They could come up with a lie to explain the prisoner.
Goblins were a small people who would remain an afterthought in men’s lives and history. The actions of their raid would become part of the local humans’ record. Perhaps a new page would be added to their book of morals.
Blessings to those who slay a goblin. Malediction to any who deal with them with civility.
She cleaned and sheathed her knife and wrapped her blankets tight around her.
The warband had left their marks in the snow. She didn’t need any human to guide her along their path. But now she would travel it alone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
She believed she had made the wrong choice as the evening chill robbed her of the last of the warmth remaining in her body. She fought to keep her teeth from chattering. Both parents had taught her the fundamentals of survival, and she knew that to weather the elements, you needed shelter before the sun set. But she pressed on even as the trail became difficult to make out in the gloom.
She stumbled. With splayed arms, she arrested a slide that would have taken her down into a gully of dead branches and snow from which she might not have been able to escape. She brushed dirt from her face and hands. Her shirt and blankets were damp. Struggling to rise, she continued on, pausing only to confirm that she hadn’t accidentally left the path.
Something her father had said came to mind.
Use all your senses, not just your eyes.
Perhaps it was her imagination, but she smelled a hint of cooked meat. It wasn’t like something roasting over a flame, but the aroma was unmistakable. She scrambled up to the base of a tree for a better view of the path. Impressions marked the nearby snow. Someone had left the trail. Then she found a discarded bone. A member of the raid must have had dropped it after eating his supper.
Sloppy.
But the tracks led further uphill. They looked fresh. Her curiosity piqued, she followed them.
From up ahead she heard a chewing sound. She froze and got down into a crouch. A second bone was tossed away from a tree and landed in the snow. Next came the glug-glug of someone chugging liquid.
She made a feeble whistle, somewhere between a dove and a ferret being strangled.
She didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“Who’s there?” a familiar voice asked.
“Preemie?” She jogged forward and found the boy huddled against a tree. He had a bundle of food spread before him and a bottle in his hands. The sweet aroma of cider greeted her.
He offered a lopsided smile.
She crouched and spoke in a soft tone. “Where is everyone? Why are you alone?”
“They went on. One Stone told me to go back.”
“What happened?”
He shook his head and took a swig. “I saw him get studded. You were there. But now he’s…” He didn’t finish his sentence.
“Never mind One Stone. You can’t be out here like this. It’s getting late and I don’t see your blanket. You’ve got to go back to the longhouse.”
“But I’m a hunter and a warrior.”
“Right now, you’re talking too loud. Can you walk? Can you see the trail?”
He rose and then leaned heavily on her. She plucked the bottle away and tossed it aside into the darkness. He let out a whimper as he sagged.
“I can’t carry you.”
She instantly felt the freezing air on her neck as she took off her top blanket and wrapped it around him.
“It’s damp,” he whined.
“Wait here. Do you understand me?”
He nodded.
“Promise you won’t go anywhere.”
“I promise. Your brother Spicy is a terrible shot.”
“His gifts lie elsewhere.”
She left him, wondering if giving up her blanket was a mistake. If she gave out because of the cold, would all their efforts fail? Or was this her own hubris in believing that she alone could bring about a favorable outcome?
“Can you even spell ‘hubris,’ Spicy?” she asked herself.
She stifled a mirthless laugh. Why was it he got to go off with a dragon, while she had to go to war? He wanted to be a warrior without learning the skills of a hunter, and be a sage without knowing the discipline of a good student. He had always been so impetuous and impulsive.
Her heart ached as she wondered if he yet lived.
Her growing fear was that no one from Boarhead would ever return home.
A hunter up in a tree waved her on as she slogged towards him. He made no sound as he descended from his tree branch to help her navigate an almost invisible path through a briar. She would never have found the hunkered-down warband on her own in the dark. The cluster of goblins was huddled together. Few stirred at her arrival. Ramus shared his blanket with her. She was surprised at how warm they all could be. She had to stifle a sneeze.
“Are your feet dry?” he asked in a whisper.
She nodded as she massaged life back into her hands. “North Fort. We have to try to talk to them. We have an opportunity—”
He put a finger to her lips. “We’re close. But the zealots are just down in the fields near here and might have scouts. No more talking. You’ll have a chance to explain yourself later.”
“What game is she playing?” Arens hissed. “Why is she here?”
A hunter next to him nudged him. “Ssss.”
Ramus tapped his lips. Gestured for her to sleep. With so many warm bodies around her, it proved easy enough.
With the brightening sky, Noe roused a few goblins from their slumber. As everyone was bundled up, it was hard to tell who was who. Ramus still lay with his eyes closed. Arens had his back to Thistle as he got up to shake snow from his blanket. Then he set the blanket aside and crouched to eat from a bundle of food. As he was munching on strips of roasted pork, she snatched his blanket without him noticing and replaced it with her own.
Noe was leading her group away.
