Chương 96: Chapter 74: Dead Again

Hask's words drew a low murmur from the cages. Grub had expected as much, so instead of remaining by the hearth, he settled near the wall a short distance away and laid his shortspear across his lap. The weapon was little more than half the length of a normal spear, short enough to use comfortably in one hand while leaving the other free for magic. Its barbed stone head had never been meant for clean thrusts. The backward hooks were made to catch and tear, which also meant more edges to keep sharp.

Grub took out a small sharpening stone and began working carefully along one of them. Hask noticed him almost immediately as he stepped through the open cage door. His eyes lingered on Grub for a moment before he turned back to his tribe. Grub smiled faintly and kept sharpening. There wasn't much point pretending he wasn't listening anymore. Hask settled onto the stone near the front of the enclosure while the Duskroot gathered closer around him.

"Well?" one of the Warriors asked. Hask rested his forearms across his knees.

"Dravak confirmed it. They want us to become Ironfang." A murmur moved through both cages.

"We knew that already," someone near the back said.

"We guessed," another corrected. Hask nodded.

"Now we know. And we know why." The flat-nosed Hunter looked toward him.

"The Red Tusk?"

"Yes. The Ironfang know they're growing stronger. Dravak thinks war is coming, and he wants more Hunters, Scouts, and Warriors when it does." A goblin near the bars gave a bitter grunt.

"So they want us to fight for them."

"Of course they do." Hask looked around at his tribe.

"We want food, shelter, and somewhere the Red Tusk can't keep taking pieces from us. Neither side is doing this for nothing." The wiry Scout rubbed at the torn edge of his ear.

"So what changed?" Hask looked toward him.

"Whether we become Ironfang is our choice." For a moment, no one spoke. Then someone near the back asked, "Our choice?"

"Yes. Dravak says we choose whether we join the Ironfang." Hask shook his head faintly.

"Strange as it sounds, I think he means it."

"What happens if we say no?"

"We leave." The prisoner stared at him. Hask continued.

"Anyone who refuses Dravak can go. They'll give you a spear, furs, and enough food for seven days. No Ironfang will hunt you while you leave their territory." Several Duskroot looked instinctively toward the open cavern beyond the bars. Another goblin frowned.

"You believe him?"

"Yes." Hask rested his arms across his knees.

"He said it in front of all three Lieutenants. And if they wanted us dead, they've had easier chances." No one argued with that. The same Warrior who had first demanded work several days earlier shifted forward.

"What will you do?" Hask looked at him.

"Stay." A few of the Duskroot relaxed almost immediately. Hask noticed.

"I said stay. I didn't say join. I'm going to keep working. Keep watching. I want to know what this tribe looks like when we're useful for something beyond carrying stones." His eyes moved briefly toward the cavern.

"They've told us what they want. Now we see what that means." The Warrior nodded slowly.

"And then?"

"Then I'll decide." A thinner goblin near the rear of the cage crossed his arms.

"And if you decide to join?"

"Then I join." The broad-shouldered Warrior shifted forward.

"Most of us will follow you." Hask gave him a flat look.

"We went through this last night." A few mouths twitched. The Warrior's didn't.

"We still follow you."

"I know." Hask looked around at them.

"I'll tell you what I think when I know what I think. You can listen to my reasons and decide whether I'm right." The thinner goblin frowned.

"So you still won't tell us what to do?"

"No."

"Helpful." One of the Scouts glanced toward the cavern entrance.

"So we could leave now?"

"If you wanted."

"With a spear and food?" Hask nodded. Another Duskroot snorted.

"And go where?" The Scout's eyes drifted toward the open entrance before returning to Hask. Hask shrugged.

"That part is your problem." A few goblins laughed quietly. The tension eased, but only a little. Grub ran the sharpening stone across his spearhead one last time, then tested the point with his thumb. A tiny bead of blood welled against the skin. Good enough. He slipped the stone away and stood. Hask caught his eye from inside the cage, and Grub gave him a short nod before heading toward Sable, who was stretched out near the cavern entrance. Behind him, the Duskroot started talking again.

