“But why?” Arens asked. “We have nothing to be scared of. Let’s give chase and we’ll kill them like we killed the others.”
“Because these prints don’t belong to the any of the men of the area. They didn’t come into our camp to fight. They were scouting us. Now no more talk. And no more mistakes. We were sloppy. We have an enemy out there who can be as quiet as any goblin and we can’t underestimate him.”
The goblins remained wary.
Thistle helped Wren with his grumpy patient. With the help of a third goblin, they carried him on a makeshift litter of lashed-together branches. The young man was in obvious pain but kept quiet. The rearmost hunters who moved just ahead of them scanned the edges of the game trail and the trees above, as if a human might be perched on high and ready to dive down like a bird of prey.
But they discovered no further signs of any human’s recent passing. Whoever had visited them that night had vanished.
Thistle thought she had been weary the day before. Now, after the first mile carrying the wounded hunter, her shoulders and back began to ache. She kept quiet but was glad when Wren needed to take a break. He went to relieve himself. When he returned she saw once again his eyes appeared glazed. After taking a drink from his waterskin, he was ready to continue.
The other litter bearer and their patient looked oblivious as they waited for him to return.
“Keep that up, and we’ll have to carry you too,” Thistle said.
Wren almost dropped his end of the litter but then got a grip on it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
They made it until midmorning before Wren had to stop. Thistle helped him with his boot and saw his ankle was swollen.
“This is no good. You can’t continue walking with this.”
“What, are you a doctor now?”
“Don’t be an idiot. Whatever you’re taking won’t make up for an injury. We’ve got to tell Noe.”
He struggled to sit up and grabbed the boot. He winced as he pulled it on. As he tried to stand, he toppled and Thistle caught him and set him back to the ground.
“We need others to help with the litter. Or we use the horses.”
“Noe didn’t want any of us riding. She thinks the horses will get skittish.”
“When I was taken captive, they kept me on horseback. Let me talk to her.”
Wren held out a hand. She pulled him to his feet, where he leaned heavily. He tested a few steps.
“There, see?” he said. “Fit as could be.”
The third litter bearer went to summon help. They managed with the litter as Thistle helped Wren totter along. But soon the horses and the last of the goblins were passing them.
Thistle tried to hurry Wren up. “Maybe you’re the one who should go back home,” she said.
He was clenching his jaw. “We’ve talked about it. This is as much my fight as it is yours or Noe’s. Leave me and I’ll crawl.”
“I’m sure you would. But I’m serious.”
“So am I. If there’s ever a chance we can send the humans a message, this is it. They tried to end our world. They have to know we can end theirs.”
She didn’t have an answer for him.
It was well after midday when they reached the next human settlement, and this one was completely abandoned.
Chapter Twenty
The rest of the raid had already searched the empty village, but Thistle couldn’t resist her own investigation.
The homes here were larger and most were better built than the huts and shacks they had come across in the prior villages. She discovered some well-built furniture including chairs, tables, and beds. A mantle in one house had intricate swirled carvings in the stone. Decorative, she decided, and not any kind of glyph or writing.
A goblin was pulling down heavy curtains. A pair of benches had been thrown through the window. Just outside past a thorny row of rosebushes, a second warrior was preparing a fire while a group of hunters watched, their weapons in hand.
“You won’t want to be in here in the next few minutes,” the goblin with the curtains said.
She took one of the curtains from his hands and examined the material. The dark fabric smelled of old soot but it would do. She wrapped it around her like a giant shawl worn over her blanket. A quick search through the rest of the house revealed that all the other clothing and bedding was gone.
Had the humans been given enough warning to pack before they fled?
“It’s lit! It’s lit!” the goblin cried from the main room.
As smoke began to fill the house, Thistle exited out the front. Goblins put fire to the other nearest houses. A barn by an empty pen was already ablaze but she saw and heard no animals. She felt a measure of relief at the thought that the humans were gone and there would be no further slaughter. But who had passed along the alarm that the raid was coming?
Near the village hub stood a small building made of stone. A group of the raiders were gathered outside of it.
Arens was among them, a burning brand in his hand. “We’ll have to tear it down.”
“Just light the roof,” another goblin said. “That’ll take and it’ll be good enough.”
“What is this place?” Thistle asked.
Arens gave her a blank look as if he didn’t understand the purpose of the question. Thistle went inside.
“Hey!” Arens cried, and he followed her to the doorway.
Inside were several shelves with burned-down candles. Beyond lay a row of pews and an altar of stone. A banner hung on the rear wall, emblazoned with a trio of intersecting gold rings.
She walked down the aisle. “It’s a chapel.”
“It’s going to be a fire.”
On the floor behind the altar she found a large, thick candle that had been knocked over. She picked it up. As she got a closer look at the banner, she heard a goblin outside whoop. A crackling sound carried across the ceiling. Arens was waiting outside when Thistle emerged. The roof of the chapel caught quickly. Half of the village was burning and the rest was being lit by eager teams of torch-wielding goblins.
