Chương 59: Chapter 44: We Need To Talk (Part 2)

The wind caught the smoke rising from the vent and pulled it apart in thin gray strands. Dravak watched it pass over the bare trees. His attention no longer seemed fixed upon the cavern or the winter closing around it. He was looking beyond both now, toward distant territories and a season that had not yet arrived. Kesh noticed it too.

"You're thinking about spring."

"Yes." Dravak turned slightly, looking north across the bare forest.

"Winter will make hunting harder for every tribe," he said.

"Prey will grow scarce. Snow will slow the Hunters, and every journey will cost more strength for less meat." His eyes followed the tree line.

"Stores will shrink. Cold will take the weak first, then sickness will spread among those left crowded around failing fires." Throk's grin faded as he listened.

"Their wounded will heal slowly," Dravak continued.

"Their Warriors will sleep cold and rise tired. Their young will eat less and grow less." He glanced back toward the cavern.

"Ours will not." Kesh's eyes moved to the wall, then to the thin stream of smoke rising cleanly above it.

"We will still face the same forest," Dravak said.

"Our Hunters will still struggle for meat. But they will return to warmth. They will sleep, recover, and go out again with more of their strength intact." His gaze shifted toward Grub.

"Our wounded will return to their feet sooner. Fewer children will die. Fewer Warriors will be lost to sickness after surviving a hunt or battle."

"And the wolves," Throk said. Dravak nodded.

"They will be larger. Stronger. Near grown, with teeth and weight enough to matter in battle." Throk's grin returned.

"When the thaw comes," Dravak continued, "the tribes around us will still be recovering from winter." He folded his arms.

"We won't." Kesh spoke quietly.

"That creates an imbalance."

"Yes. An imbalance we can use." The words settled differently from the rest. Grub felt his heart drop. Dravak continued, his voice measured, the plan still taking form as he spoke.

"When spring comes, you will find the tribes winter has hurt most severely." Kesh nodded once and opened her mouth to respond. The conversation seemed to fade around Grub as his thoughts turned inward. He looked toward the cavern. He had built the wall to keep winter from draining the tribe. He had carved the vent through the ceiling so smoke would no longer settle over sleeping bodies, and taught the Medics because infection had been eating the Ironfang from within.

He had only meant to preserve strength, to improve his odds of survival. Now Dravak was deciding where that preserved strength would be spent. Before, the tribe had fought cold, smoke, sickness, predators, and hunger merely to remain where it was. Every winter consumed lives and left those who survived too weakened to do much more than rebuild. Now winter would take less from them. The wall hadn't made the Ironfang gentle. It had simply freed their hands.

Grub wasn't foolish enough to pretend he hadn't known what goblins did with strength. He'd been forced into a death match immediately after his capture merely to prove he was worth keeping. He had watched Dravak beat a challenger to death before the tribe and slept in a cage beside goblins who tried to kill him because he was different and vulnerable. The Ironfang survived through violence because violence was the language every goblin tribe understood.

He had reduced the suffering inside the cavern, and by doing so, he had made it possible to carry more of it elsewhere. His mouth turned downward into a frown. Dravak looked at him.

"You dislike this." Grub's attention snapped back to the others. All three were watching him now. Dravak's eyes remained on his face.

"I can see it. Speak." Grub chose his answer carefully.

"I don't like the idea of killing people merely because they suffered through a worse winter than we did."

"They would do the same to us if our positions were reversed."

"That doesn't make me like it." Throk watched him with open suspicion.

"Would you have us ignore weakness when we find it?"

"No." Grub sighed and looked toward him.

"Ignoring an enemy until they recover enough to become a threat would be stupid." Dravak nodded.

"Then what troubles you?" Grub looked down at the stream.

"Waste. The same as before." Throk's brow furrowed.

"If a tribe surrenders, slaughtering them afterward gains us nothing, Grub continued.

"If we can take what we need without losing Warriors, then throwing bodies into a fight merely to prove we're strong is waste." Grub raised his eyes.

"I know the Ironfang will raid. I'm not pretending I can turn this tribe into something it isn't. But there are ways to win that leave us stronger, and ways that only leave more bodies behind." Kesh studied him.

"You want controlled violence."

"That's one way to put it." Grub glanced toward Throk.

"I want the violence to accomplish something beyond creating more of itself." Throk gave a skeptical grunt.

"There are your pretty words again."

"They're practical words." Dravak remained quiet for a moment.

"This," he said at last, "is why I made my decision." Grub looked up. Dravak faced him fully.

"I decided before dawn, while the rest of the tribe still slept. What I've heard from you this morning has confirmed that decision." Throk's grin vanished. His mouth settled into a flat line, as though he already suspected where Dravak was leading.

"I have two Lieutenants," Dravak continued.

"Throk knows strength. He knows how hard the Ironfang can strike and how much punishment our Warriors can endure." Throk lifted his chin.