The conversation continued well into the evening, sometimes rising into arguments before falling back to quieter questions. More than once, Grub heard Hask's voice among them. But no one called for an Ironfang. No one asked for a spear, furs, or food. By the time the fires burned low, all twenty-seven Duskroot were still there. The next morning, two Duskroot Scouts stood near the open entrance beside two of Kesh's goblins, each carrying a spear. One of the Duskroot glanced down at the weapon he'd been given.

Kesh caught the look.

"You know how to use it?" The Scout looked mildly offended.

"Yes."

"Good. Then I won't have to explain which end goes in the other goblin." One of the Ironfang snorted. Kesh pointed toward the Duskroot Scout.

"You go with him. Stay close enough to see his signals. If he stops, you stop. If he turns back, you turn back." The Scout frowned.

"What if I see something?"

"You signal him."

"What if he doesn't see it?"

"Then you signal harder." The Scout stared at her. Kesh waited.

"Anything else?" The second Duskroot looked toward the forest.

"What if we run?" A few nearby Duskroot turned their heads.

"Then run," Kesh said. Both Scouts looked at her. From near the hearth, Dravak glanced up from the marked strip of bark in his hands.

"You were offered a spear, furs, and seven days of food if you wanted to leave. If you decide you'd rather run into the forest with only the spear, I'm not wasting a Scout chasing you." Neither Duskroot answered. Dravak looked back down at the bark.

"I don't need goblins that stupid." Throk laughed loudly from across the cavern. Kesh's mouth twitched.

"Try not to prove him right." The Scouts headed into the forest soon afterward, and the Hunters weren't far behind. Most carried spears, though a few of the Duskroot were given bows as well. None of them went alone. Each Duskroot traveled beside an Ironfang, and for the first few days they stayed close enough to the cavern that a mistake could be corrected before it became something worse. And there were plenty of mistakes.

One Duskroot Scout missed an Ironfang hand signal and pushed ahead around a ridge before realizing his partner was no longer behind him. When they returned, Kesh made him stand near the entrance and repeat every signal she used until he recognized them without hesitation. Another ignored the route his companion had chosen and took the shortest path down a muddy slope instead.

He returned with half his side coated in wet earth and endured several comments at his expense from the other Scouts before Kesh sent him back out the next morning. The Hunters fared little better at first. One followed a deer trail farther than ordered and had to be called back, while another nearly spoiled an approach on a feeding boar by drifting downwind at the wrong moment. His Ironfang partner caught him by the shoulder and dragged him sideways before the animal noticed.

The corrections continued each time they returned. Signals. Routes. Distance. Wind. When to keep going and when to turn back. But they did return. Every Scout came back with the goblin he'd left beside. Every Hunter brought his weapon home. No one disappeared into the forest, and no one used the freedom to put a spear into an Ironfang back. After a few days, Kesh's reports began spending less time on what the Duskroot had done wrong, and more on what they found. Fresh deer tracks east of the stream.

Boar rooting along the western slope. Old signs of goblin movement farther north, nothing recent enough to bring the Scouts closer. Dravak listened to each report, asked what he needed to ask, and kept sending them out again the next morning. Throk had been watching too. He just had a different idea of what the Duskroot still needed to prove. To Throk, hauling wood and stone proved exactly that: a goblin could haul wood and stone.

It told him considerably less about what would happen when someone tried to kill them. On the second morning, his voice rolled through the cavern.

"Anyone who can stand and hold a weapon, outside." Heads turned throughout the cavern. One of the Builders paused with a basket of stone in his arms and pointed at himself. Throk stared at him.

"Can you stand?" The Builder looked down at his feet, then back up.

"Yes."

"Can you hold a spear?" The look he gave Throk was considerably less patient.

"Yes."

"Then why are you still standing there? Move." The Builder muttered something under his breath as he set the basket down. From beside one of the hearths, a Medic scowled at Throk.

"We have work."

