How many goblins does it take to defeat a yeti? Faddu Duach secretly hoped it took more than six.

He watched the little squad of goblins trudge through the snow. Armed with scraps of leather and rusty weapons, they marched in loose formation, breaking form whenever something under the snow caused them to slip or step aside. If the smell wasn’t enough to give them away to any creature within a mile, their jabbering was. They were trying to top each other, to boast the most visceral tale possible.

“Ey, you— you know Sniglet?” said one of the goblins, a mash-faced lout named Groon. He was the closest thing the motley group had to a leader, in that he was walking up in front.

“Oh, we’s all known Sniglet.” The goblin marching just next to Groon stuck out his tongue and sucked on it, making noises somewhere between kissing and choking. “Known good.”

The little squad of goblins erupted in titters and guffaws, for the sixth time in as many minutes. Faddu took the opportunity to slink from tree to tree. His noro melded into the long shadows they cast, soothing his heartbeat, silencing his breath. None of the ill-fated goblins noticed.

Groon cuffed the kissy-noise goblin behind the ear, silencing him. “Eh, well...” he said, “Like I’s saying, you all knows Sniglet. Pretty nasty thing, she shows up in my hole last night.” A snigger broke out, but Groon ignored it. “And guess what she was wearing?”

“Duh...” The goblin in the back of the line scratched his head with the flat of his sword blade. “Nothin?”

“Close,” said Groon. “Okay, fine, you gots it. She weren’t wearing nothing. It was more like she were smeared in something.”

No more clarification was needed. The goblins hooted and hollered, congratulating Groon on his exploits. One of them sneezed in the cold, sending a glob of snot the size of Faddu’s fist into the snow.

Vileness. Foulness. The goblins wore it like armor, as all goblins should. Faddu could respect that.

But there was a time to be nasty or cruel, to revel in squalor and filth, and also a time to be quiet and unseen. At this rate, the yeti would kill them all before they even saw it coming. And Faddu would hide in the shadows, watching.

Again relying on that trickle of power in his blood, Faddu slipped up a tree unseen. His own grubby goblin hands grabbed frozen branches with unusual grace, and he swung from tree to tree. A shadow among shadows, in the fall of day.

This was his time to shine. When the sun waned in the sky, and the world teetered on the edge of darkness, every long stretch of shade provided safe haven. A place for him to hide, to recharge, to rest the noro that rushed through his veins.

Places of power, that clung to wood, rock, and snow.

That was the advantage of Faddu’s bloodline. Shadows were everywhere. Not just in woods, near creeks or rivers, underground or atop snowy peaks. If the time was right, he could take on anyone.

Or hide from anything.

A loud crack echoed through the trees, and snow dropped from the needled branches. Faddu froze, and looked down, reacting moments before the squad of goblins broke into squawks and cries.

The dopey goblin from the back of the line lay on the ground, sword forgotten in the snow beside him. His limbs curled up over his belly, twitching, as if the feckless creature were imitating a dying spider. Even in his deposed state, the goblin’s phlegm bubbled and gurgled in his throat, which meant...

Which meant he was still alive.

Faddu was impressed. He’d been distracted looking for the perfect place to hide among the branches, sure, but the yeti had struck the back line without drawing attention. And by the time the blow had been delivered, the yeti was already gone.

Assuming it was the yeti, and not a vengeful spirit of the mountains.

Shadows layered themselves on Faddu’s skin, hiding him further as he watched.

The remaining goblins might be weak, and cowardly, their strength only in numbers, but they were trained. “Circle!” Groon said, and the five remaining gathered around their fallen comrade, facing outward.

Warding against ambush. Smart.

“Polpun, check him,” Groon said, and a trembling goblin with a spear turned to address the still-twitching body.

“Heart beating like crazy,” Polpun said. “So not dead yet. Bump on head, not bleeding.” A pause. “Also he pooped himself, captain.”

Even as dire as the situation was, a couple of humorless sniggers escaped the goblins. Faddu had trouble suppressing a smile. Nasty. Such was their nature, to revel in it. A strength, sometimes. A weakness, in others.

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“New orders, then.” Groon held out two daggers in what he must have seen as an impressive stance. “Do not get hit on head, or you end up like that.”

The goblins held stance, waited for a moment, then Polpun said, “Maybe the yeti left?”

The yeti hadn’t left. Faddu could sense him now, glimpses here and there as the large white creature moved through the mountain’s shadows. He couldn’t tell what the foe was doing, but at least knew which direction to look.

“We drag him off the path,” Groon decided, and two of the goblins turned around to stoop for the paralyzed body.

A tree limb the size of a giant’s spear hurtled through the air, clotheslining two of the goblins and sailing over those who had the foresight to duck or dodge. The struck goblins fell back, the crash of wood accompanied by their yelps of pain.

“Charge!” Groon cried.

The two remaining subordinates howled battle cries, one of them grabbing the paralyzed goblin’s sword as he rushed forward.

Three goblins, one yeti. Faddu had a front-row seat when the mythical monster finally emerged from hiding.

