“Saro-Saro should lead the goblin nation,” Spikehollow said grimly. “A nation of wolves, it will be, Moon-eye. Not a nation of sheep.”
Spikehollow hissed other things through clenched teeth, but Moon-eye couldn’t hear his words. There was a great rush of sound in his ears, like the rapids of a river. Then the one-eyed goblin collapsed on the trail and died.
Spikehollow reached down and cut off one of Moon-eye’s fingers, hurling it away so the goblin’s spirit could never return to the body. He briefly considered hiding Moon-eye’s corpse or pushing it over the side and hoping animals below would discover it and eat it. But he was in a hurry, and he was also stupid, so he loped off in the direction of Saro-Saro and Krumb and the rest of the goblins, proud of what he had done. None of them would be coming back that way, Spikehollow was certain, so Moon-eye would never be found. They would imagine he was following after them and would catch up, but that would never happen.
The goblin wiped at the blood spatters on his arm as he moved ahead. He took in great gulps of air and tried to ignore the pain in his feet from traveling so far over the biting rocks. Spikehollow knew his feet and legs-and all of him-would only hurt more before they stopped. The Qualinesti Forest was quite some distance from there, or so Saro-Saro had told him.
Spikehollow’s smile turned into a predator’s grin. He would have plenty of time to rest in the forest. All of Saro-Saro’s army would rest there before joining together and embarking on the scheme the old goblin was hatching.
In the distance, he saw the silhouettes of the last goblins in the back of the army.
He hurried to catch up.