The Iron King if-1 Read online

  One of them, shorter than its fellows and wearing a muddy red vest, saw that I was awake. With a hiss, it scuttled up to the cage and thrust its spear through the bars. I cringed back, but there was nowhere to go; the thorns stung my flesh as the spear jabbed me in the thigh.

  “Ouch, stop it!” I cried, which only encouraged it further. Cackling, it poked and prodded me, until I reached down and grabbed the head of the spear. Snarling and cursing, the creature tried yanking it back, and we held a ridiculous tug-of-war until another goblin saw what we were doing. It rushed up and stabbed me through the bars on the opposite side, and I released the spear with a yelp.

  “Greertig, stop pokin’ the meat,” snapped the second, taller creature. “Ain’t no good if all the blood runs out.”

  “Pah, I was just makin’ sure it was tender, is all.” The other snorted and spit on the ground, then glared at me with greedy red eyes. “Why we waitin’ about? Let’s just eat it already.”

  “The chief ain’t back yet.” The taller creature looked at me, and to my horror, a long string of drool dripped down its chin. “He ’as to make sure this thing is safe to eat.”

  They gave me a last longing glare, then stomped back to the fire pit, arguing and spitting at each other. I drew my knees to my chest and tried to control my shaking.

  “If you are going to cry, please do it quietly,” murmured a familiar voice at my back. “Goblins can smell fear. They will only torment you more if you give them a reason.”

  “Grimalkin?” Squirming in my cage, I glanced around to see the nearly invisible gray cat crouched by one corner. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, and his strong, sharp teeth were chewing at one of the leather bindings.

  “Idiot, do not look at me!” he spat, and I quickly glanced away. The cat growled, tugging on one of the bars. “Goblins are not very smart, but even they will notice if you start talking to nobody. Just sit tight and I will have you out of here in a minute.”

  “Thank you for coming back,” I whispered, watching two goblins fight over some unfortunate beast’s rib cage. The quarrel ended when one goblin bashed the other over the head with a club and scampered off with its trophy. The other goblin lay stunned for a moment, then leaped to its feet in pursuit.

  Grimalkin sniffed and began chewing the bindings again. “Do not put yourself even more in debt,” he said around a mouthful of leather. “We have already made a contract. I agreed to take you to Puck, and I always keep my end of the bargain. Now, shut up so I can work.”

  I nodded and fell silent, but suddenly there was a great cry in the goblin camp. Goblins leaped to their feet, hissing and scuttling about, as a large creature sauntered out of the forest into the middle of the encampment.

  It was another goblin, only bigger, broader, and meaner-looking than its fellows. It wore a crimson uniform with brass buttons, the sleeves rolled up and the tails dragging along the ground. It also carried a curved blade, rusty bronze and jagged along the edge. It snarled and swaggered into the camp, the other goblins cringing away from it, and I knew this must be the chief.

  “Shut up, ya pack of jabberin’ dogs,” the chief roared, aiming a blow at a couple of goblins who didn’t get out of his way quick enough. “Worthless, the lot of ya! I been hard at work, raidin’ the borderlands, an’ what have you lot got to show me, eh? Nothin’! Not even a rabbit fer the stewpot. Ya make me sick.”

  “Chief, chief!” cried several goblins at once, dancing around and pointing. “Lookit, lookit! We caught something! We brought it back for you!”

  “Eh?” The chief’s gaze flashed across the camp, his evil eyes fastening on me. “What’s this? Did you miserable louts actually manage to catch a high an’ mighty elf?”

  He sauntered toward the cage. I couldn’t help myself and snuck a quick glance at Grimalkin, hoping the cat would flee. But Grimalkin was nowhere to be seen.

  Swallowing hard, I looked up and met the chief’s beady red eyes.

  “What in Pan’s privates is this?” the goblin chief snorted. “This ain’t no elf, you cretins. Not unless she bartered away her ears! Besides—” he sniffed the air, wrinkling his snotty nose “—it smells different. Ey, funny elf-thing.” He smacked the cage with the flat of his sword, making me jump. “What are ya?”

  I took a deep breath as the rest of the goblin tribe crowded around the cage, watching me, some curious, most hungry-looking. “I’m a…an otaku faery,” I said, drawing a confused scowl from the chief and bewildered looks from the rest of the camp. Whispers began to erupt from the crowd, gaining strength like wildfire.