Thistle wrapped herself in the new blanket and went to join them. With the blanket over her face, she was just another hunter. The only thing she lacked was a weapon. She kept to the rear with her head down. She didn’t know what Noe would do if she was discovered. Send her back, she supposed. But Thistle needed to understand the situation. The human David might have been lying about everything he had told them. But if any of it was true, North Fort might be an ally to their cause.
Twenty scouts crept downhill towards a broad clearing, where an array of tents came into view. Horses and men moved about in the early morning. The sky was clear. When the sun rose, it would be in the goblins’ eyes, but they had time.
Noe whispered instructions to one of the hunters. He nodded and slunk forward, staying low among the shrubs and grass as he snuck into the human camp. Above one tent hung a banner. The colors and details were hard to see, but it bore three rings. These were the men of the Inland Sea. They had a few shivering guards that made a show of patrolling the perimeter. A quick count told Thistle the humans had at least thirty horses and a dozen tents. There might be over a hundred men inside them, and part of the camp wasn’t visible. Thistle lost sight of their scout.
“We should kill them all,” One Stone said.
He was crouched near Noe. She gave him a pat on the shoulder. Was it affection or just an acknowledgment?
The other goblins waited. Thistle felt a growing impatience as the sun began to burn above the misty horizon of the distant sea. Now they were blind. Making out any activity within the camp proved difficult. The humans might be running from their tents and coming straight for them.
Use all your senses.
There were no sounds of anyone approaching. She had to trust her ears. And the humans smelled. If these soldiers were like Lord’s band, their body odor would precede them. Surprisingly, the tribesmen had no detectable odor at a distance.
Thistle forced herself to listen, smell, and wait for the scout to return.
Some thirty minutes later, the goblin crawled bac
k into their line and gave his report.
“There’s not many guards active. I counted seven, and a few more soldiers awake in camp. The camp might have a dozen tents. Maybe fifty men.”
“Then we hit them now while they’re sleeping in,” Noe said. “I’m going to gather the others.”
Thistle shrank into her blanket as Noe passed. The goblins around her remained intent on the camp. The sun would be up and the camp would rouse before the warband had time to assemble. One Stone nudged the goblin next to him and was nudged back. They were shifting about like children waiting to be cut loose from work to go play. Thistle felt her own impatience grow.
But then a man appeared at the edge of a field near the camp. He carried a spear and was wrapped in furs. It was one of the tribesmen. Another came up next to him, walking with a distinct limp and wearing a white vest and a collection of necklaces. It was Dust, the human she had spoken to.
One Stone pointed. “Look. It’s the men who’ve been following us.”
“Why are they here?” a goblin asked.
“It doesn’t matter. They’ll wake the camp up. Let’s go down and cut their throats.”
One Stone was about to break cover. None of the officers were around. The others were primed to follow him.
Thistle moved to crouch next to him. “Wait.”
“Thistle? What are you doing here?”
“Stopping you from making a mistake.”
“Get out of here. This isn’t a game and there’s no time for your fooling around.”
A hunter next to him tried to grab her but she stepped away from him. “I know it’s not a game. What we do here will matter to every goblin in Athra.”
Before anyone could stop her, she turned and broke cover, hurrying towards the humans.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
A shout rose from the zealot camp.
Somewhere in the glare, Thistle had missed a sentry, and the guard had seen her. Now he began blowing a shrill whistle.
Dust and the other tribesman both averted their eyes as Thistle came running towards them. A group of five guards gathered at the line of tents on the opposite side of the field. Thistle looked over her shoulder, expecting One Stone and the others to be chasing her, but they had stuck to their cover and remained out of sight.
Dust was fumbling with his mirror. Finally he was able to look at Thistle. “Why have you come?”
“It’s not safe here for you,” she said.
“I do not understand.”
She hesitated. “The gods believe you are in danger in this place, you and your fellow men from the mountains.”
Dust didn’t answer. He looked at his companion.
The soldiers from the camp were approaching with their spears ready. The whistle had stopped. So far no more followed, but a dozen or more were gathering. The camp was alerted now.
She felt a sense of dread. She had just spoiled everything if the other goblins were spotted.
“Why is there a goblin with you?” the soldier at the head of the first group shouted.
As he came storming up, the other tribesman nudged the tip of his spear aside and planted his palm on the man’s chest. “You do not touch this one.”
“What is she, a pet? These damnable creatures have been attacking homes and villages all along the sea. I asked you a question, tribal. Why is she here?”
“Your silver buys our presence. We have come to replace those who fought with you during the warm months. We owe you nothing else. She is not your concern. Now find your captain and bring me to him.”
Thistle looked at the tribesman and tried to get the sense of his words and actions. Was this how you treated someone who was “cursed,” like they had called her? What did the tribesmen gain from protecting her?
The soldier scowled. “Don’t lecture me. We were expecting you a month ago. Follow me.” He turned and led the two tribesmen towards the camp. Thistle fell in behind them, sticking close to Dust and wondering all the while if she needed to run.
The other soldiers kept their weapons ready but were no longer pointing them at either her or the tribesmen.
