Chương 74: Chapter 56: A Decisive Duel (Part 1)

At first light they rose silently and moved into position above the hollow that held their target. Frost slicked the bark and silvered the pine needles. The air carried that brittle chill that bit the lungs if drawn too deep. Meltwater ticked somewhere beneath the crust of old snow. From the ridge above the Duskroot hollow, they waited in silence. Eleven wolves crouched among the trees in a broad crescent around the hollow, breath steaming in the morning cold.

Their Riders sat dark against their fur, spears and javelins ready as they waited to spread farther along the rim. The rest of the Ironfangs held the ridge behind Dravak, watching the den below. The Duskroot den slept in its pit of roots and clay. Two weak fires sent up pale threads of smoke. Half-starved goblins moved sluggishly around them, shoulders hunched against the cold. No Hunters ranged beyond the rim. No patrols watched the gullies. What traps remained were half buried and frozen.

Kesh peered through the crooked arms of a pine.

"They're all home," she murmured.

"No movement beyond the hollow. The traps we found are rotten or frozen." She glanced back.

"This is the time." Dravak stood behind her, the thick furs around his shoulders stiff with frost. His eyes remained on the hollow for another moment before shifting to Grub.

"Still sure?" Grub's heart hammered against his ribs, but he nodded.

"Yes."

"Don't hesitate. He won't."

"I know." Dravak nodded once.

"Good. Take your place." Grub withdrew beneath the pines behind the visible line, far enough back that the Duskroot wouldn't see him when the Ironfang stepped forward onto the ridge. Dravak looked toward Rika and nodded once. Rika raised her arm and gave a sharp whistle, then placed one hand against Ashpaw's scruff and closed her eyes. Ashpaw threw back his head. His first howl rolled out like distant thunder, louder and deeper than any howl Grub had ever heard from him. Ten more voices joined him.

The sound poured down into the valley, layered and deep, echoing off frozen earth until the hollow itself seemed to tremble. Below them, the Duskroot exploded into motion. Goblins stumbled from their dens. Spears came up. One sentry tripped over a buried snare and fell face first into the snow. Another scrambled to his feet and shouted warnings to the rest. The Fangs began moving as they howled, splitting along both sides of the hollow until the calls came from shifting points among the trees.

Behind Dravak, the Ironfangs struck spear shafts against shields and frozen ground in a steady rhythm. Howls and pounding wood rolled together through the valley until the Duskroot could hear threat on every side. Twenty or so Duskroot spilled out of the den below them and gathered in a loose defensive line near the entrance, staring upward toward the ridge. Several stared at the wolves with wide eyes, their spearpoints trembling. Rika cut her arm down, and silence fell instantly. The forest held its breath.

Dravak stepped forward onto the ridge. The Ironfangs moved with him, spreading into a broad line while the howls continued to drift from both sides of the hollow. His voice carried easily down through the cold morning air.

"Duskroot." The goblins below looked up.

"You see what stands at your door. Look around you as well." Several heads turned despite themselves. A wolf appeared briefly between the trees on the far side of the hollow, a Rider dark against its back, then vanished again. Another howl answered from somewhere to their left. Then another from the right. Dravak waited until their attention returned to him.

"You have nowhere to run. Every path out of this hollow has Ironfang eyes on it, and every gap between those paths has wolves." His gaze moved across the thin defensive line gathered below.

"If you fight, some of you may hurt us. A few might even kill one of mine." His iron-capped teeth showed.

"But none of you will leave." Silence settled over the hollow. Then a voice rose from below, rough with anger.

"You think we will bend because you bring your beasts to our door?" A thick-bodied goblin stepped forward from the Duskroot line. Scars crossed his ribs, and half of one ear was missing. His furs were thin, but he stood straight, spear held firmly in one hand. The goblins behind him shifted aside.

"I am Hask," he shouted.

"Chief of the Duskroot!" He drove the butt of his spear into the frozen ground.

"We fight for our home!" A ragged cheer answered him as spears lifted, backs straightened, and hands that had been trembling a moment earlier tightened around their weapons. Dravak watched them without moving. Then he chuckled.

"You have spirit, Hask of the Duskroot." Hask bared his teeth.

"Enough to make you regret coming here." A few Duskroot laughed behind him. Dravak let the sound run its course. Then he glanced toward the trees beyond the hollow.

