore them all. ‘‘And you’re going to lead that attack,’’ he said to Gratz.

That took care of the cheering.

‘‘Are you sure Darnak finished healing your head?’’ Braf asked. ‘‘I hit you pretty hard.’’

Jig turned and walked toward the wall. ‘‘Bring Gratz. The rest of you get some sleep.’’ He swiveled his ear, tracking their footsteps in the snow and waiting for one of them to try to kill him. It’s what he would have done, had someone told him he had to attack Billa’s army. But apparently the goblins were too stunned to act.

Jig climbed to the top of the wall, stepping onto the walkway without any hesitation. He found Genevieve and Darnak standing there, watching Billa’s army.

‘‘Bring Gratz,’’ Jig shouted.

Relka sank her claws into Gratz’s arm and dragged him to the ladder. Jig waited until they reached the top. There were no lanterns or torches, probably so that Billa’s monsters would have a harder time targeting anyone.

‘‘What are you doing?’’ Genevieve asked, lowering her elf scope.

‘‘Planning tomorrow’s attack.’’

Gratz clung to the railing as he stepped onto the wall. Jig didn’t bother. He had no fear of falling. He had no fear of anything. That was the only reason he could walk up to Gratz and grab him by his lone ear.

He tugged Gratz to the opposite railing, yanking his head around so he was looking out at Billa’s army.

‘‘You mean to attack
that
?’’ Gratz shook his head. ‘‘You should have let me kill you. It would have been faster.’’