  “A what?”

  “Ain’t never ’erd of that before.”

  “Is it tasty?”

  “Can we eat it?”

  The chief frowned. “I admit, I ain’t never come across no otaku faery before,” he growled, scratching his head. “Ah, but that ain’t important. Ya look young an’ juicy enough, I figure you’ll feed me crew fer several nights. So, what’s yer preference, otaku?” He grinned and raised his sword. “Boiled alive, or skewered over the fire?”

  I clenched my hands to stop them from shaking. “Either way is fine with me,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Tomorrow it won’t matter at all. There’s a deadly poison running through my veins. If you swallow one bite of me, your blood will boil, your insides will melt, and you’ll dissolve into a steaming pile of muck.” Hisses went around the tribe; several goblins bared their teeth at me and snarled. I crossed my arms and raised my chin, staring down the goblin chief. “So, go ahead and eat me. Tomorrow you’ll be a big puddle of goo, sinking into the ground.”

  Many of the goblins were backing away now, but the chief stood firm. “Shut up, you sniveling lot!” he snarled at the nervous goblins. Giving me a sour look, he spat on the ground. “So, we can’t eat ya.” He sounded unimpressed. “Pity, that is. But don’t think that’ll save ya, girl. If yer so deadly, I’ll just kill ya now, except I’ll bleed ya slow, so yer poison blood won’t hurt me. Then I’ll skin ya and hang yer hide on me door, and use yer bones fer arrowheads. As me grandmother always said, waste not.”

  “Wait!” I cried as he stepped forward, raising his sword. “It—it would be a shame for me to go to waste like that,” I stammered as he glared at me with suspicious eyes. “There is a way to purify the poison from my blood so that I’m safe to eat. If I’m going to die anyway, I’d rather be eaten than tortured.”

  The goblin chief smiled. “I knew you’d see it my way,” he gloated. Turning to his minions, he puffed out his chest. “See there, dogs? Yer chief is still lookin’ out fer ya! We feast tonight!”

  A raucous cheer went up, and the chief turned to me again, leveling his sword at my face. “So then, otaku girl. What’s yer secret?”

  I thought quickly. “To cleanse the poison from my blood, you have to boil me in a big pot with several purifying ingredients. Spring water from a waterfall, an acorn from the tallest oak tree, blue mushrooms, and…um…”

  “Don’t tell me ya forgot,” the chief said in a menacing tone, and poked the sword tip through the bars of the cage. “Maybe I can help ya remember.”

  “Pixie dust!” I blurted desperately, making him blink. “From a live pixie,” I added. “Not dead. If it dies, the recipe won’t work.” I prayed that there were pixies in this world. If not, I was as good as dead.

  “Huh,” the chief grunted, and turned to the waiting tribe. “All right, louts, you heard it! I want those ingredients back here before dawn! Anyone who don’t work, don’t eat! Now, get movin’.”

  The tribe scattered. Hissing, jabbering, and cursing at one another, they vanished into the forest until only one guard remained, leaning on a crooked spear.

  The chief eyed me warily and pointed his sword through the bars.

  “Don’t think ya can trick me by givin’ false ingredients,” he threatened. “I plan to cut off yer finger, toss it in the stew, an’ have one of me mates taste it. If he dies, or melts into a puddle, it be a long, slow death fer you. U
nderstand?”

  Chilled, I nodded. I knew none of the goblins would die, because my claim of poison and the recipe for the stew was, of course, completely bogus. Still, I wasn’t thrilled about losing one of my fingers. Terrified would be a better word.

  The chief spat and looked around the near-deserted campsite. “Bah, none of them dogs will know how to catch a piskie,” he muttered, scratching his ear. “They’d probably eat the damn thing if they caught it. Arg, I’d better find one myself. Bugrat!”

  A few yards away, the lone guard snapped to attention. “Chief?”

  “Keep an eye on our dinner,” the chief ordered, sheathing his sword. “If it tries to escape, cut off its feet.”

  “You got it, chief.”

  “I’m goin’ huntin’.” The chief shot me one last warning glare, then bounded off into the undergrowth.

