Chương 91: Chapter 69: Spoils of War (Part 2)

Grub followed his gaze.

"Hask?"

"Who else?" Throk's earlier humor had faded.

"They still look to him before they do anything." Kesh nodded slowly.

"They surrendered because he did. If he tells them to fight us later, some of them may listen for the same reason." Dravak grunted.

"Out here, we can watch him. Inside our cavern, he'll know our numbers. Our stores. Where we sleep."

"And the wall," Kesh added.

"The vents. Everything." Throk rested his forearms across his knees.

"Could solve it before we get there." Grub looked at him questioningly. Throk didn't bother dressing the meaning up.

"Kill him." Across the clearing, Hask was speaking quietly to one of his wounded Warriors. Grub looked back toward the fire.

"No." Throk raised an eyebrow.

"You're the one who keeps saying the Red Tusk will come for us sooner or later."

"Exactly."

"That sounds like an argument for killing a problem before we bring it home."

"It's an argument for not throwing away our strongest prisoner." Dravak studied him. Grub nodded toward Hask.

"He was their Chief for a reason. He's System-blessed. He nearly killed me yesterday, and I had magic, Quickleaf, and knew exactly what I planned to do before the duel even started." Throk gave a low grunt. Grub continued.

"We have fewer than forty goblins. The Red Tusk might have a hundred."

"Which is why I don't want another Chief inside my cavern thinking about taking it from me," Dravak said.

"Then kill him if he tries." Grub shrugged with his good shoulder.

"I'm not saying trust him. I don't trust him yet. Keep guards near him. Don't hand him a spear tomorrow and ask him to watch the door." Kesh laughed softly.

"But if we kill him now because he might become a problem later, we throw away everything useful about him before he's actually done anything," Grub continued as he looked toward Hask again.

"He's strong. Stronger than any Duskroot we took, and stronger than most goblins we already have. If he joins us willingly, that strength becomes ours." Throk scratched at his jaw.

"If."

"If," Grub agreed. His gaze returned to Dravak.

"And strength isn't the only thing we might get from him." Dravak arched an eyebrow.

"What else?" Grub pointed vaguely back in the direction they had come.

"The Nettleroot in their den." Kesh frowned.

"What about it?"

"Hask knew what it was for." Throk shrugged.

"Poison."

"I know it's poison too. That didn't help me much." Grub looked between them.

"We gathered Nettleroot before winter. A lot of it. Herbal Insight told me it was poisonous, but I still don't know how to prepare it, how much to use, or how to put it into something without poisoning ourselves instead." He paused.

"And as strange as you all seem to think I am, I'm not eager to start guessing with poison." Throk snorted.

"You experimented with the Blackthorn berries." Grub looked at him.

"You didn't know what to do with those either," Throk continued.

"But you tried things until you made Thornbrew. Why is this different?"

"Because the berries weren't trying to kill me." Throk raised an eyebrow.

"Not immediately, anyway." Grub waved his good hand.

"There's a difference between eating something that makes you sick if you use it wrong and grinding up a plant that Herbal Insight specifically tells me is poisonous, then guessing how much of it I can touch, breathe, cook, smear on something, or put near food before somebody dies." Kesh's mouth twitched faintly. Grub jerked his chin toward Hask.

"I probably could experiment until I figured it out. Eventually. But how many mistakes do I make first? How much Nettleroot do I waste? How many goblins get sick because I guessed wrong?" Throk grunted.

"And why do any of that," Grub continued, "if we already have someone who might know the answer?" Dravak's eyes shifted toward Hask.

"He said the Duskroot use it in their traps," Grub finished.

"And his Class is Goblin Trapper." Kesh understood where he was going.

"You think he taught them."

"Maybe. Or maybe someone taught him. Either way, there's a good chance he knows exactly what I couldn't figure out." Throk glanced toward Hask again. Grub leaned forward.

"So if we kill him now, we don't just lose a strong System-blessed fighter. We might also lose the only goblin we have who actually knows how to use Nettleroot." No one spoke for a moment, and Grub let the point sit.

"I can't do everything myself," he continued.

"The Medics know wounds better than I do. The Builders understand construction in ways I don't. Rika knows the Fangs better than anyone." His eyes settled on Hask.

"If he knows traps and Nettleroot, then that's another thing the tribe can have without me stumbling around trying to figure it out from nothing." Dravak rubbed slowly at one side of his jaw.

"You think he'll join?"

"I think he's smart enough to look at what we have before he decides." Grub gestured around them.

"He already knows why his tribe lost. He knows they were starving. Sick. He knows they wouldn't have lasted much longer even if we never came." His gaze moved toward the Duskroot prisoners.

"Now he's watching us feed them. Treat their wounds. Carry the ones who can't walk. Put pregnant females on wolves instead of making them stumble through the snow." Kesh glanced toward Hask again.

"He'll see the cavern too," Grub continued as he ticked each point off on his fingers.

"The food. The Medics. The Builders. The Fangs. Everything we've made."

"And you think that convinces him?" Dravak asked.