"Maybe." Another howl rolled through the forest. Several Duskroot looked toward it.

"But spirit does not open a road where there isn't one." Hask's jaw clenched.

"Your traps are failing," Dravak continued.

"Your sentries watched us cross your territory and couldn't stop us. Half your tribe looks starved, and wolves are sitting on every path out of this hollow." Dravak's gaze returned to him.

"You can fight if you want." His iron-capped teeth showed.

"You still won't leave." Hask spat into the snow.

"Then come down here and take us." Dravak's smile barely changed.

"That's exactly what I'm trying not to do." He gestured toward the Ironfangs spread across the ridge, then toward the wolves moving beyond the hollow.

"I don't need to prove I can kill you. You already know I can." Hask said nothing. Dravak's voice lowered, though it still carried clearly.

"I would rather have living prisoners than dead enemies. Lay down your weapons, and every Duskroot here lives." Angry murmurs moved through the goblins below. Hask shook his head immediately.

"You ask us to crawl."

"I ask you to survive."

"You ask us to surrender our den."

"Yes." The blunt answer seemed to catch Hask more off guard than another threat might have. Dravak continued.

"You are Chief. So decide like one. Fight because your pride demands it, and watch your tribe die around you." His gaze swept across the Duskroot gathered behind Hask.

"Or keep them alive." Hask sneered.

"You speak much about pride for a goblin standing safely above me." Dravak studied him for a moment.

"You think I should come down there and fight you myself?"

"If you expect the Duskroot to bow to you." Dravak grinned, showing his iron teeth.

"No." The answer came without hesitation.

"I hold the ridge. My wolves hold every path out of your hollow. Your traps are broken, your tribe is hungry, and you have nowhere else to go." He spread one hand slightly.

"Why would I throw away every advantage I have just to prove I can fight you?" A few of the Duskroot shifted uneasily. Hask's jaw clenched. Dravak let the silence sit between them.

"You are the one who needs another way out of this." Hask stared up at him.

"And you have one?"

"I would offer you one." That drew uncertain murmurs from the goblins below. Hask shifted his grip on the spear.

"Then speak." Dravak gestured toward the open ground between their tribes.

"Single combat." The murmuring grew louder.

"One fighter from the Ironfang. You for the Duskroot." Hask's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"If you win, we will leave." Dravak's voice carried clearly across the hollow.

"No prisoners. No den. No stores. Nothing. The Ironfang will turn around and go home." The noise below swelled. Dravak waited until it began to fade.

"But. If you lose, the Duskroot lay down their weapons. No one runs, no one fights after the duel ends, and every goblin in this hollow becomes our prisoner." For several breaths, Hask only stared at him. Then he looked around. Toward the Ironfangs holding the ridge. Toward the wolves visible between the trees. Toward his own thin line of hungry goblins gathered around him. When he looked back up at Dravak, suspicion had replaced some of the anger in his face.

"You would give all of this up?"

"If you win."

"You have us surrounded."

"Yes."

"You've already said we can't escape."

"And you can't." Hask's brow furrowed.

"Then why give me a way to make you leave?" Dravak grinned.

"We do some things differently in the Ironfang." A few Duskroot exchanged uncertain looks. Hask didn't.

"That isn't an answer."

"No," Dravak agreed.

"Not yet." A faint howl drifted through the trees behind the Duskroot.

"But your tribe will understand soon enough." Hask watched him for another long moment, searching for whatever trick he thought Dravak had buried in the offer. Finally, he readjusted his grip on his spear.

"Who fights for you?" Something almost amused entered Dravak's expression.

"Grub." Grub stepped out from beneath the pines behind the Ironfang line, and the reaction below was immediate. Murmurs became open voices as the Duskroot got their first clear look at him. Hask's anger faltered for a heartbeat, replaced by something closer to disbelief. Grub crossed the ridge and stopped beside Dravak, shortened spear held easily in one hand. The wicked stone point caught the pale morning light as he planted the butt in the snow. Hask stared at him. Then he barked a laugh.

"This?" Several Duskroot joined him, though not all of them sounded equally confident.

"This is the fighter you stake your victory on?" Dravak didn't answer. Grub stepped forward half a pace.

"Hask, Chief of the Duskroot," he called.

"I challenge you by right of strength. One against one. No wolves. No arrows. No one else interferes." Hask's laughter faded. His eyes moved over Grub again, lingering on his size, the shortened spear, and the pouch hanging from his belt.