  “That was clever,” Grimalkin murmured, sounding reluctantly impressed.

  I nodded, too breathless to answer. After a moment, the sound of chewing recommenced.

  It took a while, during which time I chewed my lip, wrung my hands, and tried not to ask how Grimalkin was doing every twenty seconds. As the minutes stretched, I cast anxious glances at the trees and the forest, expecting the chief or the goblin horde to come bursting through. The lone guard stalked the perimeter of the camp, shooting me an evil look as it walked by and triggering Grimalkin’s vanishing act. Finally, on the eighth or ninth circle, Grimalkin’s voice floated up after the guard had passed.

  “There. I think you can get through now.”

  I wiggled around as best I could. Peering at the bars, I saw that several of the bindings were chewed in half, testament to Grim’s strong jaws and sharp teeth.

  “Come on, come on, let us go,” Grimalkin hissed, lashing its tail. “You can gawk later—they are coming back.”

  Bushes rustled around me, and harsh laughter filled the air, getting closer. Heart pounding, I grasped the bars, being careful to avoid the thorns, and pushed. They resisted me, held in place by interlocking branches, and I shoved harder. It was like trying to push through a heavy briar patch; the bars shifted a bit, teasing me with freedom, but stubbornly gave little ground.

  The goblin chief stepped out of the trees, followed by three more goblins. He clutched something small and wriggling in one fist, and his followers’ arms were filled with pale blue toadstools.

  “Mushrooms were the easy part,” the chief snorted, casting a derisive glance back at the others. “Any idiot can collect plants. If I’d left these dogs ta catch a piskie, we’d be nothin’ but bones before—”

  He stopped, and his gaze snapped to me. For a moment, he stood there, blinking, then his eyes narrowed and he clenched his fists. The creature in his grasp gave a high-pitched squeal as the goblin crushed the life from it and flung it to the ground. With a roar of outrage, the chief drew his sword. I screamed and shoved on the cage as hard as I could.

  With a great snapping of twigs and thorns, the back of the cage came loose, and I was free.

  “Run!” Grimalkin yelled, and I didn’t need encouragement. We bolted into the forest, the enraged cries of the goblins on our heels.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Moonlit Grove

  I tore through the forest, branches and leaves slapping at my face, following Grimalkin’s shadowy form as best I could. Behind me, twigs snapped, snarls echoed, and the angry cursing of the goblin chief grew louder in my ears. My breath rasped in my chest, my lungs burned, but I forced my legs to keep moving, knowing that if I stumbled or fell, I would die.

  “This way!” I heard Grimalkin shout, darting into a patch of bramble. “If we can get to the river, we will be safe! Goblins cannot swim!”

  I followed him into the briars, bracing myself for thorns tearing at my flesh and ripping at my clothes. But the branches parted easily for me, as they had when I was with Puck, and I slipped through with minimal scrapes. As I exited the bramble patch, a great crashing noise echoed behind me, followed by loud yelps and swearing. It seemed the goblins weren’t finding the path as easy to navigate, and I thanked whatever forces were at work as I continued on.

  Over the roaring in my ears and my own ragged breaths, I heard the sound of rushing water. When I staggered out of the trees, the ground abruptly dropped away into a rocky embankment. A great river loomed before me, nearly a hundred yards across, with no bridges or rafts in sight. I couldn’t see the other side because a coiling wall of mist hovered over the water, stretching as far as I could see. Grimalkin stood at the edge, almost invisible in the fog, lashing his tail impatiently.

  “Hurry!” he ordered as I stumbled down the bank, exhaustion burning my legs. “The Erlking’s territory is on the other side. You must swim, quickly!”

  I hesitated. If monster horses lurked in quiet ponds, what would great black rivers hold? Images of giant fish and sea monsters flashed across my mind.

  Something flew past my arm, startling me, bouncing off the rocks with a clatter. It was a goblin spear, the bone-white tip gleaming against the stones. The blood drained from my face. I could either stay put and be skewered, or take my chances with the river.

  Scrambling down the bank, I flung myself into the water.

  The cold shocked me, and I gasped, struggling against the current as it pulled me downstream. I’m a fairly strong swimmer, but my limbs felt like jelly, and my lungs were gasping to suck in enough oxygen. I floundered and went under, snorting water up my nose and making my lungs scream. The current pulled me farther away, and I fought down panic.