The yeti was tall, the size of three goblins standing atop one another. White hair bristled along the beast’s lanky limbs, crawled up his chest and framed his face with a thicker beard and brow. His ears were almost as sharp as his claws, and jutting out even further than an elf’s. Around his middle he wore a kilt of pale animal skin, and he brandished his weapon with casual ease.

No, not a weapon. A shovel.

As Faddu looked into the yeti’s red-tinted eyes from afar, a crooked smile crossed his face. This was exactly the creature they were looking for.

This raid wouldn’t be a waste of time after all.

Groon led the charge, if it could be called that. The three goblins ambled through the snow, shouting crude threats and screaming, “For the Conqueror! For Gorchfygwr!” As they got close, and the yeti lifted his shovel, Groon stopped and let one of his subordinates pass him.

With casual ease, the yeti swiped the shovel at the approaching goblin, who lifted a scimitar to block. The metals met with a screech and crash, for just a moment, then parted.

Leaving the goblin petrified in the snow, jerking and gurgling.

Faddu lifted an eyebrow. That was interesting. The goblin hadn’t been hit, but was still incapacitated.

The other two goblins noticed as well, though interested would be a misnomer for their reaction. The smaller goblin turned tail to run, and Groon barked a command at him as he retreated toward the path.

“Leave,” the yeti said.

Stranger still, Faddu thought. That was a human accent. It held little of the harshness that the goblins were used to hearing.

Groon spat in the snow, and the glob sizzled. “You’s coming with us, yeti of the mountain.”

Again, the shovel lifted, and the yeti leapt forward.

So fast.

In a blur, he approached Groon, and the goblin flattened himself into the snow to avoid the swipe of the paralyzing weapon. As it passed, he leapt up and spat a glob of green-yellow fluid, following that up with a couple of dagger swipes. The yeti had no choice but to dodge.

Acid noro, from the swamp goblin tribes. Faddu was pleased that this Groon twit was at least putting up a fight. The more he saw of this yeti before approaching, the better equipped he would be to capture him.

Unfortunately, the battle didn’t last much longer.

Some goblins had deserted, one was still stunned from the thrown tree limb, two were incapacitated by the yeti’s shovel. Groon managed a single strike along the yeti’s wrist that sizzled and burned, eliciting a grunt from the calm white monster.

The shovel swiped faster, in a blur, but not for Groon’s head. For his legs. The goblin leader flopped to the ground, and lay still after a few spasms.

Faddu almost jumped down then. The battle had his noro pulsing through him, urging him to stand up and fight. He would have, if he hadn’t seen what happened next.

The yeti stooped, and placed two white fingers to Groon’s neck.

Checking for signs of life.

Having found what he was looking for, the yeti stepped over to the other goblins, the ones who couldn’t run off. One by one, he touched their necks, then yawned.

The goblin stunned by the branch stirred, grumbling and coughing. Faddu leaned forward in anticipation, as the yeti stepped closer, towering over the fallen goblin. Would he kill this one? Torture him? Question him?

The branch supporting Faddu’s arms cracked, and he slipped on the slick ice of the cedar branches. In the quiet after the battle, the break sounded deafening, as did his fingernails scrabbling on the tree bark.

Drawing shadows to himself, Faddu reached for a thicker branch, trying not to fall. Those pink eyes turned his way, and Faddu’s heart almost stopped as he caught himself. The yeti was looking right at him.

They met eyes, and Faddu held his breath. Noro rushed, and he willed himself to become shadow.

Become nothing, the absence of light.

As the yeti took a step forward, the goblin on the ground reached for a weapon. The weapon he’d dropped, a cutlass that looked very out of place in his hands. To his credit, he was utterly quiet.

Until he moved.

The yeti whirled, touching a foot to the goblin’s chest before the goblin could fully stand. Even that light touch was enough, it seemed. The goblin drew rigid, than collapsed in the snow, legs and toes curled tight.

When the yeti looked back, Faddu was gone, swallowed in the shadows of another tree. The yeti saw nothing, no movement, no cold fog of breath, nothing at all.

Just shadow.

After what felt like an eternity, the yeti shouldered his shovel and walked away up the path.

Faddu dropped from the tree. The snow crunched around his numb feet as he landed, but even in this chill, he had a light step.

Only half an hour till night truly fell. He’d have to hurry. But...

Even from here, he could see Groon breathing. Stomach acid dripped like drool from the unconscious goblin’s mouth. He almost seemed to be at peace, not pained or tortured by the yeti’s strike.

Why weren’t these goblins dead? Why hadn’t the yeti killed them?

It would have been so easy. Weapons of death lay in the snow everywhere. The blades were rusty, but perfectly good for killing. Yet the yeti had used a shovel, and perhaps a strange type of noro. He’d had much better control over his blood than, well, than Groon, who was drooling away his power in his sleep.

Such control. Such strength. Such grace. Such foolishness, to leave these enemies alive.

Foolishness that could be exploited.

Hugging to the shadows, Faddu followed the path the yeti had taken. He had nothing to fear. This creature was not a killer. Nor was he a yeti, not really. Just a creature in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Faddu would bring him home.

How many goblins would it take to bring down a yeti, in the end?

Seven.

A squad of six to fall to his shovel and uncover his weaknesses, and their leader to take him down, alone.