"Kesh sees what others miss. She finds danger before it reaches us and weakness before an enemy knows it has been exposed." Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! Kesh remained still, though her eyes had already moved to Grub.

"You on the other hand, see what can be changed." Grub said nothing.

"The wall. The vent. The Medics. The Builders. The wolves sleeping beside our fires." Dravak's voice remained calm.

"These things didn't come from strength or sight alone. They came from looking at what the tribe was and imagining something different." Throk's mouth tightened into a thin, dissatisfied line.

"Chief." Dravak raised one hand.

"I have heard your concerns. I share some of them. But my decision is final." Throk fell silent. Dravak returned his attention to Grub.

"The Ironfang is changing. I need another kind of counsel for the tribe it is becoming." The wind tugged at Grub's clothes.

"I will name you as my third Lieutenant." For a moment, the words didn't register properly. Grub stared at him. Throk broke the silence.

"He isn't a Warrior."

"No," Dravak said.

"He isn't."

"He hides too much from us."

"Yes." Throk's eyes shifted toward Grub.

"And he thinks himself cleverer than the rest of us."

"He often is," Kesh said. Throk turned toward her.

"He could weaken us."

"So could I," Kesh replied with a small shrug.

"A Scout who brings the wrong path to her Chief can kill an entire warband. That's why the Chief listens and decides." Dravak gave a single nod.

"Grub won't command Warriors in your place," he told Throk.

"He won't overrule Kesh's Scouts or decide where the tribe hunts. He will sit in Council and speak when decisions are made." His eyes returned to Grub.

"He will tell us what he sees, what he believes can be changed, and what may follow if we change it." Throk looked Grub over with renewed scrutiny.

"You showed me your teeth today," he said.

"If you stand beside us, don't forget how to bare them. I won't allow the Ironfang to grow soft while I still breathe."

"I don't want the tribe soft."

"Then what do you want?" Grub glanced toward Dravak.

"I want us strong enough that strength doesn't have to mean stupidity." Throk stared at him. Then he gave a rough laugh.

"Careful. Lieutenant or not, I can still throw you into the stream." Grub met his gaze.

"I know."

"If he speaks sense, I'll listen," Throk said, turning back toward Dravak.

"But if I think he weakens the tribe, I'll tell you."

"You already tell me whenever he breathes strangely."

"He often breathes strangely." Kesh's mouth twitched. Dravak's attention returned to Grub.

"As a Lieutenant, your words will be heard in Council. You will advise me, argue when you believe another path is better, and bring your ideas before the tribe acts upon them." His voice hardened.

"But understand this clearly. The final decision remains mine, and mine alone. I am Chief. If I choose a path you dislike, you will follow it." He held Grub's gaze.

"If you cannot accept that, refuse now." The weight of the offer settled fully onto Grub's shoulders.

"Give me a moment," he said.

"I need to think about this." Dravak inclined his head. Grub let the stream fill the silence. The water continued through the cold as though nothing important had happened beside it. Lieutenant. Not a slave. Not merely a useful goblin permitted to work until his usefulness became inconvenient. A place in Council meant authority. It meant being present when raids were planned, when captives were judged, and when the tribe decided where its strength would fall. It also meant responsibility for what followed.

Grub looked toward the wall. The spring raids would happen whether he accepted or not. Dravak had already seen the advantage winter would give them, and no refusal from Grub would make him forget it. Throk would still lead the Warriors into weaker territories. Kesh would still find the safest path toward enemies too depleted to resist. Grub could refuse and tell himself their choices belonged to them.

He could keep his hands clean in the shallowest sense possible while continuing to enjoy the warmth, food, and protection those choices brought back to the cavern. Or he could stand beside them. He could argue against pointless slaughter. He could push for surrender before extermination, captives before corpses, and victories that didn't spend Ironfang lives merely to satisfy pride. He couldn't make the tribe gentle. He had no illusions about that. But he might make its violence deliberate.

He might keep Throk from charging when patience was the better option. He might help Kesh find another answer when the obvious one ended with too many bodies. He might place enough value on lives that even goblins who didn't share that value began to see the practical benefit. Declining wouldn't absolve him. It would only strip away his voice. Grub raised his head and took a deep breath.

"I accept." Dravak nodded once.

"Then it is done." The simplicity of the answer caught Grub off guard. No ceremony followed. No System notification appeared before his eyes. Dravak had named him Lieutenant, and for the Ironfang, that was enough. The Chief's gaze shifted toward the smoke rising above the wall.

"There is something else I have meant to ask." Grub looked toward him.

"When you carved the vent, I sometimes saw things around your hands that didn't belong there. Sparks. Smoke. Once, you wiped your hand against your clothes when no water had touched you." Grub glanced down at his fingers. He had known some of the effects were visible, but he hadn't realized Dravak had noticed enough of them to recognize that something strange was happening.