"You?" Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Grub nodded.

"Me." Hask gave a short, disbelieving laugh.

"You're barely more than a runt."

"Then you shouldn't have much to worry about." A few Ironfangs laughed behind him. Hask's mouth tightened. Grub let the silence sit for a moment before continuing.

"Beat me, and the Ironfang leave. Your tribe keeps its den, its stores, everything." Hask drove the butt of his spear into the frozen ground.

"And if I refuse?" Grub glanced toward the Duskroot gathered behind him.

"That's up to you." Hask's eyes narrowed. Grub looked back at him.

"But they'll know you could have ended this with one fight." The hollow went quiet. Hask's grip tightened around his spear. Grub tapped the butt of his own shortened weapon against the snow.

"You wanted Dravak to come down and fight for this place. He gave you something easier." Hask's face darkened.

"You think you're easier?" Grub looked down at him.

"You just called me a runt." Hask's teeth showed as he ground his teeth. Hask looked past Grub toward Dravak, then toward the wolves waiting among the trees. Finally, his gaze shifted back to the Duskroot behind him. When he faced Grub again, the decision was already there. He pointed his spear across the clearing.

"I accept your challenge, runt." His voice carried through the hollow.

"Clear the ground. I'll leave your corpse here to rot so your tribe remembers what their wager cost them." The Duskroot moved aside, forming a rough ring of trampled snow before their den. Across from them, the Ironfangs spread into their own arc while the Fangs of Winter remained stationed around the rim of the hollow, wolves visible between the trees wherever a fleeing goblin might think to run. As the ground cleared, Grub reached into one of the smaller pouches at his belt and pulled out two Quickleaf leaves.

Hask noticed immediately. The Duskroot Chief stared across the clearing as Grub folded the leaves into his mouth and began chewing. Then he barked a laugh.

"They send me a runt who chews leaves?" Several Duskroot joined him. The leaves were bitter enough that Grub had to resist the urge to grimace.

"You should probably be more worried about why they thought I was enough." The laughter from the Ironfang side came louder. Hask's amusement faded, and Grub kept chewing. Dravak stepped forward slightly.

"No one outside the ring interferes. No arrows or thrown blades enter that ring. Any hand that moves before this ends loses fingers." By the time the last Duskroot had backed away and the clearing stood empty between the two tribes, Grub could already feel the first faint edge of the Quickleaf beginning to settle into him. The effect was nothing dramatic. The cold air seemed a little sharper in his lungs. Individual sounds separated themselves more cleanly from the murmur around him.

The scrape of a spear butt over frozen earth. The shifting paws of a wolf somewhere behind the Duskroot. Hask's fingers tightening and relaxing around the shaft of his weapon. Useful. Hask rolled his shoulders and stepped into the ring, spear ready. Grub followed. The leather pouch of stones rested against his right hip, where he could reach it easily with his free hand.

His shortened spear sat comfortably in his left, the barbed stone head angled low as he settled into the stance Throk and Kesh had beaten into him over the last two weeks. Grub looked directly at Hask and used Identify. Name: Hask Race: Goblin Level: 9 Class: Goblin Trapper Health: 90/90 | Stamina: 50/50 | Mana: 60/60 Level Nine. System-blessed. Four Levels above him. Grub exhaled. He'd expected Hask to be stronger, but seeing the difference laid out so cleanly still dried his mouth.

Goblin Trapper told him almost nothing about what Hask could actually do, and sixty Mana meant there was almost certainly more waiting for him than a spear and a bad temper. Hask sneered.

"That little stick won't save you." Grub said nothing. His heart was already hammering hard enough without helping Hask along. Dravak lifted one hand.

"Begin." The clearing went still as the two goblins began circling one another, frost cracking faintly beneath their feet. Grub kept his shortened spear low, its point angled toward Hask's chest while he watched the other goblin's shoulders, hips, and feet rather than the spear itself. Hask paced easily, his full-length weapon loose in one hand and his yellow eyes fixed on Grub's face.

"So this is what the Ironfang calls a fighter," he said.

"I expected something bigger." Grub ignored him. They circled once, then again, and on the third pass Grub moved. His short spear snapped toward Hask's ribs in a probing thrust with little commitment behind it. Hask knocked it aside almost lazily and answered at once, sweeping his longer weapon toward Grub's shoulder. Grub caught the strike against his shaft and turned with the impact instead of trying to stop it outright.

