Chương 43: Chapter 33: Dravak/Grub - A Dire Problem

Dravak Dravak sat upon his stone seat and watched his tribe breathe around him. A week had passed since Grub and the four others had endured their tests and been named Ironfang. The change had come gradually, settling into the cavern through dozens of small adjustments rather than any single moment. The season was turning much the same way. Nights lingered longer, and the air creeping through the cave mouth at dawn carried a colder bite than it had a month before.

Winter had not yet arrived, but it was close enough that Hunters had begun reaching for thicker wraps without being told. Firelight moved across damp stone. Smoke clung to the ceiling in a thin black layer. Coughs still rose from the wounded alcove, but they came less often now and no longer seemed to echo from every corner of the cavern. The stink of rot had faded beneath meat, leather, resin, and ash. Around the fire pits, Warriors repaired straps and worked whetstones along spearheads.

Goblins who had once lain soaked in fever now sat among them again, eating, speaking, and preparing for the next hunt. The alcove wasn't empty. It never remained empty for long. The goblins lying there now were not the same ones who had spent days moaning beneath filthy furs, waiting to be carried to the stream once they stopped breathing. Those had already returned to their duties. Fresh bodies had taken their place.

Two Hunters had limped home after meeting a boar that refused to die quietly, one with a torn thigh and the other with deep bites along his calf. Two more goblins had been struck by a shaking fever that left them weak and glassy-eyed. They had been moved into the alcove without jeers about weak blood or muttered complaints over lost labor. Space had been made. Water had been boiled. The tribe had adjusted.

Across the cavern, one of Grub's four ex-slave companions loosened a stained binding while another prepared a fresh cloth. Grub crouched nearby, watching their hands and offering a quiet correction when the wrap began to pull too tightly. He rarely needed to take over anymore. That alone told Dravak how much had changed. The four of them had taken places beside the fires like any other Ironfang.

They stood guard when called, carried water, tended the wounded, and joined the daily work without waiting for a Warrior to threaten them into motion. Two had accompanied Kesh's Hunters into the forest and returned with meat. Not much, but enough to earn a few grudging nods. Grub had not gone with them, nor had he offered. Dravak didn't have to say it aloud for it to be understood. Grub's worth lay elsewhere. Most goblins carried spears.

Grub kept spears in the hands of goblins who would otherwise have been dragged beneath the trees. Boiled water. Clean cloth. Resin paste. Simple things, almost insulting in their plainness, yet fewer bodies left the cavern because of them. Dravak called up his Status. The familiar numbers hovered before him, cold and orderly. He let them remain for several breaths. Numbers didn't whisper behind his back. They didn't fear unfamiliar ideas or resent the goblin who brought them. They simply showed what was there.

He dismissed the pane. The cavern returned around him. Grub finished checking the binding, gave it a firm tug, and moved to the next wounded goblin. He didn't glance toward the stone seat or wait for anyone to notice. The tribe noticed him anyway. Eyes followed him as he crossed the cavern, the same unease trailing him now that had followed him from the cage. His new place beside the fire had not made him any easier for the Ironfang to understand. Strength carried in muscle, iron, and scars was familiar.

Every goblin knew what to do with it. Strength carried in clean hands and quiet work was harder to measure. Dravak was still considering that when a howl rolled through the cave mouth. Thin, cold, and distant, it wound through the cavern and faded against the stone. Heads turned. Conversations faltered. A child buried its face against its mother's tunic. Dravak remained seated, listening to the silence that followed. One breath. Two. Three. A second howl answered, deeper than the first.

A third followed from somewhere farther east. Hands drifted toward spear shafts. Older Warriors held still and listened, while the younger ones tried to imitate them and failed to hide the way they swallowed, or the nervous glances they threw toward the cave mouth. Dravak rose.

"Guards." The two spear carriers at the entrance straightened.

"Double the watch. Put torches on the hill." He turned toward Kesh.

"Take Scouts. Find what has entered our territory." The cavern moved at his command. Torches were carried outside and driven into the slope above the cave mouth, their flames spreading light across the nearest trees. Kesh chose three Scouts and disappeared into the fading evening with them at her back. The brighter entrance eased some of the tension, though it never truly left. More howls came as the night deepened. Sometimes one. Sometimes several answering from different directions.

They moved through the forest, never lingering long enough for the guards to judge their distance. Dravak sat with one hand wrapped around the haft of his axe. The coming cold always pressed animals harder. Game grew scarce, smaller creatures disappeared into their burrows, and hungry packs ranged beyond familiar territory in search of meat. The Ironfang couldn't afford to share their hunting grounds with a large wolf pack. Not with winter so close.