She paused to watch, standing next to a prominent wood pole set into the ground. After a moment, she examined the freestanding beam. It had a pair of straps dangling from it. Multiple score marks were etched in the wood and it was stained with what appeared to be dried blood.
Something used to suspend and slaughter animals, perhaps? But as she pondered, the flames grew and she followed the retreating goblins out of the burning village.
She found Wren waiting by the horses. The raid gathered near the road. Thick smoke sent a black smear into the air. Noe had detailed several warriors to keep watch on the road in either direction. The smoke would be visible for miles, as it was the middle of the day.
The raid began to file along the road heading south. It was the first time they had followed the road for any distance, and the going was much easier than along the game trails. A team of goblins moved the horses past and appeared impatient as Thistle helped Wren hobble along.
“We’re exposed out here,” Thistle said.
Wren grunted. “I guess. But we’ll move quicker if we use the road.”
“We’d move quicker if we found you a wheelbarrow. Did you get heavier in the past two hours?”
“I found a secret stash of pies at a piemaker’s and ate them all,” he answered in a deadpan voice. “I didn’t save any. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Sages don’t eat pie.”
“Oh? And what do they eat, Lord Sage?”
“The tears of their students. It’s enough to sustain us through the harshest winter.”
He handed her a small book.
“What’s this?”
“One of Gelid’s warriors had it and I traded him some mushrooms for it. He said he found it in one of the human houses.”
The book was small and almost fit into her hand. There were no words on the cover nor on any of the few pages. But there were illustrations. On a left-hand page, s
he saw someone bowing to what looked like the dark figure of a human woman with a small idol on the ground next to her. On the opposite page the bowing person was tied to a pole and being burned.
“This is horrible.”
Wren wore a knowing smirk. “Keep going.”
The next two pages featured a man shouting. His words were squiggles and an exclamation point. A trio of onlookers gawked in horror. On the facing page, the cursing man’s tongue was being cut. The following pages featured a man caught in bed with a woman. She was then branded below the waistline. Next came someone stealing a pumpkin, who was punished by being whipped.
That explained the post in front of the chapel.
She flipped through the last pages and saw similar punishments for a variety of crimes. “Is this what they believe?”
“You’re supposed to be the smart one. It’s either that or their laws.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Keep it. I’ve read it. Plot’s a little thin, but it might be something to keep the children entertained.”
“I guess if no one in the village can read, this is what’s needed. But such harsh punishments.”
“Makes exile or a week of shunning not look so bad.”
Thistle thought about the worst case of a crime she could remember. A thief had plagued Boarhead for a month before he was finally caught. After a few warnings, and after the thief had been caught two more times, his house was taken and he was sent packing and ordered to go to the Great Ocean. In a letter to the surrounding villages, he was named as an unrepentant who was not to be given comfort or shelter. But the penalties in the book were so instant and so brutal.
“It makes sense though, doesn’t it?” Wren asked.
“What?”
“Why they are like they are. So what we’re doing might be the only thing they understand.”
Thistle didn’t answer. She put the book into her pack and helped Wren hobble along as they hurried to catch up with the column.
Chapter Twenty-One
Someone was following them. Thistle stopped to watch the road behind her where it vanished at a turn in the trees. A figure had been there a moment before but was gone. It had been so fast, a shadow, and perhaps it was…
“My imagination.”
“What?” Wren asked. He paused to wait for her. He had been managing on his own for the last hour after once again imbibing his medicine.
“I thought I saw something, someone behind us, but it’s nothing. Maybe one of the warriors catching up.”
“Did you miss the fact we’re once again in the back? If there’s a goblin there, why would he hide?”
She studied the trees. Searched for any break in the pattern. She listened and smelled and did everything she imagined a hunter might do when watching for prey. She almost jumped when Wren grabbed her by the elbow.
“Take it easy,” he said. “Let’s go. If there’s someone there, they’re not friendly. If there’s no one there, it’s a good reminder that we need to catch up to the column.”
She nodded but continued to watch even as they walked. Had there been any birds since the abandoned village? She chastised herself for not paying better attention.
Wren was slow in keeping pace.
“Dizzy again?” she asked as she placed an arm around him to help.
“Did I mention I also struck my head when I fell and broke my ribs?”
“Now you’re just making up excuses. Hop to it. I know you can go faster.”
“I really did take a good knock. Want to feel the lump?”
She shoved him away. “You’re on your own.”
There was a commotion ahead. She heard shouts, whistles, and screams. By the time she left Wren behind her and caught up to the main body of goblins, the fight was over.
Another four humans in white shirts lay dead in a meadow just off the road. These had no horses. Their broad-tipped spears lay collected in the grass beside them. Their arrow-riddled bodies had already been plundered. A few of the warriors now held gold chains in their hands that they showed off to the others, while more of the goblins just stared at the murdered humans.