"I think it gives him a reason to consider it." Grub paused.

"And if Hask decides the Ironfang are worth joining, the others already look to him." Kesh's attention returned to the prisoners.

"If he joins…"

"He helps bring them with him," Grub said. Throk looked across the twenty-seven Duskroot gathered around their former Chief.

"That would make things easier."

"A lot easier." Dravak remained quiet. Grub leaned forward slightly.

"We said we wanted their strength." His eyes stayed on Hask.

"Killing the strongest one, and maybe the one carrying knowledge none of us have, because he might become troublesome defeats the whole point." The wind moved softly across the granite shelf. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. At last Dravak grunted.

"He stays." Throk looked toward him.

"For now?"

"For now." Dravak's yellow eyes remained on Hask.

"If he makes himself a danger, we end it." Grub nodded.

"Fine." Kesh adjusted the fur at her shoulders.

"And until then?"

"We watch him," Dravak said.

"Closely." Grub looked toward Hask again and found the former Chief already watching him from across the clearing. Their eyes met and held for several seconds before distant howls rolled through the forest, drawing every Duskroot head toward the sound. Grub smiled faintly.

"Looks like dinner's back." A short while later, branches shifted along the edge of the trees and Rika appeared astride Ashpaw. The great wolf bounded onto the granite shelf with a rope trailing behind him, dragging a deer across the snow, while the rest of the Fangs emerged behind them with two hares and a small boar. The Duskroot went completely silent. Sable emerged among them with snow clinging to her black coat and dark blood staining the fur around her muzzle.

She spotted Grub almost immediately, broke away from the pack, and padded toward him. Grub scratched behind one ear when she reached him.

"Have fun?" Sable leaned into his hand. Across the shelf, one of the Duskroot finally found his voice."They hunted for you." Grub looked over. The goblin was staring at the carcasses as if they'd appeared from nowhere. Grub glanced at Sable, then toward Rika and the other Fangs.

"They're part of the tribe," he said, loud enough for the Duskroot to hear.

"Of course they hunt." The Duskroot blinked at him. Grub frowned slightly.

"What did you think they did? Carry hides?" Throk barked a laugh. Several of the prisoners looked toward the packs stacked nearby, then back toward the wolves. Apparently that had, in fact, been one of their guesses. Hask watched Rika slide from Ashpaw's back, then followed the Riders with his eyes as they moved among the wolves, loosening ropes, checking paws, and scratching ears without the slightest trace of fear.

"They move like one pack," he murmured. Both Grub and Dravak heard him. The Chief glanced toward Grub, but Grub only met his eyes for a moment before looking back toward the returning Fangs. There was nothing he needed to add.

"Good hunting?" Dravak called to Rika. She nodded.

"Better than expected. The game is moving early."

"Then we eat." The meat was carved and cooked quickly. The smell spread through the clearing, rich and warm against the cold air. Fat hissed where it struck hot stone, and more than one Duskroot prisoner watched the cooking meat with open hunger. When the meat was ready, the wolves were fed first. The Riders tossed them thick strips of steaming flesh, then carved the remaining meat away from the heavier leg bones and handed those over as well.

One of the Duskroot flinched when Ashpaw caught a bone between his jaws and cracked it apart with a single crushing bite. Another wolf did the same beside him, the sharp snap carrying across the clearing as easily as breaking kindling. Several prisoners stared. Sable took her share and carried it back toward Grub before dropping heavily onto the granite beside him. She pinned a thick bone between her paws, bit down, and split it open with a wet crunch before settling happily into the marrow.

The next morning dawned gray. Low clouds dragged across the ridges and leaked a slow snowfall through the trees, but the Ironfang marched through it without pause. By midmorning, the forest began to change in subtle ways. The slope grew steeper. The trees pressed closer together. The wolves lifted their noses to the wind. They were nearing home. Grub felt the shift ripple through the column. Even the prisoners noticed it. Soon the trees thinned and the march crested a small rise.

A narrow stream crossed the ground ahead, and beyond it the land dropped into the familiar clearing at the foot of the mountain. The Ironfang cavern waited on the far side. The wall rose solid against the winter forest, frost still clinging stubbornly to its wood and packed mud. Smoke drifted steadily from the vents above, carried cleanly into the gray sky, while two Warriors stood watch along the ridge above the cavern. Several of the Duskroot slowed.

Hask stopped with them, his good hand resting lightly against the bandage at his shoulder. His eyes traveled across the wall, the stream, and the open ground before it.

"Hard place to rush," he murmured. Dravak heard him. A faint grunt escaped the Chief before he raised one hand and halted the column. He cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a short call that echoed across the clearing. Moments later, the Warriors answered. The column moved again. They crossed the stream and descended toward the cavern, and as they approached, the heavy wooden door set into the wall was lifted and pulled aside. Warm air rolled outward. Several Duskroot stopped where they stood.