When Kesh returned, she came at a fast stride with the three Scouts close behind her. Dust streaked their legs, and one bent over near the entrance, fighting to catch his breath. Kesh crossed directly to the stone platform.

"Direwolves," she said.

"North of here. Thirty, maybe more, moving together." The cavern fell quiet. Direwolves weren't ordinary forest wolves. A single adult was large enough to drag a goblin from a shield line. A full pack could break a smaller tribe in one bad night. Thirty would do worse than kill. They would claim the surrounding forest, strip away the deer and boar the Ironfang needed, and force the Hunters farther from the cave each time they searched for food.

Once the easier prey thinned, the wolves would follow goblin trails home. Winter would finish whatever they left behind. Dravak stood, his shadow climbing the wall behind him.

"Throk," he called.

"Council." Throk rose from beside the main fire and climbed the one step up onto the central platform. Kesh remained where she stood, slate already in hand. The tribe gathered below them in a rough semicircle. Grub stood near the front now, close enough to hear without forcing his way through the crowd. Some goblins gave him room without noticing they had done it. Others stepped aside deliberately. Dravak lifted the axe from behind his seat. The old human-forged weapon caught the firelight along its edge.

"You heard Kesh," he said as he looked around at the gathered tribe.

"A pack of direwolves has entered our hunting ground. If we leave them alone, they will take our game first and come for us soon after." Uneasy murmurs moved through the cavern.

"I will not wait for them to find this cave," Dravak continued.

"We will find them first. We will break the pack before winter gives them time to weaken us." He turned toward Throk.

"How would you kill them?" Throk rose to his full height, a grin spreading across his face. He struck his sword once against the rim of his shield.

"We take every Warrior who can stand," he said.

"Shields forward. Spears behind. We find the pack and hit them before they expect prey to fight back." A few of the younger Warriors nodded eagerly.

"We charge through them," Throk continued.

"Break their bodies. Kill enough quickly, and the rest scatter." It was a plan the tribe understood. A line, a charge, and enough force to smash whatever stood ahead. Dravak turned toward Kesh.

"And you?" Kesh tapped one finger against her slate.

"We wait." Throk scoffed, but she continued before he could speak.

"They may still be searching for a den. Once they settle, they'll spread out to hunt. That gives us smaller groups to target." She drew several rough marks across the slate.

"We find a narrow place inside the territory they claim. A ravine, broken ground, fallen trees. Somewhere they can't surround us. Then we watch their paths and strike the hunting groups one at a time."

"Give them time to run?" Throk asked.

"Give ourselves time to kill them without losing half the tribe." Kesh tapped the center of her sketch.

"We thin the pack. Follow anything that escapes. Find the den." She glanced toward Throk.

"Then you can have your charge." A few rough chuckles came from the older goblins. Throk rolled one shoulder, irritation crossing his face.

"Dead wolves can't flee."

"Dead Warriors can't follow them." The laughter rose another notch. Dravak waited for it to fade.

"We do both." He drove the butt of his axe against the stone, silencing the cavern.

"Kesh, take your Scouts. Find where the wolves hunt and choose the ground."

"It will be done." Dravak looked toward Throk.

"Prepare the warband. When Kesh returns, we move." This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Throk struck his shield once in answer.

"We bleed the pack apart," Dravak said.

"Then we find its den and finish what remains." The fear in the cavern had not vanished, but it had changed. Warriors looked toward the weapon racks. Hunters began murmuring about trails, wind, and likely crossings. The tribe had been given work, and work was easier to bear than waiting. Dravak drew breath to dismiss them, then he noticed Grub standing at the foot of the platform. The small goblin had stepped out from the gathered tribe. Only the Chief and his chosen Lieutenants spoke during an Ironfang Council.

Everyone else listened unless invited. Grub lifted his chin.

"Chief." The cavern went still. A few goblins stared at him as though they hadn't heard correctly. Others turned toward Throk, waiting for the blow that usually followed such insolence. Throk's expression darkened. His hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

"You forget your place," he said. Grub didn't look at him. Kesh had stopped tapping her slate. She watched Grub instead, head tilted slightly, curiosity overtaking surprise as she waited to see how far he intended to push. Dravak said nothing. The silence lengthened. Grub remained where he stood, every eye in the cavern fixed upon him. Then Dravak gave a low laugh. It was brief, but it broke the building tension.

"Of course," he said, looking down at Grub with open amusement.

"The first council after I name you Ironfang, and already you decide the old rules are too small." Throk's jaw flexed, but Dravak lifted one hand before he could speak.

"Go on, Grub," he said.

"You have everyone's attention." Grub drew a breath.

