14. Guest of Honour

Dorothy was beyond glad when she woke to the familiar scents and comfort of her own bed. She'd had an awful dream where a wolf had nearly tore her ankle off. Though when she moved her leg slightly, awful pain issues from her foot, and she understood it hadn't been a dream at all. Which made her being in her own bedroom all the more confusing. The pack had been attacked by something. "Oh," she murmured. "Gob."

"Hm?" a voice murmured. "Oh. Chief!"

Dorothy turned to find the scrawny goblin's wild face creased into a wide smile. He sat in an old rocking chair, where Dorothy had used to nurse her son. "What--" Her throat was awful dry, and speaking just a few words badly hurt.

She was just about to tell the goblin off for being in her room, but the pause had made her thought better of that. He had saved her from being eaten by a pack of wolves afterall, and, judging by the many scrapes and aches rousing around her body, had managed to drag her back to her home as well.

"Dot live!" Gob happily declared.

A banging sounded out beyond the room. Booming commands were issued. Squeaking replies came in answer. Then Dorothy's ears keened to myriad other noises of chatter and clatter, as if there were some greating gathering taking place in and around the house.

"What's happening out there?" Dorothy asked, pushing upright in her bed.

"Taruk," Gob answered, his happy tone and smile faltering. "Feast. Is strange."

"Oh..." Dorothy wasn't sure what to make of that. If the Great Chief was here to cut her head off at least that would be a lot quicker than the wolves. Besides, she'd accrued so many wounds over the past few days that she'd almost welcome a swift end to her life. "Thank you, Gob," she said with all the earnestness she could muster. "You saved me."

"Gob does save," he proudly agreed. "Great fighting. Scratch scratch, bite bite. Gob mighty!"

"Mighty Gob," Dorothy agreed.

"Mighty Dot, also. You hit. Helping." His mirth faltered once more, and he looked almost fearful. "Chief Dot," he began very carefully. "Gob stay...? Mighty Gob stay?"

Dorothy let out a shaky sigh. "Yes. Gob stay."

"Gob stay?" he asked, eyes narrowed as if in slight disbelief.

"Gob stays."

"Dot stays, also?" he ventured. "Us clan?"

Dorothy scowled, her eyes sore and her head starting to throb. Her heart skipped a bit on a sudden, making her breathing feel strange. "Us clan," she reluctantly agreed.

"Us clan!" Gob happily declared.

"Least until Taruk kills us," she realized aloud.

Gob blinked. "What meaning, Dot?"

"Never you mind," she dismissed. "Come on. Fetch me a drink, and then help me out of bed. Then we can see what the Great Chief wants."

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***

Dorothy's tried her best to wash some dirt off her face, and out from her armpits, before putting on a fresh dress. She didn't often wear dresses, certainly not flowery white dresses like she was a picture of innocent youth, but then she'd packed away all the clothes she'd liked and Gob, quite reasonably, hadn't managed to drag them and an old woman back at the same time.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she got some strange looks. Whether that was because of the dress or because they'd not expected a manling, or womaningly, to step out the door she couldn't quite tell.

Gob followed in step beside her. The kitchen lay both vacant and crowded. The stools had all been moved, but there were half a dozen goblins milling about. None of them particularly tall or stocky, and all of them carrying ingredients around while an elderly goblin, wearing a tattered cloak and carrying a gnarled staff, stood over the boiling pot, as if they were all part of a team trying to put together a great meal.

The cloaked goblin turned, his nose long and hooked and his eyes dark and deeply set. "Womanling. Survivor," he bitterly greeted. "Both better dead."

"Shut yer mouth," Dorothy snapped. "Or I'll smack you round the head and chuck you in the pot."

The goblin blinked, taken aback, then scowled. "We will see who ends this night in a pot, womanling."

More bellowing commands echoed from beyond the open kitchen door, and Dorothy recognised the proud speaker as Great Chief Taruk.

When she stepped forward, descending the broken stairs, she found him towering above a great gathering of goblins.

Stools, chairs, and even the couch from the sitting room had been arrayed around the forest clearing.

Every piece of furnishing, save for those of her bedroom had been arrayed along the dirt path, while what must have been nearly five score goblins sat about in half a dozen circles or semi-circles, each gathered around their own campfire.

Between the many groups, stood the table where her and Moira had drank and sat the night before.

Five seats arrayed around it, each currently empty.

Great Chief Taruk, his bronze shield still slung over his shoulder, bared his fangs when he spotted the old woman. He strode over, making short work of the long dirt road. "Womanling."

"Taruk," Dorothy replied. "Come to kill me?"

"Kill?" he asked, almost in humour. Then his sky blue eyes narrowed. "Oh... no. You sheltered my goblins. Protected them from the manlings. I owe you a debt, womanling."

Dorothy had been wondering how they'd managed to get the cushioned couch from her sitting room, and realized they'd hack apart one of her walls to drag it out. "So you meant to pay me back by smashing my home?" she reasoned.

"A feast," Taruk explained. "To celebrate our victory. The wall can be easily repaired."

Dorothy's heart sank. She worried that Harold and his men had already been slain. "I missed a battle?"

"No battle," Taruk said. "The manlings have accepted my demands. There will be no need for slaughter."

Dorothy frowned. The warriors she'd met had specifically said they were part of a scouting force, and that they were preparing for war. "They sent a messenger?" she guessed.

"Yes," he answered with a nod. He bent to one knee, regarding her quite closely for a long moment. "You are disappointed, womanling. Did you wish for me to die...?"

The old woman stared back at the towering goblin as he watched her with a mocking smile. "Surprised, is all," she dismissed, trying to quell her unease.

If the Jarl of the Midderlands was setting out to deceive the Great Chief then surely it wasn't her place to be interfering.

Taruk had threatened to kill her, after all. He'd changed his mind now out of happenstance alone. Had those goblins not needed her help then he'd be coming back here to force her out of her home instead.

She didn't owe the goblin anything.

"What'll you do now, then?" she asked.

Great Chief Taruk straightened to his great height, and rolled his neck. "I must speak with all the other Chiefs. Reach accords. Once peace is agreed for all then we can make things safer. Better. Then Gob and those like him will not need to seek shelter from old womanlings." He chuckled quietly, and Dorothy was surprised to find the sound comforting. "We will speak more of this. For now, take a seat. You are the Guest of Honour, Chief Dot," he added with a playful reverence, and she couldn't tell if he were teasing her or offering genuine respect.