"So do the Red Tusk." Whatever the Medic had been preparing to say disappeared behind an even deeper scowl. Kesh passed Throk on her way toward the entrance.

"He said anyone who can stand and hold a weapon." She glanced at the Medic.

"That includes you." The Medic looked between them, finding no sympathy anywhere. Grub smiled. Throk immediately pointed at him.

"You too. Outside." Grub's smile vanished. Before long, the clearing beyond the wall was filling with goblins and practice weapons. Warriors made up the largest group, Ironfang and Duskroot alike, but Hunters and Scouts stood among them as well. The Builders set aside the tools that had occupied most of their time through winter and took up weapons again, slipping back into familiar stances with varying degrees of comfort.

The Medics were rustier after weeks spent tending wounds and sickness instead of training, but they had all been Warriors before their new work gave them another name. Throk had spent too long drilling the tribe for any of them to forget entirely. The Duskroot had learned their own way. Throk paced across the front of the gathered goblins.

"A Warrior fights." He pointed toward the Hunters.

"You hunt." Then the Scouts.

"You scout." His spear shifted toward the Builders and Medics.

"You build. You heal." He planted the butt of it in the dirt.

"The Red Tusk won't care." This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. The clearing stayed quiet.

"If they come south, every goblin here needs to stay alive long enough for the goblin beside them to help." His gaze passed over the Ironfang before settling on the Duskroot.

"These goblins know how I train them. I don't know how you were trained." One of the Duskroot Warriors frowned.

"We know how to fight." Throk grinned.

"Good." He crooked one finger toward him.

"Show me." The goblin stepped forward. Grub shifted his grip on his practice spear, already beginning to suspect where this was going. Throk planted his feet.

"Hit me." The Warrior lunged forward, thrusting the spear at Throk's chest. Throk shifted half a step to the right, and the spear passed beside him. His own spearshaft cracked against the Duskroot's hands before sweeping behind one ankle and hooking it in one smooth motion. The Warrior hit the ground. Throk lowered the blunt spearhead toward his throat.

"Dead." The Duskroot scowled. Throk looked down at him.

"You can fight." Then he glanced toward Kesh.

"Why'd he lose?" Kesh stepped forward and pointed toward the marks his feet had left in the soft earth.

"His first step was too long. He placed his weight too far forward. And once you moved, he couldn't easily change direction or adjust." The Warrior climbed back to his feet, looking down at the churned dirt. Grub knew this lesson well. Throk and Kesh had spent the last weeks teaching it to him with trips, sweeps, shoulder checks, bruises, and an alarming enthusiasm for putting him on his back. Kesh looked at the Warrior.

"Again." This time he shortened the lunge. Throk still knocked him down, but it took a half-second longer.

"Better," Kesh said. Throk grunted.

"Again." The Warrior pushed himself upright. For the next several rounds, Throk and Kesh did more watching than teaching. Duskroot Warriors sparred with Ironfang. Hunters were paired against Hunters. Scouts tested one another with lighter practice spears while Throk moved between them, interrupting whenever something caught his attention. Some of what the Duskroot did was familiar. Some wasn't. A broad Warrior liked to plant himself and meet every attack with strength.

Another fought from farther back, using the reach of his spear to keep his opponent away. The Hunters tended to move more, circling and waiting for openings rather than forcing them, while the Scouts relied heavily on quick bursts forward and back. Throk watched until he'd seen enough to start interfering. He took the heavier fighters first, Ironfang and Duskroot together, along with several Builders and Hunters who were comfortable holding their ground. The Ironfang slipped quickly into drills they already knew.

The Duskroot watched the first few exchanges, then tried to follow. Throk corrected them loudly.

"Plant your foot!" A Duskroot stumbled backward and reset.

"Not in the next valley. Here." Another met a heavy strike with both arms and nearly had the practice spear torn from his hands.

"Use your whole body!" Throk stepped in, caught the next block, ripped the spear from the Warrior's hands and drove his shoulder into the goblin hard enough to send him sprawling.

"You've got legs. Use them." The Warrior rolled onto one elbow and glared up at him. Throk tossed his practice spear back toward him.

