Chương 90: Chapter 68: Spoils of War (Part 1)

From Sable's back, Grub looked over his shoulder as the Duskroot hollow disappeared between the trees. Its fires were out, its traps broken, and its shelters already settling into abandonment beneath the ancient roots. Somewhere back there was the patch of frozen ground where he had fought Hask for the fate of an entire tribe. Now Hask was walking west with the Ironfang, along with twenty-seven other living Duskroot. Grub faced forward again. They marched through a world of white crust and dark trunks.

Snow still lay thick beneath the pines, hardened on top but melting into dark earth around the roots where the ground had begun to soften. Each step broke through the crust with a faint crack. The direwolves moved patiently along the edges of the column, their massive paws almost silent despite their size. Their breath drifted in slow white clouds while yellow eyes moved constantly between the forest and the prisoners. The Duskroot captives walked in silence.

Eighteen goblins were bound in pairs, rope linking their wrists so that none could run without dragging another with them. They wore borrowed furs now, thick hides taken from the Ironfang stores and draped over their thin frames. The seven pregnant females and two goblins too badly injured to march rode on the backs of the wolves. They sat stiffly and carefully atop the beasts, gripping coarse fur with white knuckles, terrified of making the wrong movement. The pace was slow but steady.

Just enough to keep blood moving through cold limbs. Dravak led from the front of the column, his broad shoulders dusted with light frost as he watched the trail ahead. Kesh moved further forward with the Scouts, weaving between the trees where they could see farther than the main column. Throk held the rear like a walking wall, making sure no one lagged too far behind. Grub rode Sable near the center of the line, occasionally guiding her forward or back to check the column.

Her midnight-black coat was speckled with snow, and her steady breathing grounded him against the cold bite of the air. The prisoners watched everything with wide eyes. Grub noticed the way they kept looking at the direwolves pacing beside them. One of the captives flinched when one passed close enough that its breath brushed his arm. The wolf only flicked an ear and continued on, utterly unconcerned. Another goblin stared openly at the wolves carrying their burdens.

Packs of weapons, hides, and other supplies were lashed across broad backs. A pair of Duskroot whispered nervously amongst themselves as Grub passed within earshot.

"They're carrying us," one muttered, disbelief thick in his voice.

"And the loot," the other added, nodding toward the bundles strapped across another wolf's back. The first goblin shook his head slowly.

"They should be tearing us apart." A third prisoner glanced toward the Riders walking beside the wolves.

"But they're not," he said quietly. His voice dropped lower.

"They're listening to this tribe." That thought seemed to trouble them more than anything else. Grub passed close enough that their conversation died immediately. One of the goblins looked at him, then toward the pouch at his belt before quickly lowering his eyes. Another murmured something too quietly for Grub to make out, but one word carried clearly enough.

"Shaman." Grub kept riding as if he hadn't heard it. Beside the line, Hask had noticed the exchange too. The former Chief walked with his hands still free, watching one of the wolves trot past before speaking to Grub.

"I've seen direwolves tear through whole tribes." Grub glanced at him. Hask nodded toward the beasts pacing along the column.

"Once a pack reaches a camp, whatever survives usually runs." His eyes followed another wolf carrying one of the wounded Duskroot.

"I've never seen them do this." Grub followed his gaze toward Ashpaw near the front of the column.

"How did you break them?" Hask asked.

"We didn't." Hask raised an eyebrow.

"We raised them," Grub said.

"They're part of the tribe." Hask watched the wolves again as one of them padded past a prisoner and received a quick scratch behind the ear from its Rider. For a long moment he said nothing. Then he simply grunted in acceptance. Behind them, one of the Duskroot whispered softly, though loud enough to overhear, "This tribe is strange." Grub couldn't argue with that.