Wood cracked against wood, but he let Hask's strength carry the blow past him and hopped backward before the spearhead could follow. It tugged at the fur near his shoulder without touching skin. A few Ironfangs grunted in approval. Hask snorted.

"That was your best?" His weight dropped. Grub saw it happen. He just didn't understand what it meant until Hask exploded forward. Quick Feet carried Grub sideways as the spear punched through the space his chest had occupied an instant earlier, but Hask turned with him so quickly that Grub barely regained his balance before another thrust came for his stomach. He caught the shaft on his own and twisted. The spearpoint skidded aside, though not far enough.

Earthen Skin swept over Grub's arms, chest, and legs just before the stone struck his ribs. The impact cracked sharply against hardened earth and drove him half a step sideways, but the point failed to reach flesh. Grub dropped the Spell immediately, the e arth scattering from his body as he moved, and just in time. Hask's next thrust flashed toward his face. Grub ducked, but a fraction too slowly. Stone kissed his cheek and opened a hot line from beneath his eye toward his ear. The Duskroot erupted.

"Look at him move!"

"Kill him, Chief!" Hask was already on him again before he could take a breath. Grub gave ground beneath a barrage of thrusts that came faster than they should've. He turned one aside, slipped another, barely caught the third, and quickly realized this wasn't simply experience or better Stats. Something had changed. Hask crossed the distance too quickly. His spear recovered almost the instant a thrust ended, and every time Grub thought he had created space, the Chief seemed to consume it before he could use it.

Even the long spear refused to become the weakness Grub had expected at close range. Hask shortened his grip smoothly and kept attacking. One thrust drove Grub's weapon toward his chest. He twisted beneath it and jabbed from barely an arm's length away, forcing Hask back for the first time. Only half a step. Grub followed. Too eager. Hask's spear snapped sideways. Grub jerked away, but the stone tip still sliced across the top of his right shoulder instead of missing entirely. Pain flared. Hask grinned.

Then he came forward again. The Quickleaf helped Grub read the tiny movements preceding each attack, but seeing the danger and escaping it were different problems. A thrust toward his throat became one toward his belly almost before he had finished parrying the first. Grub twisted aside, taking another shallow scrape along his hip instead of a spearhead through his stomach. Hask kept driving him backward until the shouting Duskroot stood only several paces behind him.

The Chief noticed, and hi s grin widened as he drew the spear back. Grub triggered Quick Feet again and h e burst sideways the instant Hask committed, slipped past the thrust beneath his left arm, and came around Hask's flank into open ground. For the first time since Hask's sudden burst of speed began, Grub had room to move. His right hand dropped to the pouch. Stone met his palm. Mana surged. Stone Spear formed and tore away with a sharp crack. Hask twisted aside, far t oo fast.

The projectile buried half its length in the frozen ground behind him. The Duskroot fell abruptly quieter. Hask stared at the embedded spear for barely an instant before his eyes dropped to the pouch at Grub's hip. Then he smiled.

"Magic? You think your tricks will save you, little Shaman?" Instead of answering, Grub reached for another stone, but Hask attacked his right side immediately. Grub yanked his hand back and caught the thrust with his short spear. The next time he tried reaching for the pouch, Hask's weapon cut across the space before his fingers got close. He learned quickly. Wonderful. From then on, Hask kept Grub too busy to cast.

Every attempt to free his right hand brought another thrust, another sweep, another step that forced him to abandon the Spell and defend himself.

"Reach for it," Hask growled as their weapons cracked together.

"Go on." When the next thrust came low, Grub stepped away instead of countering. Another followed high, and he turned it aside. Hask pressed forward, but Grub retreated without fighting for ground he didn't need. His forearms burned. Blood warmed his cheek, shoulder, hip, and chest in thin lines. None of the cuts were serious, which felt important. Hask kept attacking. Grub kept surviving.

And once Grub stopped trying to win every exchange, he finally had enough attention left to study the goblin trying to kill him. The speed wasn't random. Hask drove hardest from his right leg whenever he surged forward, and before his longest thrusts, his weight committed more heavily than it did during the smaller attacks. Whatever Skill or ability was carrying him through those motions let him recover almost instantly afterward. Almost. Grub gave ground and watched. Another thrust. Another retreat.