One lifted his face toward the opening as if he didn't trust what he was feeling. Others shifted beneath their borrowed furs, shoulders slowly easing as the warmth reached them and the long hunch against winter began to loosen. No cutting wind. No snow finding its way beneath thin hides. Only warmth, firelight, and the smell of cooked food drifting from somewhere deeper inside. Dravak watched their reactions for a moment, then gave a small, satisfied grunt.

"This is our home." The wolves entered first, moving through the opening with the easy familiarity of animals returning to their den. The Duskroot followed quietly. Inside, the cavern glowed with steady firelight. Smoke climbed toward the vents overhead instead of gathering beneath the stone ceiling. Weapon racks stood along the walls. Bundles of food and supplies rested on shelves and hung from beams, separated and stored instead of thrown together wherever space allowed. The air was warm and comparatively dry.

Behind them, the heavy door closed with a solid thud. The Duskroot stared. Grub slid down from Sable's back. The Builders and Warriors were already moving toward them.

"Sort them," he said.

"Sick near the fires. Wounded together where the Medics can reach them. Everyone else in the third cage." The prisoners were led toward the back of the cavern. The cages waiting there were nothing like what several of them seemed to expect. Thick, dry furs covered the stone beneath them, and fresh water had already been brought over by the time the last bindings were checked. Dravak stopped near the main hearth.

"Feed them." Stew came first, followed by dried meat and more clean water. The Duskroot accepted it carefully. Some sniffed the bowls before eating. Others watched the Ironfang around them, still searching for the trick. Nothing happened, so hunger eventually won. Later, once the cavern had settled into its normal rhythm, Grub returned to Hask. The former Chief sat near the front of one cage, his wounded leg stretched carefully before him. Grub crouched beside him.

"I'm going to check your wounds now. How's the breathing?"

"Better." Grub loosened the wrapping around Hask's shoulder and checked the wound beneath it. The torn flesh remained angry, but the heat had gone down and nothing smelled wrong.

"Still clean." He tightened the wrapping again, and began checking Hask's leg. Hask watched his hands work.

"You feed us," he said after a moment.

"You treat our wounds. Your wolves carried those who couldn't walk." Grub tied off the second bandage.

"Every tribe I've known beats prisoners who slow the march until they move, or leaves them behind." Grub sat back on his heels.

"That wastes goblins." Hask's brow furrowed.

"A dead goblin can't hunt. Can't build. Can't fight." Grub glanced toward the other prisoners.

"And one too sick or broken to recover isn't much better." Hask studied him.

"So you keep us alive because you want to use us."

"Yes. Eventually." There was no reason to lie about it.

"If you join us, you become part of the tribe. You work. You eat. You fight when the tribe fights." Grub shrugged slightly.

"If you don't, then you stay where you are until something changes." Hask's eyes narrowed.

"And if nothing changes?" Grub met his gaze.

"Then we deal with that when it happens." For several seconds, neither moved. Then Hask gave a short grunt.

"At least you don't pretend this is kindness." Grub glanced around the cavern.

"I don't think it has to be kindness to be better." A few nearby Duskroot had been listening, their attention shifting toward Hask after Grub finished. The former Chief gave them nothing in return. His gaze had already wandered beyond the bars. Medics moved between the fires and sleeping areas carrying bowls, clean cloth, and fresh bandages. Near one wall, Builders stacked tools beside the storage alcove while arguing quietly over whatever they planned to do with it next.

Farther off, several wolves lay stretched beside the hearths with full bellies, their Riders moving among them without hesitation as they checked harnesses, rubbed sore shoulders, or worked fingers through thick fur. Hask's eyes continued upward. Food hung from beams and rested in ordered bundles along the walls, kept dry and off the stone.

Above it all, smoke climbed steadily toward the vents and disappeared instead of gathering beneath the ceiling, while the cold beyond the wall remained little more than a faint draft around the entrance. He sat with all of it for a long while, watching one thing and then another as though waiting to find the part that made sense. Grub let him. Eventually Hask looked back at him.

"I've never seen a goblin tribe live like this." Grub followed his gaze around the cavern.

"No. Probably not." Hask was quiet for another moment before looking away again.

"I don't know what to make of this place." Grub gave a small shrug.

"You've only been here a few hours." A faint sound escaped Hask, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. Grub pushed himself upright.

"Rest. You've got time to watch and decide what you think of us." Hask leaned back carefully against the furs.

"And you?" Grub glanced around the cavern. There were supplies to put away, wolves to unload, Medics still moving between the wounded, and a dozen small problems that had accumulated while they were gone. He sighed.

"I've been away for four days. There's always something." Hask gave another quiet grunt as Grub walked away. By evening, the fires had settled lower and the noise of the cavern gradually faded with them. The Duskroot rested beneath clean furs, full for perhaps the first time in weeks. The Medics continued making quiet rounds through the cages holding the sick and wounded, checking bandages and leaving water within easy reach.

From the neighboring cage, the healthier prisoners watched as the Ironfang settled around them. Tools were put away, wolves curled beside the hearths, and conversations dwindled until only the crackle of the fires remained. Beyond the wall, winter whispered through the trees and pressed cold against the stone. Inside, one by one, the Duskroot stopped watching.