The wolves continued pacing along the flanks of the column as the forest closed in around them, silent shadows moving beside the Ironfang as the march carried them deeper into the trees. The forest remained still around them as the day wore on, snow muffling most sound until even the crunch of feet breaking through the crust seemed distant. The march itself provided the only steady rhythm: the creak of leather, the brush of rope, and the soft movement of wolves through the snow.

By midday, the cold had settled deeper into the column. Frost clung to lashes, fingers grew numb inside gloves and wraps, and every breath hung heavy in the air before disappearing behind them. Grub watched the prisoners carefully as they walked. One had begun favoring a leg, another lagged half a step behind his partner, and two more stumbled several times within the space of only a few paces. Eventually, both of them collapsed.

The rope jerked tight as both goblins dropped into the snow, dragging their bound partners down beside them. One cried out as the line tangled and several prisoners stumbled, leaving the column wavering around them.

"Stop the line!" Grub called. He urged Sable toward the fallen goblins as the march ground to a halt. Ironfang turned where they stood, hands settling more firmly around their spears, while the nearby Duskroot went suddenly still. A few prisoners lowered their eyes as Grub approached. One closed his eyes entirely, as though whatever strange mercy had carried them this far had finally reached its limit. Dravak glanced back down the line.

"Grub." Grub slid down from Sable's back and approached the fallen goblins. One of them burned with fever, his eyes glassy and unfocused. The other clutched a stiffened wound along his thigh, the old injury having locked tight in the cold. He pressed two fingers against the bandage and felt the heat beneath. He shook his head slightly as he looked up.

"Unload another wolf. These two won't be able to keep walking." Dravak studied the pair briefly, then nodded.

"Do it." The order passed down the line quickly. Bundles were unstrapped from one of the direwolves and redistributed among the Ironfang. No one argued, though a few muttered under their breath and threw glances toward the unburdened prisoners. The direwolf lay patiently in the snow while Grub and two others lifted the fallen goblins onto its back. Spare hides and rope secured them in place so they wouldn't fall during the march.

Once everything was balanced, the wolf flicked its ears and stood again, carrying its new load effortlessly. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. The column resumed its steady pace. The Duskroot watched in a confused, uneasy silence as the march continued. By the time the sun dipped lower between the trees, the Ironfang made camp beneath a stand of tall pines where the snow lay thin.

The tribe settled in with practiced efficiency, clearing patches of ground for several small fires while others unloaded supplies and saw to the wolves, feeding them before turning their attention to their own meals. Everyone, including the captives, received water and a strip of dried meat. The Duskroot accepted the food cautiously, glancing up often as if expecting someone to snatch it away. The wolves curled near the fires while the wind whispered through the branches above.

When darkness settled fully over the forest, the only sounds were the crackle of embers and the slow breathing of sleeping wolves. Morning came, and the warband sprang back into motion at first light.

Frost crusted every twig, and the first steps of the day sounded like breaking glass. They broke camp quickly and resumed the march before the sun fully crested the horizon. The wolves shook frost from their coats before settling back into their harnesses. The pregnant females and wounded prisoners were lifted onto their backs again. By midday the wind blew colder, sweeping down from the higher ridges.

The column pushed on for another stretch of silent marching before Dravak finally raised a hand and called a halt on a wide granite shelf where the snow lay shallow and sunlight struck the stone directly.

"We rest here." The prisoners sat heavily, grateful for the warmth of the sun. Around the shelf, the Ironfang immediately began settling in. Packs and scavenged supplies were stripped from the direwolves and stacked together beneath guard, while the Riders loosened harnesses and checked straps before letting the beasts stretch out properly. Several wolves shook themselves the moment the weight came off, sending frost and loose snow scattering across the stone. Sable's own load came free a moment later.

She stretched until her front claws scraped against the granite, shook the snow from her black coat, then padded after Grub when Dravak motioned for him, Throk, and Kesh to join him near a small fire. She settled beside Grub as he sat cross-legged and held his hands toward the flames. Dravak leaned back against the rock and tore a strip from a piece of dried meat.

