This is a terrible plan.

Grika’s legs dangled over each side of a thick branch, perched high up in the trees a few dozen yards north of the cave entrance. He took a deep breath. He held it. Then he exhaled and took another deep breath. He was stalling. Of course, he was stalling. This was suicide. And that was only if things didn’t go horribly, horribly wrong.

Leave it to Ollie to come up with a plan that had Grika taking all the risks. Playing bait to goblins who would love nothing more than to use Grika’s football-shaped head as an actual football.

Oh well, at least he’d get to yell obscenities at a whole pack of goblins before he died.

He opened his mouth and screamed. He shouted, he yelled, he cursed, he shook the branch and the leaves. Anything to get the attention of the nearby pack. He continued his tirade until figures emerged from the south, from the cave entrance. They gathered at the base of the tree, looking up, pointing at his diminutive figure as he ranted and raved from the treetops.

“Oy, ya runt bogger! What’cha doin’ way up theres?”

“Don’t call me a bogger, ya bogger!” Grika shouted back with a shake of his fist. “I’m here to stake my claim. This here is MY land now. MY pack! I’m giving you all five minutes to either get out of here, or to bend your bobby knee and proclaim me the boss!”

The goblins stared back at him, mouths agape. Probably wondering how long five minutes was.

“Ya ravin’ loon,” one said. “I could eat ya in one bite and still be starvin’. Come down here and I’ll show you.”

“You come up here, you rock-brained trow patty! When I pop you senseless right on your beanie-eyed face, I’ll snack on your smelly hide for weeks. I’ll be fat as you are when I’m done.”

“What’s he on about?” one goblin asked another. The second one shrugged.

“I challenge your leader!” Grika shouted. “That’s what I’m on about!”

The goblins went deathly quiet.

Then they laughed.

“Someone go get that big-nosed bogger,” another said. “I could use a snack.”

One of the goblins scurried up the tree trunk. Grika tensed, even though he was pretty sure none of them could reach him. A benefit of being small.

“Is this the quality of soldier I have to look forward to?” Grika pointed at the climber. “A goblin so dumb he doesn’t even realize he’s too fat to get up here? I hope at least some of you have a brain bigger than a peanut!”

The first goblin jabbed a crooked finger at the belligerent pygmy. “You can’t stay up there forever, runt!”

“I don’t intend to! Once your boss gets his fat, stinky backside out here I’ll come down and show him how a real boss runs his pack.”

The goblin’s eyes narrowed. “Better be careful, morsel. Kranka doesn’t take a joke as good as we do.”

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Another tried to climb up the tree trunk, but he was held up by the first, who couldn’t find a path through the branches that would get to Grika. The two goblins smacked at each other in frustration.

“I ain’t making a joke, morsel,” Grika pointed at the offender. “Bring me your boss or bring me his head. Either way, I’m in charge now.”

The first goblin looked at another. “He’s bloody boffo.”

Not entirely untrue, Grika mused. Still, he didn’t get to insult goblins every day. It was a heady sensation, and despite the growing sense of doom surrounding this little venture, he wasn’t quite ready for it to end.

“You know,” Grika rocked back and forth on the branch, finding himself amused, “us pygmies are pretty good at smelling goblin folk. Which is a hard enough life given you lot smell worse than boggart poo. On looks alone, you all laugh and make fun, like this is a joke. But you know better, because I can smell it. It’s not apathy I smell down there. It’s fear.

“You’re all afraid. Of little old me.”

The chattering amongst the goblins soured. One goblin kicked the trunk, trying to shake him loose. Grika barely felt the impact.

“Get your beany little rump down here, you… runt!”

“Tree kicking?” Grika said, amused. “That all you got? Can’t you brain-dead mopes do anything more complicated than trip over each other?”

The goblins growled, then backed away as another group approached. At their head was a goblin clearly larger than the rest. Grika held his breath. Insulting goblins was one thing. Making an enemy of a hobgoblin was a different matter entirely.

The hobgoblin walked up to the base of the tree. He stared up at Grika, who fought to keep his composure. A deep, rumbling growl filled the night air.

“You challenge me?” the hobgoblin asked. “Kranka the Merciful? Goblin King of the West?”

Grika licked his lips. He managed to nod his head. “I do.”

Kranka laughed. A slow, deliberate sound. “I accept.”

The goblins joined their boss, laughing and hollering in delight. Grika’s eyes bugged out. He hadn’t prepared for this eventuality.

“Who are you,” the hobgoblin continued, “to challenge me?”

“I am your better,” Grika said, surprised he even got the words out.

The hobgoblin grunted. “What’s your name, little one? What do I call the harbinger of my doom?”

“Grika.” He hooked a thumb at his chest. “Grika the Devious.”

“Grika,” the hobgoblin said, as if tasting the word on his tongue. “Grika. I think you mean, Grika, the hunter’s pet.”

Grika’s blood ran ice cold.

“I know who you are, little one.” The hobgoblin stroked his chin. “You were caught by the Yellow Crone. You spied on goblins, and you sold us out to the Spear Hunter.”

Grika clutched the branch between his legs. This all happened back east. Thousands of miles away. How did Kranka know?

The hobgoblin’s eyes narrowed. “And now here you are, on the other side of the world. What can that possibly mean?”

Kranka knew about the Hauks. He knew about Ollie. That means he’d know about the bounty on their heads.

Kranka looked back toward the cave, then up at Grika.

“I wonder who else I might find out here tonight?”

Kranka turned to leave.

Grika stood up on the branch and hopped around, shaking his fists. “Running away? Is that what a real boss does?! Are you scared of me?”

Of course, that’s exactly when his foot slipped.

He tumbled sideways, only barely managing to grip the branch before falling to his doom amidst a circle of agitated goblins. They laughed as he pulled himself back up, with some effort.

Kranka stopped to watch. “Get him,” he said. “Bring him inside. Maybe he can be my Fool.”

More goblins scaled up the trunk of the tree. They couldn’t reach him, but at the very least they could trap him up here, and throw knives and rocks, until one hit him and sent him hurtling toward the goblin afterlife.

Kranka disappeared, headed back to the cave. Ollie and Kimmie would have to deal with that. His part of the distraction was done, and his courage had finally failed. He ran to the trunk and leapt to the next branch, then scurried to the far end. From there, he leapt to another tree.

He’d chosen this spot because of its escapability. He could hop from tree to tree for a while, safely out of reach of the goblins below. Of course, the goblins followed on the ground, bouncing around in excitement at this new game. He wondered with some concern how long they would follow. What if they stayed after him the whole way? Neither him nor Ollie had thought that far ahead…