"Again." Across the clearing, Kesh had gathered most of the Scouts, several Hunters, the Medics, and anyone else who seemed more comfortable moving around an attack than trying to stop it outright. Her corrections came more quietly.

"Again." A Duskroot Scout lunged. Kesh stepped outside the line of his spear and touched the blunt tip of hers against his ribs.

"Dead." He reset.

"Again." This time he turned with her quickly enough to keep the spear between them, but his feet crossed as he tried to follow. Kesh hooked one ankle and lowered him into the dirt almost gently.

"Dead again." The Scout groaned and stayed in the dirt. Kesh chuckled and looked down at him.

"You crossed your feet."

"I know."

"Then don't do that." He glared at her. Kesh offered her hand. The Scout took it and climbed back to his feet before raising the spear.

"Again." Grub meanwhile found himself somewhere between the two groups. He wasn't large enough for Throk's style and had no intention of pretending otherwise. He wasn't as quick as Kesh either, but he had spent enough time being thrown around by both of them to steal techniques from each. Grub's first partner was one of the larger Duskroot Warriors. The goblin looked down at him, then at the practice spear in his hands, and laughed.

"You?" Grub sighed.

"Yes. Me." The Warrior's grin widened.

"Thought the little Shaman needed magic." A few of the nearby Duskroot laughed. Grub adjusted his grip.

"You can keep thinking that." The Warrior lunged. Grub knocked the spear aside with a short twist and stepped into the opening before the larger goblin could recover. His foot hooked behind the Duskroot's ankle while the shaft pressed across his shoulder. The Warrior hit the dirt. Grub lowered the blunt spearhead toward his throat.

"Dead." A few Ironfang laughed this time. The Duskroot scowled and pushed himself upright. Whatever amusement had been in his face was gone when he attacked again, harder than before. Grub gave ground, letting the thrust carry past him before stepping aside and driving the haft into the Warrior's shoulder. The larger goblin stumbled. Grub caught the same ankle again and pulled. Down he went. The practice spear appeared beneath his chin.

"Dead again." The Warrior glared up at him. Grub grinned and offered him his hand. That felt surprisingly good. Around them, the same lesson was repeating itself. Throk caught a broad Duskroot Warrior leaning too far into a strike, battered his spear aside, and swept his legs from beneath him. The goblin landed hard enough to grunt. Throk lowered his weapon toward his chest.

"Dead again." Across the clearing, a Duskroot Scout tried to follow Kesh through a turn and crossed his feet. She hooked one ankle, sent him into the dirt, and touched the blunt point of her spear against his ribs.

"Dead again." An Ironfang Warrior caught another Duskroot with the edge of a shield, knocked him off balance, and swept his ankle before lowering the rim toward his throat.

"Dead again." A Hunter lunged too far after an Ironfang who had deliberately given ground. His partner stepped outside the thrust, caught him across the shoulder, and sent him sprawling.

"Dead again." The words began following the Duskroot around the clearing. A missed step.

"Dead again." A guard left open.

"Dead again." Too much weight committed to a strike.

"Dead again." Every time, the goblin on the ground had to climb back up, reset, and try to understand what had put him there. Some made the same mistake twice. Some found entirely new ones. One Duskroot Warrior began drawing Throk's attention more than the others. He was leaner than most Warriors, with a scar running across one cheek and a habit Grub started noticing after the third or fourth time someone put him in the dirt. He didn't just stand back up. He watched what had happened first.

The first time Throk swept his ankle, the Warrior went down hard. When he rose, he widened his stance, so Throk knocked him backward with a shoulder instead.

"Dead again." Later, Kesh caught him trying to follow her turn too quickly. His feet crossed, and she hooked one ankle out from beneath him.

"Dead again." The Warrior stayed there for a moment, breathing hard as he studied the tracks his feet had left in the dirt. The next time Grub faced him, his feet never crossed. Grub still put him down. He slipped inside a thrust, hooked the Duskroot's ankle, and dumped him onto his back, but the Warrior's eyes went immediately to Grub's foot behind his own. When he stood again, he changed that too.