"A clean raid," he said after a moment.

"Twenty-eight goblins taken. Supplies worth carrying home. No dead Ironfang." Throk grunted.

"And barely a fight."

"You sound disappointed."

"I am." Kesh pulled her fur tighter around her shoulders.

"You'll survive." Throk gave her a flat look. Dravak ignored them both.

"The Duskroot were weaker than we expected."

"Starving," Kesh said.

"Sick too. Another few weeks of winter and there might not have been much tribe left to take." Grub warmed his fingers over the fire.

"Which is why taking them now was better than waiting." Dravak nodded once.

"It was." Kesh glanced toward the prisoners resting farther across the shelf.

"But we shouldn't mistake this for what waits in the north. The Red Tusk have food, numbers, and a tribe they've already swallowed." Throk's expression brightened.

"Good." Kesh sighed.

"What?" he asked.

"If we're going to fight, I'd rather fight something that fights back."

"You'll get your chance," Dravak said.

"Not yet." His eyes moved toward the Duskroot.

"For now, we make this victory worth something." Grub looked over as well. Twenty-eight living goblins instead of corpses scattered through a hollow.

"Clean victories keep tribes alive." Throk glanced sideways at him.

"There you go again."

"What?"

"Talking like an old Chief." Grub couldn't help but chuckle. Throk grinned and nudged him carefully with one elbow, avoiding the bandaged arm.

"Didn't think you'd beat Hask."

"Thanks for the confidence, I guess."

"I mean it as praise."

"Somehow that makes it worse." Throk laughed. Dravak's mouth twitched faintly before his attention shifted toward the wolves resting around the shelf.

"Rika." She looked up from beside Ashpaw.

"Take the Fangs. Hunt. We've been eating dried meat long enough." The nine Wolf Riders rose and crossed toward their mounts, drawing quiet whispers from the Duskroot. Rika swung onto Ashpaw's back while the others mounted with practiced ease. Beside Grub, Sable shifted. Her head had come up, ears pointed toward the gathering pack, and her attention stayed fixed on the other wolves.

"You want to go?" Sable looked at him, then struck her tail once against the stone. Grub smiled faintly.

"Go on." She surged to her feet and bounded toward the others, spraying loose snow across his leg as she went. Grub brushed it away with a sigh.

"Thanks." Sable didn't look back. Rika glanced toward him as Sable joined the gathering Fangs.

"She can go with you," Grub said.

"She needs to run." Rika's eyes followed Sable for a moment before she brought two fingers to her mouth. A sharp whistle cut across the shelf, and Ashpaw launched forward. The other wolves followed almost immediately, pounding through the crusted snow until the entire pack disappeared between the trees. The Duskroot watched them go in silence, their eyes lingering on the forest even after the sound of paws had faded. Only then did Dravak turn back toward Grub.

"Now explain something." Grub lowered his hands from the fire.

"What?"

"Before we left the cavern, you told me our pregnant females should stay home. Then yesterday, you found seven Duskroot females healthy enough to walk and put every one of them on wolves instead." Throk looked over. Dravak tore another piece of dried meat free with his teeth.

"I let you do it because you usually have a reason when you make my tribe do something strange."

"Usually?" Dravak grunted.

"Explain." Grub glanced toward the Duskroot. The seven pregnant females sat together beneath their borrowed furs, close enough that their shoulders touched.

"If the mother gets weak, the child gets weak." Dravak waited, so Grub searched for a way to put the rest into terms that might matter to him.

"She isn't eating only for herself anymore. Everything growing inside her has to come from what she eats. If she's starving, freezing, sick, or working until she can barely stand, the child pays for it too." Throk snorted.

"Hard lives make hard goblins."

"No." The answer came quickly enough that Throk frowned. Grub looked at him.

"Training makes strong goblins. Fighting makes strong goblins, if they survive it. Starving a child before it's even born just gives you a smaller, weaker child." Throk scratched slowly at his jaw.

