Chương 54: Chapter 40: Dravak - Strange Tribe

A little more than two weeks had passed since Grub revealed his magic to the tribe, and just over a month since the warband returned from the direwolf den. The morning after the revelation, before work on the wall began, Dravak had taken him aside with Throk and Kesh and demanded answers. He told Grub that all three of them had known he was System-blessed from the day Throk brought him into the cavern. Grub asked why they had said nothing.

Dravak told him they had wanted to see what he would do while he still believed the secret was his. Then they questioned him again about his origins. Grub offered the same answer as each time before. He'd been separated from another tribe and wandered the forest alone until Throk found him. Dravak still didn't believe it, but Grub's origins mattered less than what he was doing for the tribe. Afterward, he watched Grub closely. Closer than he let on.

For the first week, he searched for the warning signs carried through the old stories: a hunger to command, pleasure in the tribe's fear, or the restless ambition of a goblin who believed the System had raised him above everyone around him. He found none of them. Instead, he saw stone dust coating Grub's skin and resin packed beneath his nails. He saw arms trembling from work long after sense should have driven him to rest.

He saw a goblin empty his Mana into the cavern ceiling, climb down when nothing remained, and immediately find another task for his hands. Even now, Grub moved through the cavern with the same quiet, relentless purpose. One moment he stood with the four assigned Warriors at the cave mouth, checking the fitted logs and directing where mud, hide, and torn grass should be pressed deeper into the remaining gaps.

The next he moved to the central hearth, raised a hand toward the smoke-darkened stone, and listened for differences no one else could hear. When his Mana ran thin, he moved on and found other tasks to occupy his time. He checked wounds in the alcove, corrected the children as they worked with their growing wolves, hauled water, carried mud, and returned to the wall whenever another pair of hands was needed. He ate wherever the work found him. Slept only when exhaustion forced the matter.

Complained about none of it. Dravak had known goblins driven by fear, hunger, rage, or pride too stubborn to bend. He had never known one driven by something so steady. That didn't make Grub harmless. Power didn't need cruelty to become dangerous, and usefulness didn't excuse carelessness. Dravak had seen Chiefs brought down by threats they welcomed too close simply because those threats had first made themselves valuable. He would not repeat their mistake.

But as he watched Grub cross the cavern once again, leaving one unfinished task only to place his hands upon another, Dravak could no longer pretend that the changes spreading through the Ironfang were merely promises. They had become real. He found himself drifting toward the alcove that morning out of habit more than need. The cavern no longer reeked. A season ago, Dravak would not have believed such a thing possible.

The tribe had always lived with damp furs, old blood, spoiled scraps, and wounds left too long beneath dirty bindings. No one had questioned it because no one had known another way. Now the alcove carried the rough scent of boiled bark, warm resin, charcoal, and smoke. The four former slaves moved through their work easily now. They checked the wounded, changed bindings, prepared fresh wash, and corrected one another without waiting for Grub to notice every mistake. Clean. Bind. Watch. Repeat.

The routine had become ordinary. That, more than anything, still felt strange. Dravak watched one of the four strip away a binding that would once have come off slick with green-white rot. This one came away damp with clean blood, and the skin beneath had pulled tight into an angry scab instead of spreading outward in a sour, creeping stain. The tribe had Warriors standing again because of it. As Dravak passed that corner, he used Identify on the nearest of them. The words that rose before his eyes made him stop.

[Goblin Medic – Level 3] Health: 40/40 | Stamina: 30/30 | Mana: 10/10 Medic. Not Warrior. The word sat wrong in his mind for a heartbeat, because it was a thing from nowhere, a name he had never seen the System give to a goblin before. Dravak's gaze flicked to the others. He Identified them in turn.

[Goblin Medic – Level 2] Health: 40/40 | Stamina: 30/30 | Mana: 10/10 [Goblin Medic – Level 2] Health: 40/40 | Stamina: 30/30 | Mana: 10/10 [Goblin Medic – Level 3] Health: 50/50 | Stamina: 30/30 | Mana: 20/20 Same name. Same change. The four noticed his stare and shifted uneasily, hands pausing over cloth and bowls.

"What is it, Chief?" one asked, voice suddenly hoarse. Dravak grunted.

"Open your Status." They blinked at him, then did as commanded, eyes unfocusing as they looked inward. A beat of silence. Then their faces changed, eyes widening in shock, then something almost like fear, quickly smothered under rough pride.

"Medic," one whispered.

"The System calls me Medic."

"Me too," the others echoed one by one. One thumped his chest with a fist, as if testing whether the new name made him softer. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"We aren't Warriors anymore." Their faces fell slightly at the realization, and their gazes instinctively moved toward the cave mouth where Grub was currently buried in wall-work. A few nearby goblins who had overheard muttered under their breath.

"Medics. Hmph."

"Strange tribe," someone said darkly. Dravak turned his head slowly and fixed them with a hard stare. The mutters died. Eyes averted. No one spoke again.

