Free Goblin War by Jim C. Hines Page B

even Trok was strong enough to break it. Their knives did nothing. Trying to loosen the knot only resulted in broken claws. The elves could work the rope as if it were nothing but string. But Jig would have to cut off his own head to escape the bonds.
    He had kept that last thought to himself, not wanting to give the others ideas.
    ‘‘What’s your fire-spider doing?’’ Relka asked.
    Jig stared. Smudge despised the snow, but he had crept out of Jig’s pocket and crawled down to the ground, climbing onto the edge of the cup Jig had dropped, the one with the elf beer. Apparently the dwarf had forgotten about it.
    Six of Smudge’s legs clung to the rim and handle. Smudge’s head and forelegs disappeared into the cup. ‘‘Maybe he’s thirsty?’’
    Back at the lair, fire-spiders would sometimes drink the muck the goblins used to fuel their lanterns and fire pits. The only problem was if an unwary goblin happened to startle one of the spiders in midfeast. On the other hand, Golaka never complained about precooked meat.
    Smudge was still drinking. Compared to muck, elf beer might be almost palatable. Better than pickles, at any rate.
    ‘‘Back to work,’’ shouted one of the humans. He waved his spear at the goblins, then grabbed the end of the rope from the snow. Several of the goblins snarled, but nobody tried to fight.
    Jig grabbed the cup and reached in to brush the bristly hair on Smudge’s back.
    A puff of blue flame shot from the cup, singeing Jig’s fingers. Smudge tried to turn around to see who had touched him, and ended up falling headfirst into the cup. Jig squatted long enough to stick his burned hand into the snow.
    Smudge looked as sheepish as it was possible for a spider to look. He climbed slowly out of the cup and onto Jig’s wrist. There, all eight eyes stared up at Jig. Smudge continued to stare, even as he toppled slowly into the snow. Jig hastily scooped him up with the cup. ‘‘How much of that elf beer did you drink?’’
    Smudge curled his legs to his body. Steam rose from his back.
    The humans swapped their knives for rakes, and Jig joined the other goblins in dragging another pile of flowers away from the wall. He carefully returned Smudge to one of the larger pockets in his cloak, tossing the empty cup away.
    Jig worked with the other goblins, falling into an easy rhythm. Rake, then sneeze. Another sweep of the rake, then wipe his nose on his shoulder. If he stayed much longer, these flowers would be the end of him.
    The humans directed them to a different farmhouse on the opposite side of the road. From here, Jig could see other humans working on the wall beyond the gate.
    Jig slowed his efforts as they neared the farm, raking with one hand.
    ‘‘No slacking, runt,’’ Trok snarled. To his other side, Relka gave him a curious glance, but said nothing.
    With his other hand, Jig reached in to retrieve Darnak’s flask. Before he could do anything, Trok snatched it away and unscrewed the top. ‘‘You’ve been holding out on us!’’
    Jig started to protest, then changed his mind.
    ‘‘Paugh!’’ Trok spat. ‘‘Tastes like something that came from the wrong end of a carrion-worm!’’
    Jig fought a grin as he took the flask from Trok, then poured a bit of elf beer onto the rope. He did the same on his other side, then put the flask away and grabbed Smudge.
    ‘‘Hey, what are you doing?’’ Trok grabbed Jig’s arm. His claws poked right through Jig’s sleeve, until it felt as if they were gouging the bone beneath. ‘‘If you’re going to escape, you’re taking me with you.’’
    ‘‘I can’t,’’ Jig said. Freeing himself would also free Relka, since she was tied to the rope behind him. But that couldn’t be helped. And the longer he stayed, the more likely someone would notice. Already the human farmer was walking out with his pitchfork, either to help move the flowers or to protect himself from the goblins, Jig wasn’t sure.
    ‘‘You won’t get far