Hask drove off the right leg again. Grub used Quick Feet to spring backward, opening several feet between them, and flicked his hand toward the pouch. Hask surged after him exactly as expected. Grub abandoned the cast and rolled beneath the spearhead as it hissed through the space where his neck had been. Still fast. But not quite as fast. Grub came back to his feet and kept retreating. Hask attacked again. His right foot planted. The recovery took a fraction longer.

Grub's breathing was ragged now, but for the first time Hask's movements no longer looked effortless either. Whatever had given him that impossible speed was fading. Grub didn't change anything. Not yet. He let Hask see the same retreat, the same tired defense, the same goblin being steadily driven backward. Hask followed. Another long thrust came. Right foot. Weight forward. Slower recovery. There. This time, Grub knew where the opening would appear before Hask committed.

The spear came toward his chest, and beneath the extended shaft Hask's right thigh opened for a single heartbeat. Grub couldn't avoid the attack and take the opening, s o he stopped trying to do both. Earthen Skin hardened over him as he pivoted enough to shift the spear away from the center of his chest and drove his own weapon downward. The barbed stone head punched deep into Hask's thigh. Hask roared. His spear struck Grub's left upper arm almost simultaneously.

The point smashed through the earthen layer with a sharp crack. Stone fractured, slowing the thrust but failing to stop it entirely, and the spearhead punched into flesh beneath. Pain erupted through Grub's shoulder. He screamed and tore himself away, dismissing Earthen Skin as both goblins staggered apart. For several seconds, Grub heard little beyond his own breathing.

Blood ran freely down his left arm, and the hand gripping his shortened spear trembled badly enough that he had to tighten his fingers around the shaft. Across from him, Hask snarled and tried to put weight on his wounded leg. It buckled, and he caught himself with his spear. That was all Grub needed. His right hand was already moving. Hask saw it, and his eyes widened as Grub closed his fingers around a stone and poured Mana through it. Stone Spear formed and launched in almost the same motion.

Hask tried to turn, but the leg Grub had just crippled betrayed him. The projectile struck his shoulder with a brutal crack, punched through fur and flesh, and buried itself deeply enough that half the shaft remained jutting from the wound. The impact spun Hask halfway around. He stumbled, nearly fell, then caught himself while Grub backed away, his own left arm hanging lower now and refusing to obey him properly. He still managed to keep the short spear clenched in his hand.

"Yield." Hask turned toward him, his face pale beneath the green of his skin. Grub forced air into his lungs.

"The fight is over." Hask bared his teeth.

"I can still fight." Grub believed him. That was the problem. His gaze shifted past Hask toward the first Stone Spear still jutting from the frozen ground. He raised his right hand and reached outward with his Mana. The buried spear exploded. Stone ripped through snow and frozen earth with a violent crack, carving fresh gouges into the ground before the fragments scattered to a stop. Silence swallowed the hollow as every eye turned toward the spear embedded in Hask's shoulder.

Hask looked down at it, then at the shattered earth behind him before finally returning his attention to Grub. Grub raised his hand toward the stone jutting from Hask's flesh.

"I can do the same thing to that." Hask's jaw clenched, and one foot shifted backward before he seemed to realize he had moved.

"Yield and live," Grub said quietly, keeping his hand raised.

"Refuse, and I'll shatter it." Neither tribe made a sound. Grub could feel his pulse beating inside the wound in his arm, blood slipping down his fingers and dripping from the end of his shortened spear. He had spent two weeks preparing himself for exactly this moment, and if Hask refused, Grub would do it. That didn't mean he wanted to. His raised hand lowered slightly.

"Please. Yield." The wind moved softly across the hollow. Hask remained silent for several long breaths before his gaze finally left Grub and moved toward the Duskroot gathered before their den. Hungry faces stared back at him, weapons still clutched in their hands, while beyond them the shapes of direwolves waited between the trees. His eyes dropped once more to the stone buried in his shoulder. Slowly, the point of his spear lowered. For another heartbeat, he held it.

T hen his fingers opened, and the weapon fell into the snow.

"I yield." His voice was rough, but clear.

"Duskroot yields." Nothing happened at first. Then one Duskroot spear struck the frozen ground. Another followed, then another, the sound spreading through the hollow until weapons lay scattered across the snow. No one ran. No one even looked toward the trees. The fight had gone out of them all at once.