By then, Throk was watching closely, and when the Warrior rotated back to him, Throk tried the same sweep that had dropped him earlier. The Duskroot lifted his leg clear. Throk paused, and the Warrior grinned. Then Throk drove a shoulder into his chest and knocked him flat anyway. The grin disappeared somewhere on the way down, and Throk barked a laugh as the Warrior rolled onto one knee and immediately started pushing himself upright.

"Hold." Throk's voice carried across the clearing. Nearby bouts slowed and stopped, practice weapons lowering as goblins turned toward him. He waited until he had their attention before pointing his spear toward the scarred Warrior.

"You've all been falling all morning, same as him. That's not special." Several Duskroot looked less than pleased by the reminder, but Throk ignored them.

"The first time I swept his feet, it worked." He tapped the end of his spear against the dirt beside the Warrior's feet.

"Just now, it didn't. Kesh caught him crossing his feet, so he stopped doing it. Grub caught his ankle, and he changed that too." Throk grinned.

"So I had to hit him a different way." The scarred Warrior's mouth twitched as light laughter came from the watching goblins.

"That's what you all should be doing." Throk planted the butt of his spear in the dirt and looked across the gathered goblins.

"You fall, you learn why. Then you get back up and fix it. Maybe you fall again. Probably will." A few Ironfang grinned.

"So you learn again." Throk jerked his chin toward the scarred Warrior.

"Like I said, he's been getting knocked into the dirt all morning, same as the rest of you. Difference is, I'm already working harder to put him there than I was an hour ago." The Warrior lifted his practice spear again. Throk looked at him.

"Still want more?"

"Again." Throk's grin widened.

"Exactly." By the end of the session, Grub's arms ached, and his recovering shoulder had started reminding him not to become too pleased with himself. He dropped onto a log near the edge of the clearing just as Throk passed with four practice spears tucked beneath each arm. Grub looked up at him.

"I think I understand something now." Throk stopped, one eyebrow rising. Kesh was passing nearby and slowed as well. Grub rubbed one sore forearm.

"It feels much better being on this side."

"This side of what?"

"Knocking someone on their ass and telling them they're dead." Kesh's mouth twitched. Throk stared at him for a moment before grinning.

"Enjoy it." Grub narrowed his eyes immediately. Kesh sat down on the end of the log.

"He means we're training you again tomorrow." Grub sighed.

"Figured."

"You were getting proud," Throk said.

"I knocked down a goblin twice my size."

"Three times," Kesh corrected. Grub looked toward her.

"Thank you."

"You still opened your left side every time." His smile disappeared, and Throk laughed. Grub gestured toward the Duskroot scattered around the clearing.

"Can't we focus on their mistakes?"

"No," Kesh said.

"Yes," Throk said at the same time. Grub looked between them. Throk shrugged.

"Theirs first. Yours after."

"That almost feels like kindness."

"Don't get used to it." Training resumed the next morning and continued the one after that. The first lesson had been staying upright. The next was what to do once that stopped being an option. Throk demonstrated on the same scarred Duskroot who had drawn his attention the day before, driving a foot squarely into the Warrior's chest and sending him into the dirt. Before the goblin could rise, Throk planted the butt of his practice spear against his chest and called everyone's attention to himself.

"Everyone falls." The Duskroot shoved at the shaft, but it didn't move. Throk looked around the clearing.

"Me. Dravak. Kesh. Grub." Grub frowned.

"Why was I last?"

"Because you fall more." Several goblins laughed. Grub sighed.

"Fair." Throk continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"If you think you'll never hit the ground, you're an idiot." Kesh crouched beside the trapped Duskroot.

"And if you try to stand straight up while someone is already over you, you're a dead idiot." She tapped the ground beside him.

"Move first." The Warrior twisted sideways. Throk's spear followed easily and settled against his chest again.

"Too slow."