"When you find the den, I want to ask something." A few goblins laughed beneath their breath. Dravak lifted one hand, and the noise faded. He regarded Grub with curiosity.

"What do you ask?"

"Don't kill their pups," Grub said.

"Bring them back alive." Silence held for half a heartbeat. Then the cavern erupted.

"Madness."

"They will eat us."

"Kill them small."

"Soft-headed runt." Dravak allowed the noise to rise for several breaths before speaking.

"Quiet." The tribe obeyed. He leaned forward.

"Why would I carry threats into our home?" he asked.

"Pups grow. They learn to hunt. One day they become the beasts we are preparing to kill."

"Wolves fight for their pack," Grub said.

"They stay together. Protect each other. Die for each other."

"That makes them more dangerous."

"It could also make them useful." Grub glanced briefly toward Throk and Kesh before looking back at Dravak.

"Take them young. Raise them here. Feed them beside us. Let them grow with our scent and our voices. If the Ironfang becomes their pack, then their strength belongs to the tribe." The words moved through the cavern, leaving confusion in their wake. Wolves were enemies. Meat. Pelts. Not allies. Dravak studied him.

"No goblin tribe I know has done this. Not even the great hordes. Wolves do not serve."

"Then don't make them serve," Grub said.

"Let them belong." Dravak said nothing. Grub continued carefully.

"Humans have done something like it with smaller wolves. Dogs. They raise them beside their homes, and the animals guard their camps and children." Several goblins muttered at that.

"Direwolves are larger," Grub said.

"More dangerous. But they're also intelligent. If they can learn to see us as their pack, they could hunt with us. Guard the cave. Warn us when something comes close." Throk grunted.

"Or they wake hungry one night and tear apart the nearest child."

"That is possible," Grub admitted. The blunt answer drew another murmur. Kesh tilted her head, considering.

"If they grow surrounded by our scent," she said, "they may learn the tribe before they learn the forest." Throk looked at her.

"You agree with this?"

"I said they may learn." Her gaze remained on Grub.

"Not that I would sleep easily beside them." She looked toward Dravak.

"It would be dangerous. It could also give us Hunters stronger than any tribe nearby." The cavern filled with low argument. Some called the idea foolish. Others spoke of meat the wolves would consume or children they might threaten. A few began murmuring about what a direwolf could do to enemies if it truly fought beside a goblin. Dravak listened and thought. A Chief who rejected every unfamiliar tool kept his hands clean until the day he found them empty.

"I make no promise," he said at last. The voices faded.

"If even one adult escapes us, the pups die. I will not allow their scent to lead surviving wolves back to this cave." Grub nodded slowly.

"Only if the pack is broken to the last adult will any pups be brought here," Dravak continued.

"And if they bare their teeth at a child, attack a goblin, or show they cannot be controlled, I will kill them myself." Grub looked down for a moment, then nodded again.

"That's all I can ask." Dravak gestured toward the crowd.

"Return to your place." Grub stepped back. Dravak faced the tribe again.

"You have heard the plan. Sleep while you can. Gather your strength. We hunt soon." He pointed toward Kesh.

"Take your Scouts." Kesh descended from the platform. Several lean goblins joined her as she crossed toward the entrance, already marking lines upon her slate. Throk struck his shield with his fist.

"Warriors," he called.

"Check your straps. Work your spearheads. If you die, it will not be because you walked into battle carrying rotten gear." Dark laughter answered him. Dravak sat back in his seat.

"Dismissed." The council broke apart. Warriors moved toward the grinding stones and weapon racks. Hunters gathered around Kesh as she began sketching marks in the dirt. Mothers drew their young closer while pretending not to listen to the howls beyond the cave. Dravak watched unease settle into busy hands. He watched Grub as well. The small goblin returned to the fire and knelt beside his supplies. He didn't take up a spear or begin working a blade.

He warmed strips of cloth near the fire and worked softened resin into them, preparing more of the dressings the tribe would need when the Warriors returned bleeding. As though he had not just asked the Ironfang to carry living direwolves back into their home. Dravak set the axehead flat against the stone between his feet. With the haft standing upright, he folded both hands over its butt and rested his chin upon his knuckles as he watched Grub. He had gambled on Grub before.

First with wounds, then sickness, then the four slaves who now sat beside the Ironfang fires. Each time, the little goblin had produced more than Dravak expected. Wolf pups were a different wager. Outside, another howl rolled between the trees. Inside, Grub kept working. Grub Grub finished the last dressing before approaching the stone platform. Dravak hadn't moved from his seat. Throk remained nearby, watching the Warriors prepare.

"Chief," Grub said. Throk glanced over.