Dust was rubbing one of his necklaces as he walked and muttering to himself.
Past the first tents, an array of crates and stacked weapons were arranged beneath a tarp stretched over a series of poles. The rest of the tents were set out in orderly rows. Horses stood clustered within a roped-off corral. But one tent caught Thistle’s attention.
She saw men through the open flap, lying on blankets or cots. They appeared listless and weak and showed no sign of even noticing the newcomers. The overwhelming stench of puke and excrement stung her nose. Stained sheets were hanging on lines stretched between the nearest tents.
A line of waiting soldiers stared at Thistle and the tribesmen as they were brought to the center of camp under the banner.
“You’re late.”
The balding man in the red shirt spoke with a phlegmy voice that made him sound like he needed to clear his throat. He had a pair of personal guards with him who appeared equally wary of both the tribesmen and Thistle. But the balding man paid her no attention.
The tribesman stepped up to the balding soldier, causing the other man to back up. “We were on a hunt so could provide meat for our children for the winter. The journey here is long.”
“Always an excuse with your kind. I’m Captain August. Now how many men did you bring, Mister…?”
“Jacob.” He thumped his chest. “There are twenty with me.”
“Twenty? Just twenty? You’re supposed to have a hundred men. A hundred! We’re supposed to end this siege, not let it drag out into another winter.”
Jacob looked around the camp in obvious disgust. “There is disease here.”
“It’s the chill in the air that’s taken some sick. But twenty men?”
“One is worth ten of yours.”
Captain August clenched his jaw. “Maybe that’s the case. But perhaps you weren’t apprised of what we’re up against.”
“A fort where a hundred wait behind the walls. But according to our runners, many of them have abandoned their stronghold. The ones who remain are sick and short on supplies. A group of children could have taken it from them.”
“Well, Jacob, the situation isn’t quite as simple as that. You haven’t seen the fort. Bring your men here. We need to make a plan.”
Jacob’s lip curled. “I will not have them set foot in this camp.”
“Suit yourself. If you’ve got an eye for a map, I’ll show you where my men are. Then you can tell me what you can do for us.”
“Payment.”
Captain August shook his head. “Your last bunch got the deposit, so don’t even think about asking for more. Payment when this thing is finished.”
He led them into the tall tent under the red banner. A small stove burned within, sending a stream of white smoke up through a chimney.
Captain August stepped aside to let Jacob and Dust pass. As they entered the tent, the captain grabbed Thistle by the hair. She screamed.
“Not so fast, you. Think you can waltz in here like you belong? Think I haven’t heard about your kind burning and murdering?”
Jacob shouted something that sounded like a bark. Dust had his stone axe in hand and he moved for the captain, but the officer’s two guards lowered their spear tips in his direction.
“Why is this goblin in your company?” Captain August asked. “You mountain savages have no dealings with them. I had to send my body slave away just so your last leader would even talk to me.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t dislodge the man’s hand from her head. She kicked at him but it only caused more pain as he gave her hair a hard yank.
Dust knocked a spear aside and let out a bellow. The other guard tried to force Dust back but the tribesman held his ground. Jacob drew a pair of black stone knives from hidden sheaths.
“Wait!” Thistle cried. “Don’t hurt anyone! I’ll tell you everything. These men and
I serve the same master.”
Captain August’s grip eased ever so slightly. “Explain.”
“There’s a dragon in the mountain. He is their ruler and my teacher. I serve as his sage. And if you harm me, you become his enemy.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“A dragon. What nonsense.” Captain August spat when he talked.
“It’s the truth,” Thistle said, trying to control the panic in her voice. “I know nothing about whatever trouble the local goblins are causing. These men and I worship at the feet of a creature whose existence is a great secret. They dare not even look at me lest they earn his displeasure.”
To Jacob, he asked, “What fool stories is this girl spinning?”
“We sacrifice to the wyrm,” Jacob said. “And such knowledge is not for men like you with your dead hearts.”
“Heathens,” one of the guards whispered.
Captain August waved him quiet and let Thistle go. “So you can stomach a goblin. Could have saved me some grief months ago.”
He gave a signal and the guards backed off. Dust looked like he still wanted to brain someone, but he too relaxed after a moment. The officer conducted Jacob towards a table inside the tent. Dust followed, and the other guards lingered at the entrance. When Thistle tried to move past them, Dust produced his mirror and looked at her through it.
“No. You wait.”
She hesitated and then decided not to push it. She had pressed her luck enough for one morning and wasn’t sure what else she might dare try. She had discovered so much. Noe would have to listen to her about understanding the situation. With the tribesmen in the camp, the warband’s attack would have to be postponed.
The guards kept an eye on her but appeared more concerned with the two tribesmen with their captain. August spoke in low tones with Jacob, leaning over a map spread out on the table. Jacob appeared distracted. He wandered about the tent, his fingers going to books on a second table, and to a small gold statue standing on a tiny altar.
Goblin War Chief Page 16