"Dead again," Kesh said. They reset. When Throk put him down the next time, the Warrior rolled immediately. The spear struck dirt where his chest had been, and he scrambled upright before Throk could follow. Throk grinned.

"Better." Soon the entire clearing was moving. Goblins hit the dirt deliberately, rolling away from imaginary killing blows before scrambling back to their feet. Scouts used their speed and greater agility to create distance before rising, while Warriors practiced kicking, shoving, or trapping an opponent's weapon long enough to make room.

Builders relied more heavily on their weight and strength to make themselves difficult to pin, and Medics rediscovered movements that had grown rusty after weeks spent crouched over sickbeds instead of sparring in the dirt. The Ironfang still needed corrections here and there. The Duskroot needed considerably more.

Kesh spent most of her time among the smaller goblins, teaching the Duskroot not to waste strength wrestling with someone twice their weight while forcing the Ironfang to clean up habits they already knew better than to make.

"Move." A Duskroot Scout scrambled sideways.

"Faster." He rolled, started to rise, and glanced down to find his footing.

"Don't look at the ground. The ground isn't trying to kill you." The Scout came upright and Kesh tapped him in the chest with her practice spear.

"I am. Dead again." He glared at her. She grinned.

"Again." Nearby, one of the Medics rolled clear of a practice thrust, came up on one knee, and shoved himself upright before his partner could close the distance. Kesh watched.

"Too slow." The Medic frowned.

"I got up."

"You would've gotten stabbed first." The Medic muttered something under his breath. Kesh pointed toward the dirt.

"Again." Throk's side of the clearing was, as always, considerably louder.

"Kick him!" A Duskroot Warrior hesitated beneath the Ironfang standing over him.

"He's got a spear pointed at you! Kick him or die!" The Duskroot kicked. His opponent staggered backward, and Throk barked a laugh.

"Good! Now get up before he remembers he has legs!" The Warrior scrambled upright, and Throk slapped him between the shoulders hard enough to nearly put him back down.

"Better!" The difference between the two Lieutenants became harder to miss the longer Grub watched. Throk taught goblins to use every bit of strength they had, even from the ground, until dirt, weight, elbows, knees, and whatever else happened to be available became part of the fight. Kesh taught them how to make sure the killing blow landed somewhere they weren't. Slowly, the Duskroot adapted. So did Grub.

The larger goblins still had more strength than he did, but that mattered less once he stopped trying to meet it directly. When a Duskroot Warrior drove a practice spear toward his chest, Grub turned it aside, only for the goblin to recover far faster than he would have a few days earlier. Grub stepped inside anyway, drove his shoulder into the Warrior's ribs, and hooked his ankle. They went down together.

The Duskroot rolled immediately, Grub followed, and both scrambled upright at nearly the same time, weapons already coming back into position. The Warrior grinned. Grub grinned back.

"Better."

"You didn't kill me, little Shaman."

"Give me a second." The Duskroot laughed and attacked again. Away from the clearing, the rest of the experiment continued. The Duskroot Scouts and Hunters kept going out beside Ironfang partners, ranging a little farther as the days passed. They returned muddy, tired, sometimes carrying meat and sometimes only information, but they returned. The Duskroot helping the Medics continued learning as well. One spent nearly an hour wrapping cloth around a practice stick while a Medic watched with growing irritation.

"Tighter." The Duskroot pulled.

"Not that tight." He loosened it.

"Now it's too loose." The Duskroot glared at him. The Medic glared back.

"Healing," the Medic said, taking the cloth and wrapping it himself.

"Not strangling." The Duskroot muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Good. Now do it again." The Builders were no gentler. With the storage hall finished, they had already begun arguing over where the next chamber should eventually go. A shallow cut appeared along the rear wall where they tested the stone, and Duskroot who showed interest in more than simple hauling were made to watch braces being set, check the spacing between supports, and explain why one placement felt wrong before anyone let them touch anything important. Grub started noticing Hask watching.