"A spear is no use if you're dead," Dravak said flatly.

"And a dead Warrior doesn't guard this cave." He looked back to the four.

"You have kept goblins alive. That is strength. Do not shame the name the System gave you." They straightened at that, as if the words had given them a new spine. The one who had spoken first nodded, swallowed hard, and went back to his work with renewed intent, hands steadying over cloth and wash. Dravak moved on, mind racing. Change wasn't something most Chiefs liked, not unless they chose it, not unless they could pretend it had been theirs all along. But this change was keeping more of his goblins alive.

For now, that was acceptable. For now. From the alcove, Dravak made his way toward the cave mouth, the unfamiliar designation still turning through his thoughts. Medic. The word tasted strange on his tongue. Ahead of him, the wall rose across the cavern entrance like a crude second jaw. Dravak hadn't often stood close enough to watch its construction, but two weeks of passing it had made every stage familiar.

The four assigned Warriors had dragged saplings down from the slope, stripped away their branches, and wedged the first upright supports into natural crevices along the edges of the opening. Rocks had been hammered around their bases until the wood no longer shifted. Crossbeams followed, lashed into place with thick strips of hide pulled tight enough to make the frame creak. Spare hides were tied across the lattice, then covered with mud and torn grass, packed deep into every opening with fingers and flat stones.

Slowly, the uneven frame had begun to resemble part of the cavern rather than a pile of logs struggling to remain upright. Grub hadn't allowed them to seal it blindly. Near the floor, on the side closest to the central hearth, he had ordered the workers to leave a gap roughly the width of his hand. Split bark lined its interior, while flat stones shaped the opening into a narrow channel that angled along the cavern wall toward the fire instead of spilling cold air across the sleeping spaces.

One of the Warriors had frowned at the opening.

"We're building a wall to keep the wind out."

"The fires still need air."

"They have air."

"They do now, because most of the cave mouth is still open." Grub pointed toward the hearth.

"Once the wall is closed, the fires will consume what's inside. They'll weaken, and the smoke won't rise properly through the vent." The Warrior stared at the narrow channel.

"So cold still comes in."

"A little, where we choose to let it enter. That's better than letting the wind cross the entire cavern." They had fixed a heavy hide flap over the inside of the channel, allowing the opening to be narrowed when the fires burned low without ever sealing it completely. The same caution had kept them from finishing the upper third of the wall.

"Not yet," Grub had said when one of the Warriors reached to close the jagged space above the highest crossbeam.

"If we seal it before the vent is finished, the smoke will choke us." So the frame still stopped short of the ceiling. Wind entered through the open stretch above it, but the completed lower portion had already broken the worst of the draft that once swept unhindered across the cavern floor. The final opening was the doorway, and that had required more thought than any of the others.

Grub had made one of the taller Warriors mark the doorway against the stone with charcoal, placing the upper line well above Dravak's own head, nearly six feet from the floor. Then he measured the opening across, widening it until two broad-shouldered goblins could've stood within it side by side. One of the others frowned at the outline.

"Why so large?" Grub glanced toward the children and the wolves sprawled among them.

"Because the pups won't remain pups." The Warrior followed his gaze.

"If they're going to hunt and guard beside us when they're grown, they need to pass through without crawling or scraping their sides against the frame," Grub continued.

"And if we ever have to carry a wounded goblin inside, two others should be able to support him without turning sideways or striking his head against the wood." The Warrior looked back at the charcoal outline.

"That is a large door."

"They're going to be large wolves." A thick slab had been cut from a fallen tree and shaved flat along one face. Its sides were trimmed until it fit between two heavy uprights, crude but massive, large enough that all four goblins strained whenever they lifted it. As Dravak approached, they were lowering the slab into place to test its fit. It rocked. Not much, but enough to matter.

Any pressure against it made one lower corner shift, and a door that moved beneath a shoulder wouldn't hold against winter wind or an enemy trying to force his way inside. One Warrior swore and kicked at the floor. The slab only wobbled harder. Grub crouched beside it and studied the stone beneath the troublesome corner. The cave floor sloped naturally toward the entrance, broken by shallow rises and depressions worn smooth beneath generations of feet.

No one noticed them while walking, but the door found every uneven place. Grub ran his fingertips across a narrow ridge, then looked up at the Warriors.

"Lift it." The four Warriors heaved the slab away, their breath leaving them in hard grunts. Grub placed one hand against the raised stone and began to work. Dravak stopped a short distance away and watched. It was patient magic. Nothing exploded. No crack raced across the floor. Stone Chip merely bit shallowly into the ridge, snapping loose one thin flake at a time. Chip. Chip. Chip. A spark flickered briefly across Grub's fingers during one cast, bright enough for Dravak to notice before it vanished.