"It's caused by a Perk," he said.

"Miscast." Throk frowned.

"Your Spells fail?"

"No. They still do what they're supposed to do."

"Do they weaken? Strike somewhere you didn't intend?"

"Not that I've noticed." Grub rubbed his thumb across his palm.

"The Perk makes every Spell cost more Mana, and sometimes it adds what seems to be a harmless effect when I cast. A spark, a little smoke, dampness, a gust of wind. The Spell itself still works normally." Kesh tilted her head.

"The Perk is called Miscast?"

"Yes."

"That's the name the System gave it?" Grub nodded.

"The description says my Spells sometimes seem to be cast incorrectly. I assume the effects are what it means, but I don't know why it says ' seem'."

"And they don't appear every time?" Kesh asked.

"No. Only sometimes."

"Can you predict which one will appear?"

"I can't predict anything about them. Not when they'll happen, which effect I'll get, or what any of them are supposed to accomplish." He gave a small shrug.

"As far as I can tell, they don't accomplish anything." Throk folded his arms.

"But if you cast Pebble Toss at an enemy, the stone still goes where you aim."

"If my aim is good, yes."

"And Stone Chip breaks the stone you choose."

"Yes." Throk grunted, apparently satisfied with the part that mattered to him. Dravak considered Grub.

"If the effects ever alter a Spell or become dangerous, you will tell me."

"I will." Dravak accepted the answer with a nod, then turned toward the cavern.

"Now come. We've spent enough time standing in the cold." Throk followed without hesitation, though he glanced back at Grub once before beginning the descent. Kesh remained beside him.

"Sharp minds cut both ways," she said quietly. Grub looked at her.

"Is that a warning?"

"Yes." Her eyes moved toward Dravak and Throk ahead of them.

"And advice." Before Grub could ask what separated the two, she turned and followed the others. He remained beside the stream for a few moments longer. The water continued flowing past behind him. The wall still stood at the bottom of the rise, smoke still curling from the vent above it, but Grub's place within everything below had shifted. He had left as a useful goblin whose ideas Dravak permitted. He would return as one of those responsible for deciding where those ideas led.

The thought carried more weight than pride. Grub drew another slow breath, squared his shoulders, and started down toward the cavern. The tribe noticed when they returned. Goblins always noticed. They noticed a limp, a favored hand, a strange silence from Kesh, or a smile from Throk that promised trouble. They noticed Grub walking behind the Chief and beside the Lieutenants rather than trailing after them like a useful tool being returned to its corner.

Dravak wasted no time, crossing the cavern and climbing up onto his stone seat. The tribe quieted without being ordered and once all eyes were on him, Dravak spoke.

"Grub stands in Council now," the Chief said.

"He is my third Lieutenant. His words will be heard." The cavern answered with a low shifting of bodies and glances. Warriors looked at him like they were measuring him again. The Builders looked toward the wall and vent, then nodded. The Medics glanced briefly from him to the wounded alcove. Throk stood near the main fire with his arms folded, as though inviting someone to question the decision. No one did. That was how Grub became a Lieutenant.

The first true snows of winter were yet to fall, but the cold had already begun killing the softer growth beneath the trees. Grub used his new rank almost immediately.

"We need one final harvest," he said that evening. Dravak sat upon his stone seat while Kesh marked patrol paths on her slate tablet. Throk worked a whetstone along his sword nearby.

"The stores are full enough," Dravak said.

"Food, maybe. Medicine isn't." One of the Medics had joined them, standing near the edge of the firelight. He nodded before Grub continued.

"Frostvein and Mistbloom will lose their leaves once the cold deepens, and we should gather as much Quickleaf as we can before the snow comes. The Aldren bark and needles we use for the washes will still be there, but they'll be harder to gather under snow. Blackthorn berries will rot or be buried." Grub hesitated briefly.

"And there's another plant I want gathered as well. Nettleroot." Throk paused with the whetstone against his blade.

"What is Nettleroot?"

"A poisonous plant," Grub said.

"I found some before, but left it where it was." Throk stared at him.

"And now you want to bring it into the cavern?"

"Stored separately, where no one can mistake it for medicine or food."

"When will we need poison?"

"I don't know yet." Throk gave Grub a look that suggested the answer had done nothing to improve his opinion of the idea. Dravak considered it.

"You want to strip the forest before winter does."

"Only what the cold will kill anyway. We leave the roots and stems intact so the plants can return in spring." Kesh tapped one of the marks on her slate.

"The Medics know the nearest patches."

"We do," the Medic said.

"Though Grub will need to show us this Nettleroot."

"I remember where I found it," Grub said. Dravak nodded.

"Take enough hands to finish it in a day. I won't have gathering parties wandering the forest once the heavy snow begins."

"Then we go tomorrow," Grub said.

"Do it."