“They’re back,” Wren said. He was crouched next to her with his back against a tree.
Thistle joined the other goblins eager to hear Noe’s report.
“We’ve scouted the scattered farms near the shore,” Noe announced. “They’ve been abandoned. We continue south. At this rate, we’ll uproot every one of them and clear the sea of their presence.”
A young warrior came up and whispered into Noe’s ear. He handed her something. Thistle craned her neck to see. Noe was examining a small stick figure identical to the fetish Thistle had discovered tied to the branch.
“Find them,” Noe ordered. “Kill them. Take twenty with you and get it done.”
Thistle rose and raised her hand. “Wait. The human who made that isn’t one of the local farmers. He might not even be an enemy.”
“We know this already. But they stole from us, they’re taunting us, and I’m not content to allow them to follow until they decide to attack.”
“Did anyone tell you about the drawing on the rock this morning? It’s almost like they’re trying to communicate.”
“We’re not here to talk or negotiate.”
Thistle let out a sharp breath. Everyone was listening. “That’s not what I said. There’s something different about these humans. They’re keeping their distance. They’re watching us. But besides our horses, they’ve done nothing to interfere. Before we hurt any more of them, we need to know why they’re here.”
“I’ll not have human scouts tracking us.” To the warrior at her side, she said, “Go and do as you’re told. Don’t come back until you have something to report.”
“Let me go with them,” Thistle said.
But Noe ignored her. Soon they were all on the move again and they marched until it got dark.
The hunters came back empty-handed. The next day, the goblins could find no trace of any humans following them.
The surrounding land held only a few farms and no more villages. In each case, their occupants had abandoned the property and left little worth taking.
The next five days were much the same.
The snow was ankle-deep in many spots and caked on the trees. Early mornings and evenings had to be spent foraging. But now there were numerous plants Thistle couldn’t identify, and she couldn’t find much to keep her stomach from aching. All she could think about was food. Even the hardtack and corn porridge the mercenaries had fed her while she was a captive was sounding good.
The wounded goblin in her care was able to shuffle along with Wren and the rest of the injured. As Noe continued to urge the raid to travel faster, they were becoming two separate groups, with only a few hunters staying behind to help the stragglers.
One particularly icy morning where the wind was still and the air frozen in silence, Noe left with a detachment of the warband well before dawn. Thistle hadn’t even heard them leave.
She struggled to preserve whatever warmth her body could produce. Her blanket was too short. If she didn’t curl up, her feet or her head would peek out. How she craved Somni’s balmy library where she would have to keep the windows open to not be baked like a cobbler. But trying to sleep while freezing was better than being awake, freezing, and knowing there was no breakfast to be had. Just the thought of food got her foggy mind going on the subject.
She got up. The water in her waterskin was enough to slake her thirst, and she indulged in washing her face and armpits. The streams in the area were abundant but there wasn’t one nearby.
Wren snored next to her. His blanket covered him head to toe, leaving no skin exposed. She tamped down jealous thoughts and began to search for mushrooms or late fall berries or a downed tree that might hold termites.
She made her way past the sentries. The two young hunters were sharing a cloak and they didn’t even look up at her as she passed them by. The sun wouldn’t rise for another half hour. If their part of the raid hadn’t been given instructions on where to go, it might mean waiting under the cold shadows of the trees.
A blackberry bush was picked clean of any semblance of fruit. The tree trunks were noticeably free of edible fungi. She found a few clumps of withered clover. She plucked them and put them in a pocket. The fresh dusting of snow showed some fresh rabbit tracks. Hopefully one of the hunters would wake soon. Thistle was too stiff to catch anything that wouldn’t easily surrender. But on the off chance she discovered a blind, lame bunny, she found a stick that was hard enough that it might stun a rabbit if thrown.
As she minded her every step, she spotted a second set of tracks, and a third. Catching a rabbit would do wonders for her flagging morale and even more for her empty belly.
Then she saw him.
The human was lean and muscular and covered in a patchwork of furs. He was busy tying a stick figure to a sapling.
She froze in place. She hadn’t made a sound. Yet the human turned in her direction as if she had signaled him.
He wore a beard and his face was concealed by a hood. Around his neck were strung tiny bones and an emblem, like some kind of wooden badge tied to a string. A stone mallet or axe dangled from a loop tied to his hip. His eyes went wide. He ran.
“Wait!”
She hurried to catch up with him. He darted between trees and vaulted down an embankment. As she raced to follow, she slipped and slid but managed not to fall as she made the bottom of the slope. He was running towards a line of fir trees. But as she gave chase, a group of humans emerged from the shadows to face her. There were a dozen of them, and they all held spears, clubs, and axes. Their faces were painted with white markings.
One man in amber fox furs pointed at her. His ruddy face was framed with wild black hair and his bottom lip was pierced through with bones.
They would catch her before she could make it halfway up the slope she had descended. She raised a nervous hand in greeting.