Grub didn't react, and his magic had been strange from the beginning, so Dravak gave it little thought. Dust gathered around Grub's feet, though they were no longer bare. He had wrapped them in strips of hide and fur, bound tightly with rawhide and reinforced along the soles. The coverings were uneven, crude things, but they kept sharp stone and frozen ground from cutting into him. Dravak had already seen Hunters and several Warriors attempting versions of their own.

They moved more quietly in them and placed their feet more confidently among thorns and broken rock. Another of Grub's small ideas spreading before anyone had decided whether to accept it. Grub paused, ran his palm over the ridge, then removed a little more from the highest point, trimming it with the same care a Hunter might use upon a spear shaft. When he finished, he checked the stone again.

"Set it down." The Warriors lowered the slab back into place. This time, it sat squarely between the uprights. One of them pressed a shoulder against it. The wood held. He leaned harder, boots grinding against the floor, but the slab remained still. Dravak grunted his approval and continued toward the main hearth. The wall was wood, mud, hide, and labor. Any tribe might have built something similar if necessity pressed hard enough and someone possessed the patience to direct the work. The vent was different.

That required Grub's magic. It also required the sort of persistence Dravak had rarely seen outside the longest hunts. Grub had begun searching for a path through the ceiling on the first day. Stone Tap could reach the cavern ceiling easily from the ground, so he moved slowly around the central hearth, tilting his head back as he tested one section after another. Tok. Tok. Tok. Each cast sent the faint tapping through a different patch of smoke-darkened stone.

Grub listened until the final sound faded, then shifted several paces and tried again. After one cast, he wiped his fingers against the side of his clothes before continuing. Dravak noticed the movement, but there was nothing unusual in a goblin brushing dust or moisture from his hands while working beneath a smoking hearth, so he put it out of his mind. To Dravak, every answer sounded alike. A dull knock passing through solid rock. Grub heard differences no one else could. The work still moved slowly.

His Mana allowed only a handful of casts before he had to stop and wait for it to return. Whenever that happened, he went back to the wall, carried mud, checked the frame, or helped strip branches from the next length of timber. Once enough Mana had recovered, he returned to the hearth and resumed his search. That continued through the first day, then into the second. That morning, Grub cast Stone Tap toward a patch almost directly above the edge of the hearth and went still. He tapped the same place again.

The answer came back duller than those surrounding it, the last note thinning strangely before it faded. Grub shifted several feet to one side and cast again, then moved to the opposite side and repeated the test. Each time, his attention returned to the same narrow section overhead.

"This is the place," he'd said. Dravak had answered with a single nod. The Warriors brought over the crude ladder Grub had helped construct and raised it above the hearth. Two held the base steady while he climbed, coughing whenever the smoke thickened around them. Grub wrapped a cloth across his mouth and nose, placed one hand against the ceiling, and confirmed the weak point with Stone Tap once more. The dull response returned, clearer at this distance. Only then did he use Grain Shift.

Fine grit trickled from the ceiling as the material within the narrow section shifted. The Spell merely disturbed the grain of the stone along the weakness he'd already found, making what was fragile a little more willing to break. Next, Grub had pressed his fingertips against the loosened patch and cast Stone Chip. A thin flake snapped free. Dust drifted through the firelight and settled across the hearthstones. He cast again. Another fragment broke away.

For an instant, Dravak could have sworn smoke curled around Grub's fingers, but it vanished almost immediately into the haze clinging to the ceiling. By the time he focused on the Grubs hand, there was nothing left to see. Then another fragment fell. Grub continued until his remaining Mana fell too low to cast the Spell again. By then, four or five shallow flakes lay upon the hides spread beneath the ladder, and the ceiling bore a depression scarcely deeper than half a finger.

He climbed down, and started toward the cavern entrance. There was no point remaining on the ladder while his Mana slowly returned. Dravak watched as he moved from task to task. He hauled wood at the cave mouth, carried mud, checked the settling frame, and corrected the wall-workers whenever a beam shifted or a seam opened. Only when enough Mana had regenerated for another full attempt did he climb again. First, Stone Tap confirmed that the path ahead remained weaker than the rock around it.

After that came Stone Chip, cast again and again until his Mana could support no more. Tap. Shift. Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip. Chip. Then wait. Rinse and repeat. It was patient work, measured in fragments of stone and long stretches spent doing everything else the cavern required. Over the following days, the shallow mark widened and deepened, first enough to admit Grub's fingers, then his hand, and eventually most of his forearm. The passage didn't rise straight upward.

Whenever Stone Tap suggested the rock ahead had grown thicker, Grub tested the surrounding stone until he found another weakness, then angled the cut toward it rather than forcing his way through material that would consume too much Mana. Each section followed the same careful method. Find the weakest path. Confirm it. Loosen it with Grain Shift. Remove as much as his remaining Mana allowed with Stone Chip. Then climb down and wait. The progress was slow enough that most goblins stopped watching. Dravak didn't.

Even so, his attention sometimes shifted to the wall, the hearth, or the workers moving through the cavern. By the time he looked back, Grub was usually already preparing his next cast.