Goblin War (38 page)

‘‘What’s this?’’ Oakbottom asked, stopping directly in front of Jig.

‘‘That’s more like it,’’ Gratz said. ‘‘Though by rights, he never should have allowed us this deep into—’’

Jig jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

Gratz coughed, then said, ‘‘The humans decided to surrender Jig to Billa the Bloody, and to let us go free!’’

As planned, the other wolf-riders cheered and waved their weapons in the air. Jig studied Oakbottom, waiting to see whether he believed their story. How was Jig supposed to read the facial expressions of a tree?

How did Oakbottom even see? He had no eyes, as far as Jig could tell. It had to be even worse during the summer, when all his leaves grew in. Did he have someone trim his branches?

‘‘Billa will be interested in hearing what took you so long,’’ Oakbottom said.

‘‘I’ll give her my full report when I turn over the prisoner,’’ Gratz answered, snapping off a quick salute.

‘‘Bring your wolves to the pen.’’ Oakbottom pointed his branches toward a small farmhouse. ‘‘Billa said I was to take the prisoner, if they turned him over. Apparently this one’s tricky, for a goblin.’’

Jig waited, but Gratz didn’t answer. Oakbottom stood unmoving, like . . . well, like a tree.

‘‘Gratz?’’ Jig whispered. Hopefully Oakbottom’s hearing wasn’t as acute as a goblin’s.

‘‘Yes, sir?’’ Gratz’s voice was equally low.

‘‘Answer the tree!’’

‘‘What do I say?’’

Jig groaned. Of course Gratz didn’t know what to do. Regulations didn’t say how to handle it when your plan fell apart and your superior officer couldn’t bark out new orders because he was pretending to be a prisoner.

Jig glanced around. They were roughly halfway through the goblins. Too far to turn back, but not close enough to have any hope of reaching Billa.

Jig was used to his plans not working. All goblins were. But he had hoped to make a bit more progress before everything fell apart.

‘‘Is there a problem, goblin?’’

Was it Jig’s imagination, or did Oakbottom sound hopeful? Maybe he hadn’t been able to toss a goblin in a few days.

Before Jig or Gratz could respond, another wolf bounded past. Relka pointed her sword at Oakbottom and shouted, ‘‘For Jig and Shadowstar!’’

Why had Jig insisted on bringing the stupid goblins along? He tugged the release rope, freeing his hands and giving himself a nasty rope burn on his wrists. ‘‘Split into two lines,’’ he shouted. ‘‘Run past him and make for Billa!’’

Gratz was already tugging Bastard’s reins, leading him to the right. The other wolves began to charge, like a river flowing around a rock. Or around a big, angry tree who liked to throw goblins. Nobody wanted to come within reach of those branches.

Nobody except Relka. She and Ugly rode straight for Oakbottom. He reached out, and she slammed her sword into his branch.

The blade stuck. Oakbottom raised the branch. Relka tugged her rope, slipping free of the wolf as she rose into the air. Oakbottom plucked her free with another branch and grabbed her wolf with a third. He spun in a circle and threw both Relka and Ugly at Jig.

‘‘Faster!’’ Jig yelled, kicking Bastard in the sides. He ducked as Relka passed overhead. With Ugly, Oakbottom actually did them a favor. The yelping wolf crashed into the charging goblins, knocking them back and clearing a bit of space for Bastard.

Jig drew his sword and waved it overhead. With this many goblins around, the elven blade shone like a beacon. Hopefully it would help the other wolf-riders to follow him through the chaos.

The goblins in front of them leaped away. Bastard’s snapping jaws probably had more to do with their fear than Jig’s sword, but he liked to think the glowing blade helped.

‘‘For Jig and Shadowstar!’’ Gratz shouted, all but deafening him.

Jig’s face burned as the other goblins picked up the cry.

‘‘The orcs are fearless,’’ Gratz warned him. ‘‘They won’t budge.’’ Up ahead, the orcs were already racing into formation, raising shields and spears to break Jig’s charge.

Yes, they will,
said Shadowstar.

A wash of heat was Jig’s only warning before red light flashed from his body. When he fought the elf scout days before, he had lit up like a little goblin bonfire. Now it was as if the Autumn Star rode Bastard into battle. Though the sun wasn’t fully risen, the land around him was bright as daylight. Red-tinged daylight, sure. But daylight nonetheless. The orcs staggered back, raising their hands and shields to protect their eyes.