“I’m Thistle. I would like to talk to you. My people—”
The dark-haired man interrupted her with a sharp cough. Then he howled like a wolf on the hunt.
Chapter Thirty
Thistle stood her ground as she listened to the ferocious wail. Running would be the worse of her two choices, but staying was an act of will.
The howl ended. Then the line of tribesmen began to thump the heels of their feet or the butts of their spears on the ground. But strangely, none of them would look directly at her.
Their leader looked behind him and motioned someone forward. It was the man she had been chasing. He came limping past the line of men and approached her alone as his fellows stood mute. His fingers played with one of the objects around his neck. It was another fetish of a stick figure. Then he held up a small mirror and used it to look at her.
“Hello?” Thistle said. “Can you understand my words?”
The man kept moving his mouth as if trying to speak. He struggled to keep eye contact. He began to moan and sigh. It was as if it took all his strength just to face her.
She dipped her head deferentially before speaking again. “Who am I addressing?”
With his free hand he grasped another charm. “Dust.”
His voice was so thick it was difficult to understand. “Excuse me?”
“Call me Dust. My true name was taken from me. I showed fear in battle.”
“Greetings, Dust. You men have been following us. One of our hunters shot you with an arrow. That was a mistake.” She waited for some response but he continued to stare at her using his mirror. “Our issue here isn’t with you or your people. And you, it seems, aren’t interested in attacking us. Is this correct?”
“You cursed ones may do as you choose.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are the cursed ones. You go where you will. Take what you will. The god will not stop you.”
“What god are we talking about?”
“The one who sighs and whispers. The god who left with you.”
She realized he could only be talking about one thing. In the mountains she had seen th
e scattered offerings near the dragon cave, animal and human bones dropped from the cliff above.
“You worship the dragon.”
“We appease it. It has left the mountain. We will wait for it to return.”
She nodded and hesitated before asking her question. “Then why are you here so far from your home?”
He glanced behind him at the others. Their eyes were downcast as if Thistle were too bright to stare at directly. Was he reluctant to answer? Or was he seeking permission?
“You stole our horses and food,” she prompted. “Yet you didn’t hurt any of us.”
“We were paid to come to fight the men of the south and to drive them back.”
“You’re allied with Pater the Zealot. These are his lands and his villages we’ve been attacking. But we have no wish to fight you.”
Dust flinched. “We would not try to harm you. You are cursed ones. You may always do as you choose.”
“What does that mean? I don’t follow.”
“You who were wrathful to our fathers, we wish nothing more than to have you never pass before our eyes.”
“We’re here,” Thistle said. “We’re not going away. But you say you serve Pater. Our fight isn’t with your people but with those who live here and with the men of Pinnacle. They came to our hills and stole our children and murdered many of us. You say you don’t want to oppose us. We are wrathful, but we have no desire to fight you. But Pater will be angry because of what my people are doing here. Does that mean you’ll be angry too? That is not our wish.”
“We will not fight you unless our god commands it.”
She pondered those words. The dragon Fath had left with Spicy, perhaps never to return. “Then we’re at peace, your people and mine.” She raised a palm to signal a truce, hoping the gesture would be understood and returned.
But Dust glanced past her and stumbled back, turning to run to join the line of tribesmen. From behind her on the top of the embankment something rustled. She turned. A group of goblins was spreading out, with Noe at the center. They had arrows nocked and spears ready to throw.
“Wait!” Thistle cried and she raised her hands.
The goblin warriors were poised to attack. But Noe hissed a command. No one fired.
Thistle turned to look at the line of humans. They hadn’t moved. It was as if they weren’t aware of how close they were to receiving a volley of arrows and spears. Thistle strode towards the men. Dust fumbled with his mirror but couldn’t grab it in his haste. The others moved away from her.
“If you can make an agreement with Pater, you can make an agreement with us.” She spat into her hand and held it out.
Dust’s eyes darted about but finally, reluctantly, he looked down at her palm. He was breathing hard. But then he managed to compose himself and dribbled spit into his own hand. She slapped his hand with hers.
“We part in peace,” she said.
She watched as they retreated into the woods. This time she heard them as they hurried away.
Noe slid down the embankment. She crouched next to Thistle and examined the ground, taking time to observe the naked footprints left by the humans.
“What trouble have you gotten into?”
Thistle could barely contain her excitement. “I was able to talk to them. They’re not here for us. They were hired by Pater for his fight with the humans. I did it. I made peace with them.”
Noe let out a laugh. “Thus with a mouthful of phlegm, war was averted.” She gestured for one of the hunters. “Take twenty and follow them.”
“No! You have to leave them alone. They’re not the people we’re fighting. They called us cursed. They want nothing to do with us. They wouldn’t hurt us.”
“Is that so? They were willing to steal our horses and food. Hunger put us in jeopardy as good as any ambush. Why are you even out here? You have your task: seeing to the wounded. Record what you will in your little book. But never leave camp without permission.”
