fish.
‘‘Take that, smelly goblin!’’ She did a triumphant dance, never taking her eyes from the goblins. In the distance, Jig could hear other yips and howls. Whatever this thing was, she wasn’t alone.
‘‘Wait,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Darnak said Billa had put together an army of monsters. Goblins and orcs and worse. This thing is probably from that army.’’
Trok scowled. ‘‘This thing is supposed to be worse than a goblin?’’
At the same time, the creature growled and bared an impressive number of sharp teeth. ‘‘Kobold! Stupid goblins.’’
‘‘Can you take us to Billa?’’ Jig asked.
The dog-woman—the kobold —tilted her head to one side. ‘‘First you pay me. Then I let you go find Billa’s army.’’
‘‘What?’’ Trok yelled. ‘‘Why should we pay a mangy dog like you?’’
Relka tapped his arm and pointed. Jig counted eight more kobolds—with eight more spears—running toward the bridge.
‘‘What kind of payment?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘Metal.’’ As her companions arrived, she straightened and said, ‘‘Metal for everyone.’’
The rest of the kobolds jangled to a halt, pointing their weapons at the goblins. One wore a helmet made from an old pot. Another had armor made entirely of tarnished copper coins with square holes in the centers. A third wore a suit of arrowheads, with the metal points sticking out like animal spines. His fellow kobolds gave him a wide berth.
‘‘What’s going on, Hessafa?’’ asked the spiny one.
Hessafa pointed her spear and said, ‘‘Smelly goblins won’t pay.’’
Jig could feel Smudge stirring in his hood. The fire-spider wasn’t giving off the searing heat of imminent death, but that could be because of the cold.
Nine armed kobolds against three goblins. Jig still had the knife he had taken from Genevieve, and Trok had his stick. But the kobolds were all armed and wearing armor . . . such as it was.
Jig made his way to the edge of the ice. ‘‘That’s not true!’’
‘‘So the smelly goblins will pay?’’ Hessafa asked.
‘‘We did pay.’’ Jig stepped to the side, out of reach of her spear. ‘‘We paid her lots of metal. Coins and nails and a dwarf shield. She didn’t want to share!’’ He pointed back at the road. ‘‘She buried it in the snow so she could keep it all for herself!’’
‘‘Lies!’’ Hessafa shouted. But the other kobolds had begun to mutter to one another.
‘‘Lots of shiny metal,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Iron and copper and steel and brass.’’
‘‘Where?’’ demanded a fat male. The butt of his spear was studded with rusty metal fishhooks.
‘‘Back on the other side of the bridge. She made us close our eyes, so I don’t know exactly where she buried it.’’
‘‘ Hessafa knows,’’ said a kobold who wore a shovel blade for a breastplate.
‘‘That’s right,’’ said Jig, trying to look surprised. ‘‘Hessafa does know. She could show you.’’
‘‘No!’’ Hessafa shouted. ‘‘Smelly goblins lie!’’
But it was too late. Hessafa yipped and snarled as the other kobolds dragged her across the stream.
‘‘Come on,’’ Jig said. The kobolds had to have been nearby to respond so quickly. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what they would do to Hessafa. Would they believe her when she couldn’t lead them to her stolen metal, or would they try to pound the truth out of her?
And then he crested a low hill, and all thought of Hessafa vanished. They had reached Pottersville.
Pottersville was built on the intersection of several roads, as well as that annoying river. One road led off toward the mountains to the north. Another bridged the stream and disappeared up into what Darnak had said were elf lands.
As with the town of Avery, Pottersville was surrounded by a low wall. From the look of things, it hadn’t done much to protect the town.
Whole sections were ripped down, with figures moving in and out like bugs. Big bugs, with
‘‘Take that, smelly goblin!’’ She did a triumphant dance, never taking her eyes from the goblins. In the distance, Jig could hear other yips and howls. Whatever this thing was, she wasn’t alone.
‘‘Wait,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Darnak said Billa had put together an army of monsters. Goblins and orcs and worse. This thing is probably from that army.’’
Trok scowled. ‘‘This thing is supposed to be worse than a goblin?’’
At the same time, the creature growled and bared an impressive number of sharp teeth. ‘‘Kobold! Stupid goblins.’’
‘‘Can you take us to Billa?’’ Jig asked.
The dog-woman—the kobold —tilted her head to one side. ‘‘First you pay me. Then I let you go find Billa’s army.’’
‘‘What?’’ Trok yelled. ‘‘Why should we pay a mangy dog like you?’’
Relka tapped his arm and pointed. Jig counted eight more kobolds—with eight more spears—running toward the bridge.
‘‘What kind of payment?’’ Jig asked.
‘‘Metal.’’ As her companions arrived, she straightened and said, ‘‘Metal for everyone.’’
The rest of the kobolds jangled to a halt, pointing their weapons at the goblins. One wore a helmet made from an old pot. Another had armor made entirely of tarnished copper coins with square holes in the centers. A third wore a suit of arrowheads, with the metal points sticking out like animal spines. His fellow kobolds gave him a wide berth.
‘‘What’s going on, Hessafa?’’ asked the spiny one.
Hessafa pointed her spear and said, ‘‘Smelly goblins won’t pay.’’
Jig could feel Smudge stirring in his hood. The fire-spider wasn’t giving off the searing heat of imminent death, but that could be because of the cold.
Nine armed kobolds against three goblins. Jig still had the knife he had taken from Genevieve, and Trok had his stick. But the kobolds were all armed and wearing armor . . . such as it was.
Jig made his way to the edge of the ice. ‘‘That’s not true!’’
‘‘So the smelly goblins will pay?’’ Hessafa asked.
‘‘We did pay.’’ Jig stepped to the side, out of reach of her spear. ‘‘We paid her lots of metal. Coins and nails and a dwarf shield. She didn’t want to share!’’ He pointed back at the road. ‘‘She buried it in the snow so she could keep it all for herself!’’
‘‘Lies!’’ Hessafa shouted. But the other kobolds had begun to mutter to one another.
‘‘Lots of shiny metal,’’ Jig said. ‘‘Iron and copper and steel and brass.’’
‘‘Where?’’ demanded a fat male. The butt of his spear was studded with rusty metal fishhooks.
‘‘Back on the other side of the bridge. She made us close our eyes, so I don’t know exactly where she buried it.’’
‘‘ Hessafa knows,’’ said a kobold who wore a shovel blade for a breastplate.
‘‘That’s right,’’ said Jig, trying to look surprised. ‘‘Hessafa does know. She could show you.’’
‘‘No!’’ Hessafa shouted. ‘‘Smelly goblins lie!’’
But it was too late. Hessafa yipped and snarled as the other kobolds dragged her across the stream.
‘‘Come on,’’ Jig said. The kobolds had to have been nearby to respond so quickly. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what they would do to Hessafa. Would they believe her when she couldn’t lead them to her stolen metal, or would they try to pound the truth out of her?
And then he crested a low hill, and all thought of Hessafa vanished. They had reached Pottersville.
Pottersville was built on the intersection of several roads, as well as that annoying river. One road led off toward the mountains to the north. Another bridged the stream and disappeared up into what Darnak had said were elf lands.
As with the town of Avery, Pottersville was surrounded by a low wall. From the look of things, it hadn’t done much to protect the town.
Whole sections were ripped down, with figures moving in and out like bugs. Big bugs, with
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