The former Chief still worked wherever he was needed, but his attention lingered more often now. He watched a mud-covered Scout return through the wall beside an Ironfang partner, listened while one of his Hunters argued over tracks with a goblin who had been an enemy less than two weeks earlier, and stood nearby while a Duskroot learned to wrap a splint under the impatient eye of a Medic. Most often, though, he watched the training.

Near the end of one session, the clearing had been churned into a broad patch of dirt and mud beneath dozens of feet. Wolves lounged beneath the trees while several Riders watched from their backs or sat beside them, and most of the Builders and Medics had already returned inside, leaving the Warriors, Scouts, and Hunters to finish the last few rounds. Hask stood near the edge. One of his former Warriors lunged at Kesh.

She slipped past him, but instead of overextending, the Duskroot caught himself, pivoted, and brought the practice spear around. Kesh blocked and counter-attacked, and he stepped short and straight instead of crossing his feet. When she tried to hook his ankle, he pulled free. For three breaths, he stayed upright. Then Kesh changed direction, caught his shoulder, and sent him tumbling into the mud. The Warrior rolled before she could follow. By the time her spear reached him, he was already coming back to his feet.

Kesh stopped.

"Better. Much better." The Duskroot smiled. Across the clearing, Throk drove another Warrior backward beneath a series of heavy blows. The goblin gave ground without losing his footing, caught the next strike on his shaft, stepped outside it, and slammed his shoulder into Throk. Throk barely moved as the Duskroot bounced off him. For a moment, Throk simply stared. Then he barked a laugh loud enough to make one of the wolves lift its head.

"Good!" He knocked the goblin down anyway. The Duskroot hit the dirt laughing and immediately started climbing back up. Grub glanced toward Hask. He was still watching. The Duskroot around them were bruised, muddy, and exhausted, but they were also moving differently than they had a few days earlier. Feet reset faster. Guards came back up sooner. Goblins who'd once made the same mistake twice were beginning to make new ones instead.

If conquering the Duskroot was supposed to break them, the Ironfang were doing a terrible job of it. Hask remained at the edge of the clearing for several more moments, his gaze moving from one spar to the next. Then he stepped forward. Hask walked past Grub and toward the rack of practice weapons. A few nearby Duskroot fell quiet as they noticed where he was going, and the silence spread outward until even several Ironfang began lowering their weapons to watch. Throk turned. A slow grin spread across his face.

"Well." Hask stopped beside the rack and picked up a practice spear, turning it once in his hands to test the balance. Throk's grin widened.

"About time." Hask rolled one shoulder, then the other. Whatever remained of the wound Grub had put through him no longer seemed to interfere with the movement. Around the clearing, the last few bouts ended almost on their own. Goblins drifted toward the edges, opening space between Hask and Throk without anyone needing to tell them to. Kesh stepped aside with her spear resting against one shoulder. Grub lowered his own and moved with her, giving the two goblins room. Hask glanced around at the growing audience.

"You always make this much noise before a spar?"

"Usually more."

"That explains a lot." Throk laughed and walked toward the center of the clearing.

"You sure you're healed?" Hask gave the spear another turn.

"Worried?"

"Not even a little." Hask stepped forward, practice spear leaned casually on one shoulder. The Duskroot behind him moved closer, their attention fixed on the clearing. Grub could hardly blame them. They had spent days watching Throk throw them into the dirt, while Hask was the goblin who had led them through raids, winter, and everything that came before the Ironfang arrived.

Both of them were System-blessed, both knew how to fight, and neither looked especially interested in embarrassing himself in front of half the tribe. Hask stopped several paces away and lowered the practice spear from his shoulder.

"You ready?" Throk smiled.

"I was beginning to think you'd never ask." Throk's grin remained, but he settled into a fighters stance. One foot slid back through the churned dirt. His knees bent slightly, lowering his weight, while both hands settled onto the spear instead of carrying it loosely the way he had through most of the afternoon. The point angled toward Hask's chest. Grub straightened. He'd watched Throk grin through days of knocking the Duskroot into the dirt, but the looseness was gone now. Hask saw it too.

His own smile widened as he lowered his spear and settled into a stance of his own.

"That's better."