One Stone was among the warriors moving past. Thistle held out a hand to stop him.
“Get out of the way, Thistle,” One Stone said.
Thistle glared at Noe. “We don’t want to make a new enemy here.”
Noe let out an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Follow the tribesmen and make sure they’re leaving. Get a head count. Don’t engage. If they act hostile, fall back to camp.”
Thistle felt the knot in her stomach start to unwind. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You could have gotten us into trouble here. I don’t like that you talked to them without me. Once again, you’re overstepping. I guess we don’t have a choice but to hope they understood half of what you were saying.”
“He understood. They’re not here because of us. And attacking them—”
“I’m not stupid. We have to be careful not to pick the wrong fight.”
The detachment of goblins moved off to pursue the tribesmen. Several other warriors dutifully watched the woods around them.
Thistle pulled her cloak tight as a breeze blew. “We have no idea how many more tribesmen might be coming. We need to stop and think about our next move. If we get Pater upset enough, he might decide we’re the priority and not his fight with Pinnacle. It’s more complicated than just attacking everyone we meet. You understand what I’m saying, right?”
“Don’t get snippy and don’t you lecture me, Thistle. I’m thinking. And when I’ve made up my mind, I’m going to give my orders. We have good information with what you did here, but that doesn’t mean you get a say in what we do next. For now, we’re moving. I want us far away from here with guards posted at our rear in case these new friends of yours change their minds.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Chief Gelid intercepted Thistle before she could return to camp. Two of his warriors hemmed her in, and he smiled and waved at the other goblins as they left. Noe was already out of sight. His smile vanished when they were alone.
“Be still,” he said. “You’re as nervous as a hare. I would speak with you.”
“Noe’s ordered us back to camp.”
“And now you follow orders. Hmm. I’ve seen this before among the goblins from Turtle Rock to the north of the sea. A love for humans. Is that what’s in your heart? Speak!”
His sharp request made her jump. “I don’t love them.”
“Yet you’d stand in our way. I see through your requests for mercy. Your heart is sick. You believe you can distinguish between the humans who are good and those who would be evil.”
He reached into a satchel and pulled out a large piece of leather. The tanned hide was thin and an odd violet color as if it had been stained.
“Take it. Touch it.”
She shook her head. “What is it?”
“Something I’ve kept for the last ten years since my warriors made our own raid. This was a window covering to a child’s room at a human farm.”
She leaned close to examine the skin. It had multiple creases and the edges were frayed. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s because you’ve never seen a goblin skin before. Take a good look.” He grabbed her hair and held the skin to her face. “Do you believe we should only find the one who skinned the goblin? Or the one who caught him and held him down? Make no complaint, because this goblin may have been alive when they did this. The humans love to torment the ones who disobey. Slay both, a sensible voice would say. But I say that doesn’t go far enough.
“What of the parents who purchased it and hung it as a curtain? What of the child who is kept warm because of this skin?”
She struggled in vain. “Let me go.”
“They all deserve death,” Gelid whispered. “Any that would turn my hand is my enemy. Do you understand?”
She managed a slight nod. His hand released her hair.
“Now these tribesmen are interesting,” he said. “You’re smart to counsel Noe not to attack. You say they fear us.”
“It’s superstition. They think we’re cursed.
Somehow they connect us to the dragon.”
He stared at her and then slowly nodded. “You’ve given me something to think about.” He motioned to his warriors. They stepped back. “Off with you.”
She didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She scrambled back up the slope and ran back to the rest of the warband as fast as she could.
They hiked until evening. It took that long for her to unravel her thoughts about the morning’s events. She had never dealt with anyone like Chief Gelid. While Noe could be intimidating, Gelid was something else entirely. He had a ruthlessness that was frightening.
She knew of no raid ten years prior, but she didn’t believe he was lying. With Gelid’s attitude about sages, this raid wouldn’t have been recorded. He’d said it had been his warriors who had been involved. That meant Gelid’s raid had come down from Athra, the purpose unknown.
Thistle overheard Arens request a fire, but Noe passed the word along that there would be none that night. She piled the blankets on her patient as she tucked him in and propped up his litter to act as a barrier from the wind.
One Stone and the others who had pursued the tribesmen had caught up with the warband. Thistle wasn’t close enough to overhear their report. She made a quick count. They hadn’t lost anyone. And she didn’t smell fresh blood.
Wren was hunkered down with his cloak pulled over his face. His breath was a silver line of mist.
She settled in next to him. “This keeps up, it’ll get chilly tonight.” She nudged him. He didn’t respond. “What’s wrong?”
“The goblin with the neck wound died.”
“Oh no. What was his name?”
He offered a vague shrug. “Is that all that matters? At the end of the day, who died?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. We need to find a way to care for those who can’t continue.”
“That’s what I tried to do. Carrying them with us is hard and will only get harder the colder and weaker we get. And if there’s more wounded, we won’t have a choice but to set up a hospital.”
Goblin War Chief Page 13