Noe looked angry, as normal. “Retrieve your arrows. No more fooling about.”
Arens was kicking one of the dead men. “They fall so easily. We’ll kill them all and hundreds more.”
Ramus gave him a nudge and Arens stopped what he was doing.
One Stone and Preemie were standing among the line of warriors closest to Noe. She paused before them and gave One Stone a nod.
“Good eye and good ear. You spotted them hiding in the grass where some of us didn’t. I’ll have you with the forward scouts from here on in.”
One Stone was beaming.
“What should we do with the bodies?” Ramus asked.
Arens grinned. “String them up for any others to see. They’ll fear us.”
“Let’s not waste any more time,” Noe said. “We’ve made too much noise. Spread out and move.”
She led Ramus and One Stone off ahead with her. Most of the others filed along after them, but not Arens and a handful of older hunters.
Arens grabbed one of the bodies by the shoulders and another goblin moved to help. “This will take no time at all.”
Thistle lingered to see what they were doing.
Using the soldiers’ belts and cut strips of their clothing, the goblin hunters began to truss up the fallen humans to the nearest trees, positioning them as if they were standing. The men’s heads lolled, giving them the appearance of macabre scarecrows. Arens stood back to examine his handiwork. He then drew his knife but hesitated.
“Go on, away with you,” he said to Thistle.
She met his gaze. “I want to watch.”
“They need to be punished.”
“I’m not stopping you.”
“You shouldn’t see this.”
“I have to.”
Arens was the first to break eye contact. The remaining goblins were looking at him. Finally he sheathed the blade and stomped off after the column. The others fell in with him, leaving her alone.
Fighting her own revulsion at seeing the dead, Thistle drew closer. All the men were young except one who appeared quite old and heavy. Their shoddy clothes lacked any uniformity but for their white shirts. The goblins had relieved them of their winter cloaks. Even accounting for this, the soldiers were poorly equipped, lacking the gear and supplies needed to be out on their own for any length of time.
They had to be operating from somewhere close.
And they had been bested by goblins. Their armor barely qualified for protection, especially when compared to what Lord’s men had worn. Were such men responsible for holding the Pinnacle forces trapped within their fort?
Then she examined their footwear. Their feet were shod with ankle-high shoes with hard bottoms.
Crouching, she removed the shoes of each man to examine their feet. She winced at the stench. But while the feet were dirty, these were not the soles of men who could walk through the forest at night. They were too tender.
So if these humans hadn’t made the footprints found at camp, then who?
She realized she had been there too long alone. Had Wren and the horses already passed her by? She waded through the grass towards the road. Up ahead she spotted the packhorses, along with the goblins who were guiding them, vanish around a turn.
But as she hurried to run after them, she froze.
From a wall of oleander shrubs, a man wearing a white hide vest stepped into view. Thistle’s breath caught and she dove to the ground. She was exposed and out in the center of the road. But the man didn’t appear to have seen her. His attention was on the departing goblins.
Inch by inch, she sidled into the grass and got down into a crouch. She found herself holding her breath. How had the entire raid missed the human? They were loud, they stank, and they left signs of their presence.
But the fact that someone had entered their camp so ea
sily meant not all the humans were incompetent when it came to being sneaky.
She became acutely aware of her own sounds. She had been traveling at the rear of the column and hadn’t given any thought to how much noise she was making. Would her body odor give her away? And now as she hid in the grass, if the human decided to inspect the scene of slaughter, she would be spotted.
Yet the human didn’t come. She waited and had to suppress her desire to see what was happening. Was the human alone? Was he one of many? And if so, was there any way she could warn the others before disaster struck and they were attacked from the rear?
She kept her head down and ignored the itch as bugs crawled over her legs and arms. Many minutes passed. She couldn’t remember where she had left off from counting. She couldn’t wait there forever. So she rose slowly until she could see just above the grass.
The human was gone. If he was somewhere nearby, he was once again perfectly hidden.
She studied the meadow and the trees and the oleander, searching for anything out of place. There was no way to tell where the human had headed.
She had to assume he was out there watching.
Pausing to brush her arms and legs free, she began to crawl. She had to fight back panic. Either she was in trouble or her fellow goblins were. She needed to hurry to sound a warning, but if she was caught by soldiers she knew they wouldn’t bother holding on to her as a prisoner. No human in this area could still believe that goblinkind and mankind were living in some form of cordiality. If they found her, they would kill her.
A cluster of saplings thick with vines grew at the edge of the meadow. Clinging to one for concealment, she stood.
Something dangled from a branch near the road that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t large, perhaps the size of a medallion awarded for a singing contest in her village. She tried not to be distracted by it. But after scanning her surroundings for a few more minutes, she decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She broke cover and walked quickly to the edge of the road.
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