"Another request?"

"A smaller one."

"That remains to be seen." A hint of amusement showed behind Dravak's iron teeth.

"Speak."

"The last time I went into the forest, when I brought back the Frostvein and Mistbloom, I found another herb. Quickleaf."

"What does it do?" Dravak asked.

"I think it keeps away tiredness for a while. It may make someone more alert and help them keep their attention where it belongs." Throk looked toward the cave mouth.

"And you waited until wolves entered our territory to remember this?"

"I didn't forget it. The fever and cough herbs mattered more at the time."

"You said you think it works," Dravak said.

"Well, I haven't tested it yet. I marked where it grew, but I didn't bring any back." Throk gave a low snort.

"So you want to wander into the forest for leaves that may do nothing."

"If they work, Warriors could chew them before a fight, or when exhaustion starts slowing them down. That may matter if the hunt lasts several days."

"And if they're poison?"

"I will test them on myself first."

"Of course you will," Throk muttered. Grub kept his attention on Dravak.

"The patch isn't too far beyond the stream. I want to gather enough to test and, if it works, enough for you to carry with the warband." Dravak considered him for several breaths.

"You will not walk into the wolf-infested forest with two Hunters guarding you," he said finally.

"I didn't ask for only two."

"You were going to." Grub decided not to argue.

"You take the four who once shared your cage," Dravak continued.

"They will learn the plants with you. Throk will lead. Six Warriors go with him." Throk turned his head.

"Chief."

"Thirty direwolves are moving through our territory. I will not lose useful goblins because I sent too few spears." Throk gave a reluctant grunt.

"And while you are outside," Dravak said to Grub, "you will gather more of the Frostvein and Mistbloom. If the warband returns bleeding and sick, I want our stores full."

"Yes, Chief."

"You leave after dawn and return quickly. If Throk tells you the wolves are close, you abandon the herbs and come home." Grub inclined his head.

"Understood. Thank you, Chief." Dravak just grunted and waved him away. He left the platform and slipped toward the narrow crevice at the rear of the cavern. The three covered bowls waited where he had left them. Grub crouched and pulled the first forward before uncovering it. A few small bubbles still clung to the stone, but after nearly two weeks the difference between this batch and the others was impossible to ignore. He dipped a clean strip of bark into the juice and tasted it anyways.

His face screwed up as soon as it hit his tongue. It was extremely sour. Bitter. Barely changed enough to be worth noticing. Grub swallowed and looked down at the bowl.

"So you technically worked." That was more than nothing. But compared to the other two bowls, it was close enough to nothing that the distinction didn't matter. He covered the bowl, carried it outside, and dumped the contents onto the ground. One more experiment finished. When he returned, several nearby Warriors were already watching as he pulled out Bowl Two and uncovered it.

"He's drinking it," one said.

"Mad little goblin," another replied, shaking his head. Grub ignored them and took a cautious sip. His entire mouth puckered, eliciting a round of laughter at his expense. The Blackthorn taste hit first, brutally sour and bitter, followed by a distinct warmth as he swallowed. He froze, then stared into the bowl as a grin slowly spread across his face.

"Holy shit. I actually created alcohol." He took another sip. Still awful. Definitely alcohol. Grub laughed under his breath. Somehow, with stone bowls, wild berries, boiled stream water, and a collection of half-remembered facts from Earth, he'd actually done it. One of the Warriors barked a laugh.

"Well?"

"It works."

"For what?" Grub looked down at the bowl.

"That part still needs work." The laughter followed him as he set Bowl Two aside and reached for Bowl Three. He took a small sip and paused. Then tried another. It was still sour. Still bitter. But nowhere near as vicious as the second bowl had been. Grub looked at Bowl Two, took another taste, then returned to Three.

"Two is definitely stronger." Another sip.

"Three is definitely better." He frowned. That was irritating. The water had made the drink much easier to swallow, but it had weakened it at the same time. Grub looked into the diluted batch.

"So it needs more sugar." He shrugged. That was a problem for later. For now, he had learned something considerably more important. The berries could make alcohol. He had proved that much. Grub covered the two surviving bowls and slid them back into the crevice. Eleven days ago, he'd started with four experiments and a handful of guesses. Now only two of them were worth keeping. His grin returned.

"Not bad." Grub returned to the fire, checked the resin cloths one last time, then settled down among the four others. Around them, the cavern gradually quieted as weapons were set aside and the tribe tried to steal what sleep it could before the work ahead. When Grub woke, pale light had begun seeping through the cave mouth, and frost silvered the slope outside. Throk waited near the cavern entrance with six Warriors and the four goblins who'd once shared Grub's cage. Every one of them carried a spear now.