Jig twisted to look at his riders. They seemed unaffected by the light, but Billa’s army fell away as though they were blind.

One of the perks of being a champion of Tymalous Shadowstar. There’s a chance Noc or another god will notice, but it’s a bit late for worrying about that, eh?
Shadowstar sounded ridiculously cheerful, not to mention smug.

Jig grinned and clung to Bastard’s fur as the wolf leaped past the first line of orcs. Jig kept his ears flat. The tips were ice cold from the wind.
I don’t suppose you could provide the heat of the Autumn Star as well as the light?

Only if you want to be burned to ashes before your wolf takes another step,
said Shadowstar.

Where was Billa? Tents and wagons marked the orc camp. Billa had to be here, probably near the center, but which tent was hers?

Gratz waved his sword in the air. ‘‘Spearpoint formation!’’

Most of the wolves closed into a single line with Bastard at the head. Two of the goblins—Braf and another warrior from Jig’s lair—looked at one another in confusion then went back to laying about with their weapons. They had no idea what a spearpoint formation was, but the chaos and confusion they caused helped protect the main line.

With Billa’s troops blind and confused, it was easy for the wolf-riders to hit goblins, kobolds, and anyone else who got in the way. But that led to a new danger, as Jig’s goblins grew intoxicated by their momentary advantage. The formation wavered as individual riders laid about with their weapons. One goblin even swerved to attack a goat that had wandered too close. The blow killed the goat and dislocated the goblin’s shoulder when he tried to hold on to his weapon, which had lodged in the goat’s back.

Jig groaned as he counted his wolves. He was down to eight, counting Bastard.

‘‘There!’’ Trok pulled alongside, grinning as he pointed his sword at one of the tents.

Billa stood barefoot in a heavy nightgown, her sword strapped over her shoulder. She looked as if she had just climbed out of bed. Did she sleep with that sword?

‘‘Everyone, follow me!’’ Gratz shouted. ‘‘Sorry. I mean, follow Jig!’’

Jig and Gratz both tugged Bastard’s harness, guiding him toward Billa. Billa and the crowd of heavily armed and armored orcs who stood before her.

Why aren’t they blind like the rest of her troops?
Jig asked.

Trok kicked his wolf into the lead. ‘‘Left flank, help me hit the ugly one there!’’

‘‘Which one is the ugly one?’’ Braf yelled.

And then they were crashing through orcs. Jig saw one goblin go down, but the weight of the charging wolf still knocked the orc to the ground. Trok ducked and hamstrung a second.

Bastard trampled a third, which slowed them down enough for more orcs to close in. Jig gripped his sword with both hands, holding it at arm’s length to block a much bigger sword that would have taken his head clean off and probably killed Gratz as well. The impact knocked Jig’s sword back and numbed his arms.

‘‘Parry at an angle,’’ Gratz yelled. ‘‘You don’t have to stop the weapon. Just knock it out of the way.’’

Blood trickled down Jig’s face. Apparently he had cut his scalp with the back edge of his own sword. He hadn’t even felt it.

A glancing blow bruised his ribs but failed to penetrate his cloak. He would definitely have to remember to thank Shadowstar for that.

Jig gave up trying to follow everything that was happening. The noise was worse than the lair back home on the nights Golaka brewed up a fresh batch of klak beer. The bloodshed was about the same, though.

Up ahead, Billa was waving her sword and shouting orders. Only a few orcs still stood between her and the goblins.

They were winning! The realization nearly made Jig drop his sword. Gratz had been right. Audacity was the key to victory.

‘‘Get the leader,’’ Billa shouted.

One of the orcs hesitated. ‘‘Which one is that?’’

Jig stabbed that orc in the leg as he rode past. His sword cut through the orc’s heavy furs and armor as if they were cobwebs.

Maybe elf swords weren’t so bad after all.

Billa shook her head. ‘‘The one who’s glowing, you idiot!’’

There was only one more orc between Jig and Billa. Jig reached into his cloak and pulled out one of his last goblin toes. He threw it to the orc, who automatically reached to catch it with his free hand.

