already strangled her. If Trok’s frustration ever outweighed his need for a good meal, Relka was in trouble.
For the past few nights, Jig had taken to sleeping with Smudge in his hand. Hopefully his burning fingers would wake him up if the humans found them, or if either of the other goblins tried anything. He debated again whether he would be better off running away. He couldn’t decide whether the protection of having two additional goblins around was worth the threat of having two additional goblins around.
‘‘I still say we should have killed the human,’’ Trok said as they crossed another bridge. The first time Jig saw a human bridge, he had been convinced it was magical. How else could an arch of stone hold together with nothing beneath it?
Now he merely groaned. Another bridge meant another treacherous crossing over icy wooden planks stretched between those unnatural arches. There was no railing or wall, only a row of taller stones to either side. The stones were gray and white, with dying grass and moss growing in the cracks. Beneath them, mud turned the thread of flowing water a strange reddish-brown color.
‘‘She attacked our lair, and you just let her go. Besides, the human lied to us,’’ Trok continued. ‘‘We’ve crossed half the world, and I’ve seen no sign of Pottersville or any army.’’
‘‘We’ll find it,’’ Relka said. She coughed and spat to clear her throat, then sang:
‘‘I walk through darkness and through cold.
Tym gives me strength. He walks beside me.
When I was hungry and alone.
Tym gave us food. Windstorm was yummy!
Trok wiped himself with toxic leaves.
Jig’s magic caused the itch to flee.’’
Jig had been trying so hard to forget the leaves incident, too.
A hard-packed ball of snow and ice hit Relka in the face. ‘‘Next time it’ll be a rock,’’ Trok said. From the expression on Trok’s face, he would definitely be killing Relka first.
‘‘If we had killed Genevieve, the rest of the humans would still be chasing us,’’ Jig said. Though he understood Trok’s feelings, not to mention his hunger. How many times did they have to fight humans and pixies and everything else until they all just left the goblins alone?
He glanced down at the icy river as he crossed the bridge. Glinting yellow eyes stared up at him.
‘‘Who are you?’’
The voice sounded more female than male, if you could get past the growling and the snapping of her jaws. Jig had never seen such a creature. She was slightly shorter than a goblin, with a long face that reminded him of a wolf or dog.
Her armor was . . . unique. She appeared to have taken a heavy blanket and cut holes for her head and arms. Scraps of metal were fastened to every part of the blanket. Rusty metal rings decorated the hem, jingling when she moved. Bits of twine secured enormous iron hinges to her shoulders. A rusted key, a bit of old chain, and several of those crescent-shaped bars Windstorm had worn on his hooves all clanked together on her chest.
Bristly brown fur covered her exposed skin. She carried a short spear, which she jabbed in Jig’s direction. The gesture was less intimidating than it might have been, thanks to the fish still flopping on the end of the spear.
Trok was the first to react. He grabbed Jig by the arm and flung him off the bridge at the creature.
Jig twisted, trying to avoid the spear. The creature did the same, presumably to protect her fish.
His shoulder hit first, slamming into her chest and stamping a key-shaped bruise into his shoulder. They crashed to the ground together, and then the creature’s feet shoved Jig back into the stream. Jig ducked as the creature swung her spear back and forth. She scrambled back to the riverbank, where she threw back her head and yipped.
Trok jumped down and tried to grab the spear. She dodged and smashed the shaft against his knuckles. As Trok howled, she swung the other end, smacking him in the face with her
For the past few nights, Jig had taken to sleeping with Smudge in his hand. Hopefully his burning fingers would wake him up if the humans found them, or if either of the other goblins tried anything. He debated again whether he would be better off running away. He couldn’t decide whether the protection of having two additional goblins around was worth the threat of having two additional goblins around.
‘‘I still say we should have killed the human,’’ Trok said as they crossed another bridge. The first time Jig saw a human bridge, he had been convinced it was magical. How else could an arch of stone hold together with nothing beneath it?
Now he merely groaned. Another bridge meant another treacherous crossing over icy wooden planks stretched between those unnatural arches. There was no railing or wall, only a row of taller stones to either side. The stones were gray and white, with dying grass and moss growing in the cracks. Beneath them, mud turned the thread of flowing water a strange reddish-brown color.
‘‘She attacked our lair, and you just let her go. Besides, the human lied to us,’’ Trok continued. ‘‘We’ve crossed half the world, and I’ve seen no sign of Pottersville or any army.’’
‘‘We’ll find it,’’ Relka said. She coughed and spat to clear her throat, then sang:
‘‘I walk through darkness and through cold.
Tym gives me strength. He walks beside me.
When I was hungry and alone.
Tym gave us food. Windstorm was yummy!
Trok wiped himself with toxic leaves.
Jig’s magic caused the itch to flee.’’
Jig had been trying so hard to forget the leaves incident, too.
A hard-packed ball of snow and ice hit Relka in the face. ‘‘Next time it’ll be a rock,’’ Trok said. From the expression on Trok’s face, he would definitely be killing Relka first.
‘‘If we had killed Genevieve, the rest of the humans would still be chasing us,’’ Jig said. Though he understood Trok’s feelings, not to mention his hunger. How many times did they have to fight humans and pixies and everything else until they all just left the goblins alone?
He glanced down at the icy river as he crossed the bridge. Glinting yellow eyes stared up at him.
‘‘Who are you?’’
The voice sounded more female than male, if you could get past the growling and the snapping of her jaws. Jig had never seen such a creature. She was slightly shorter than a goblin, with a long face that reminded him of a wolf or dog.
Her armor was . . . unique. She appeared to have taken a heavy blanket and cut holes for her head and arms. Scraps of metal were fastened to every part of the blanket. Rusty metal rings decorated the hem, jingling when she moved. Bits of twine secured enormous iron hinges to her shoulders. A rusted key, a bit of old chain, and several of those crescent-shaped bars Windstorm had worn on his hooves all clanked together on her chest.
Bristly brown fur covered her exposed skin. She carried a short spear, which she jabbed in Jig’s direction. The gesture was less intimidating than it might have been, thanks to the fish still flopping on the end of the spear.
Trok was the first to react. He grabbed Jig by the arm and flung him off the bridge at the creature.
Jig twisted, trying to avoid the spear. The creature did the same, presumably to protect her fish.
His shoulder hit first, slamming into her chest and stamping a key-shaped bruise into his shoulder. They crashed to the ground together, and then the creature’s feet shoved Jig back into the stream. Jig ducked as the creature swung her spear back and forth. She scrambled back to the riverbank, where she threw back her head and yipped.
Trok jumped down and tried to grab the spear. She dodged and smashed the shaft against his knuckles. As Trok howled, she swung the other end, smacking him in the face with her
Similar Books