Two bore scavenged shields, while the others had hide armor strapped tightly around their bodies. Throk looked them over.

"We stay close. No wandering. No chasing tracks. If we hear wolves nearby, we return." His gaze settled on Grub.

"And if I tell you to leave your weeds behind, you leave them."

"They're herbs."

"They become weeds when wolves are trying to eat us." Grub considered that, then shrugged.

"Fair. Let's go." The group ascended the small hill toward the stream, then crossed into the waiting trees. Frost lingered in the deepest shade, and the forest beyond the water felt quieter than Grub remembered. Throk kept two of the Warriors ahead and the others spread around Grub and his companions, their attention fixed upon the trees. They hadn't gone far when one of the leading Warriors raised his fist. The group stopped.

A print marked the damp ground near a fallen branch, broad enough that Grub could have placed both hands inside it. Throk crouched, studying the disturbed soil.

"Not fresh," he said at last.

"But not old either." A howl carried faintly from somewhere to the north. Every spear lifted. They waited until the sound faded.

"How much farther?" Throk asked.

"Not far." Throk rose.

"Then we move." They found the Quickleaf beneath the same old tree where Grub had first seen it, its narrow leaves clustered around thick stalks. He brushed one between his fingers, releasing the familiar peppery scent. He focused and identified the plant. [Quickleaf] Type: Forest Herb Edible: Yes Effect When Consumed: Mild Stimulant"This one," he said. The four gathered around him.

Grub pointed out the leaves, stalk, and scent, then made each of them identify another plant in the patch before he allowed anyone to begin cutting. They worked quickly, taking the upper stalks and leaving the roots behind. Once they had several bundles, Grub led them toward the nearest places he remembered finding Frostvein and Mistbloom. Throk's Warriors kept watch while Grub showed the four how to distinguish each herb.

He checked what they gathered at first, discarding several wrong leaves and one plant that only resembled Mistbloom from a distance. By the final patch, they needed fewer corrections. The howls remained distant. That didn't stop Throk from driving them back toward the cavern the moment their bags were full. They returned just before midday with bundles of Quickleaf and enough Frostvein and Mistbloom to replenish the stores beneath the overhang.

Grub set the fever and cough herbs aside for drying, then carried the Quickleaf to the stream. He washed several stalks carefully before selecting two leaves. Throk watched from beside the fire.

"Now you eat your weeds."

"Herbs."

"Eat them." Grub placed the leaves upon his tongue. A faint prickling sensation spread across it almost immediately. He waited, but nothing else followed. He began to chew. The leaves were bitter and peppery. The tingling spread into his gums before he swallowed. For the first few minutes, nothing changed. Then his heartbeat quickened. The weariness left by the restless sleep and early journey into the forest began to retreat. His thoughts became easier to hold in place.

Sounds that had blended into the cavern's constant noise separated from one another: stone grinding against metal and stone, low conversation near the entrance, water simmering over the fire. His body remained tired, but the tiredness no longer weighed upon every movement. Throk leaned closer.

"Well?" Grub blinked.

"I'm... awake."

"You were awake before."

"More awake." Throk grunted in amusement.

"Useful." Grub ignored him and waited. The effect lasted for roughly half an hour by his best judgment. During that time, his attention remained steady, and the desire to sit down and rest stayed distant. When it faded, it didn't leave gently. Weariness returned all at once, heavier than before, and a faint nausea settled into his stomach. His pulse slowed, but his hands felt slightly unsteady for several minutes afterward. Grub drank water and ate a strip of dried meat. The nausea gradually passed.

Only then did he let anyone else try it. The four who had gathered the herbs each chewed a single leaf first. The effect was milder but still noticeable. Later, two Warriors tried two leaves each under Grub's watch and reported the same alertness, followed by returning fatigue and mild nausea once it faded. No one took any more after that. With help from the four former slaves, Grub divided the remaining Quickleaf into several small bundles and wrapped each one in clean cloth.

"One leaf for a small goblin," he told them.

"Two if the effect needs to be stronger. It lasts about half an hour. When it wears off, you'll feel more tired than before, and your stomach may turn." A nearby Warrior eyed the bundles.

"So it gives strength and takes it back."

"It doesn't give strength," Grub said.

"It borrows wakefulness." That drew a few doubtful looks, but none of the goblins who had tested it argued. Grub set the finished bundles beside his supplies, ready for Kesh when she returned. Behind him, the four began sorting the Frostvein from the Mistbloom. One held up a pale cluster for the others to inspect before placing it with the cough herbs, and this time Grub didn't need to correct them. Outside the cavern, the forest remained quiet. For now.