Bastard snapped up both the toe and the hand in one bite.

Billa sprang forward and swung her sword with both hands. Bastard yelped and staggered to the side, one leg cleanly severed.

Jig barely managed to yank the release line as Bastard fell. The world tilted, and Jig found himself sitting in the snow with a sore rump.

Gratz wasn’t so lucky. He covered his head with both hands, trying to protect himself from Bastard’s flailing. The poor wolf was completely panicked. He wasn’t bleeding, thanks to the cold of Billa’s sword. Not yet, anyway. But he was biting and snarling at everything that moved, including Gratz.

The remaining goblins and wolves circled around Billa, who took a cautious step back. Her face was still blistered and scabbed from Jig’s torch, back in the lair.

With Bastard down, Jig had five wolves, one of which was carrying a dead goblin. Braf was holding a bloody gash in his side, and Jig could sense the pulsing warmth of Shadowstar’s magic as he healed himself. Convenient, that magic. Trok’s sword was broken and his leg was soaked in blood, but he was grinning like a madman.

Most of the orcs lay dead or wounded in the snow. For goblins, they had done exceptionally well.

‘‘Orders, general?’’ Trok asked.

Jig pointed at Billa. There was probably an appropriate formation for something like this, but Jig had no idea what it might be. ‘‘Get her!’’

Jig managed two steps before the wind slammed him to his knees. His cloak flapped behind him, tugging him onto his back. That would be just his luck, to choke to death on his own cloak. He fumbled at the clasp, but his numb fingers were all but useless.

At least Jig’s spectacles provided some small protection. He could see the other goblins covering their faces as they huddled in the snow.

Several wolves toppled over, trapping their riders. The surviving orcs bent into the wind, but they were as helpless as Jig. Only Billa the Bloody appeared untouched by the frigid wind. Her gown fluttered about her legs, and her hair danced in all directions. Her expression reminded him of a tunnel cat toying with its prey.

Help?
Jig asked.

Jig lifted his sword into a guard position. The wind caught the flat of his blade, and he nearly cut off his own arm before he managed to turn the sword so the edge pointed into the wind. He tried to climb to his feet, but the instant he stood, the wind tossed him onto his back. He actually slid a short distance.

‘‘For Shadowstar!’’ The wind nearly swallowed Relka’s defiant cry as she limped into the wind, using her sword as a walking stick to pull herself along. Apparently the wind lost strength the farther you were from Billa. Which meant the smart thing was to get as far from Billa as possible.

Relka stepped closer. One of the orcs near Jig turned around and took a cautious step toward her. With his second step, the wind pushed him into an uncontrolled run. He raised his ax and bellowed, his great leaps quickly closing the distance between him and Relka.

Relka raised her weapon, lost her balance, and fell over. She would never get up in time to protect herself. Even if she did. . . .

Jig switched his sword to his left hand, nearly losing it to the wind. More carefully, he pulled out his dagger to throw, then hesitated.

Warriors
could throw their weapons. The last few times Jig had tried, the results had been laughable. He could imagine himself stretching his arm back to throw, only to have the wind rip the knife from his hand. Knowing his luck, the blade would jab him in his own backside.

Instead, Jig gently tossed the knife into the air.

Billa’s wind caught the knife, flinging it with far greater force than he could ever have managed. It flipped through the air, buzzing like an angry insect. The hilt smashed into the orc’s skull. He tripped over Relka and skidded face-first in the snow. Jig grinned and turned back around to face Billa.

Well done,
said Shadowstar.

You told me once that when I die, I’ll come before you,
Jig said, watching as Billa advanced.
Is that true?

Have faith, Jig Dragonslayer.
Shadowstar’s voice was firm.
Hold your strike until I give the word.

What strike? Did Shadowstar actually think Jig would get the chance to attack before Billa ran him through?

‘‘Isa spent centuries preparing for this,’’ Billa shouted. ‘‘Do you believe she’d allow a goblin to interfere?’’

‘‘Not really,’’ Jig said.

The blinding red faded, returning the world to its dreary palate of snow and mud. At the same time, the wind seemed to vanish. Jig could still hear it roaring past, but he couldn’t feel a thing. It was like when he had turned his sword sideways, so the blade cut through the wind instead of fighting it.