  Another lance zipped over my head. I looked back and saw the goblins following me along the bank, scrambling over the rocks and hurling spears. Terror shot through me, giving me new strength. I struck out for the opposite shore, arms and legs churning madly, fighting the current for all I was worth. More spears splashed around me, but thankfully, the goblins’ aim seemed to match their intelligence.

  As I drew close to the wall of mist, something struck my shoulder with jarring force, sending a flare of agony across my back. I gasped and went under. Pain paralyzed my arm, and as the undertow dragged me down, I was sure I was going to die.

  Something grabbed my waist, and I felt myself pulled upward. My head broke water and I gasped air into my starving lungs, fighting the blackness on the edge of my vision. As my senses returned, I realized someone was pulling me through the water, but I could see nothing around me because of the mist. Then my feet touched solid ground, and the next thing I knew, I was lying in the grass, the sun shining warmly on my face. My eyes were closed, and I cracked them open cautiously.

  A girl’s face hovered over mine, blond hair brushing my cheeks, wide green eyes both anxious and curious. Her skin was the color of summer grass, and tiny scales gleamed silver around her neck. She grinned, and her teeth flashed as sharp and pointed as an eel’s.

  A scream welled in my throat, but I swallowed it down. This…girl?…had just saved my life, even if it meant she wanted to eat me herself. It would be rude if I just shrieked in her face, plus any sudden moves might spark an aggressive feeding frenzy. I couldn’t show any fear. With a deep breath, I sat up, wincing as a bolt of pain lanced through my shoulder.

  “Um…hello,” I stammered, watching her sit back and blink. I was surprised that she had legs instead of a fishtail, though webbing spanned her fingers and toes, and her claws were very, very sharp. A small white dress clung to her body, the hem of it dripping wet. “I’m Meghan. What’s your name?”

  She cocked her head, reminding me of a cat that couldn’t decide whether to eat the mouse or play with it. “You’re funny-looking,” she stated, her voice rippling like water over rocks. “What are you?”

  “Me? I’m human.” The moment I said it, I wished I hadn’t. In the old fairy tales, which I was remembering more and more of, humans were always food, playthings, or the tragic love interest. And as I was quickly discovering, the inhabitants here had no qualms about eating a speaking, sentient creature. I held the sa
me rung on the food chain as a rabbit or squirrel. It was a scary, rather humbling thought.

  “Human?” The girl cocked her head the other way. I caught a glimpse of pink gills under her chin. “My sisters told me stories of humans. They said they sometimes sing to them to lure them underwater.” She grinned, showing off her sharp needle-teeth. “I’ve been practicing. Want to hear?”

  “No, she certainly does not.” Grimalkin came stalking through the grass, bottlebrush tail held high in the air. The feline was soaked, water dripping off his fur in rivulets, and he did not look pleased.

  “Shoo,” he growled at the girl, and she drew back, hissing and baring her teeth. Grimalkin seemed unimpressed. “Go away. I am in no mood to play games with nixies. Now, get!”

  The girl hissed once more and fled, sliding into the water like a seal. She glared at us from the middle of the river, then vanished in a spray of mist.

  “Irritating sirens,” Grimalkin fumed, turning to glare at me, eyes narrowed. “You did not promise her anything, did you?”

  “No.” I bristled. I was happy to see the cat, of course, but didn’t appreciate the attitude. It wasn’t my fault the goblins were chasing us. “You didn’t have to scare her off, Grim. She did save my life.”

  The cat flicked his tail, spraying me with drops. “The only reason she pulled you out of the river was curiosity. If I had not come along, she would have either sung you underwater to drown, or she would have eaten you. Fortunately, nixies are not very brave. They would much prefer a fight beneath the water where they have all the advantages. Now, I suggest we find somewhere to rest. You are wounded, and the swim took a lot out of me. If you can walk, I encourage you to do so.”

  Grimacing, I pulled myself to my feet. My shoulder felt like it was on fire, but if I held my arm close to my chest, the pain receded to a dull throb. Biting my lip, I followed Grimalkin, away from the river and into the lands of the Erlking.