"That sounds stupid when you say it like that."

"Because it is stupid." Grub looked back toward Dravak.

"I think pregnant females should eat more and rest more than everyone else. They shouldn't do hard work unless we actually need them to."

"And everyone else does it instead?" Throk asked. Grub nodded.

"For a little while."

"That still costs the tribe." He shrugged.

"So does feeding a young Warrior who can't fight yet. You still do it because later he can." Dravak's attention drifted toward the seven Duskroot females.

"We spend a little more food now," Grub continued.

"Other goblins carry a little more work. In return, the children have a better chance of being born strong."

"And strong children become strong adults," Kesh said.

"Exactly." Dravak chewed in silence as he thought. After a moment, Grub glanced toward Kesh.

"How long is it, anyway?" Her brow furrowed.

"How long is what?"

"Before a goblin is born." Kesh stared at him. Throk started laughing, drawing a few looks from around the shelf. Grub looked at him.

"What?"

"You know how to make rocks explode, but you don't know where goblins come from?"

"I know where they come from." That only made Throk laugh harder. Grub ignored him.

"How long?"

"Two moons," Kesh said eventually.

"Three sometimes." Grub blinked.

"That's it?" Kesh gave him an odd look.

"How long did you think it took?" Grub wisely decided not to answer.

"And after that?"

"The young grow quickly. Walking and running within a few weeks. Four months, maybe a little more, and most are nearly grown." Grub looked toward the seven Duskroot females again.

"Six months." Kesh shrugged.

"About that." Throk was still grinning.

"You really didn't know?" Grub barely heard him. His attention had settled on the seven Duskroot females, but his thoughts went back to the cavern and the five Ironfang they had deliberately left behind.

"Twelve," he said. Throk's grin faded slightly.

"What?"

"Seven here. Five back home." Grub looked toward Dravak.

"If we keep all twelve healthy, and their children are born strong and healthy, then before next winter we could have twelve or more goblins nearly grown." Kesh followed his gaze toward the Duskroot females. Grub gestured toward them.

"That's what I mean. A little more food and a little less work now doesn't just keep twelve pregnant females healthier. It could mean twelve or more stronger adults before we go through another winter." Dravak had gone quiet.

"If we starve them or work them until they're weak, maybe those children are born weaker too," Grub continued.

"Maybe some don't survive. But if we spend a little more on them now, the tribe gets all of that strength back later." The Chief watched the seven females for another moment before nodding once.

"Then we keep them healthy." Grub looked toward him.

"Pregnant females eat more. They work less. No hard work unless needed." Dravak glanced back at him.

"That what you want?" Grub shrugged.

"Pretty much." Throk lifted an eyebrow at Dravak.

"Just like that?"

"You want to argue?" Throk looked toward the seven Duskroot females, then back at Grub. He seemed to consider it for a moment before grunting.

"Not really." Dravak snorted.

"Good. He'd just keep talking until you realized he was right anyway." Grub gave him a flat look. The faintest grin pulled at Dravak's mouth as he settled back against the stone.

"We try it." Then he glanced toward Grub again.

"Strange goblin." Throk chuckled while Grub sighed and held his hands closer to the fire. For a time, the Ironfang and Duskroot simply sat beneath the pale sun, letting the warmth soak into cold skin. The Duskroot prisoners had gathered close together near the edge of the clearing, huddled beneath their borrowed furs even with plenty of open ground around them.

Hask sat among them, his shoulder and thigh wrapped tightly in resin cloth from yesterday's treatment, the bandages already stiff where dried blood had darkened the fabric. He held himself upright despite the pain, favoring his good leg but refusing to lean against the rock behind him. The other Duskroot still looked to him often, their attention drifting his way whenever voices rose or something changed around the camp. Defeated or not, they hadn't stopped seeing him as their Chief. Dravak noticed it too.

His attention lingered on Hask for several seconds before moving toward Grub.

"That may become a problem."