Another errant branch scratches my forearm, this time drawing beads of black blood and I manage to refrain from cursing my sister-wife or otherwise blame her. I look behind and sigh, there is a vague tunnel through the twisting branches of brush, one, my aching arm cut wielding my flint knife. I absently rub my arm in the hope of instant recovery. There is no way the Chief and his bodyguards fled this way without hacking a path and therefore leaving an obvious trail. I sigh, admitting to myself, their trail could be a stone’s throw away given the thickness of this evil vegetation.

I decide enough is enough, I am heading out. No more journeying parallel with the mountain range and cutting my way through the vegetation as well as the occasional fun of climbing over or detouring around ravines. I am going down, North, out of the mountain range to a gentler everything. If by chance the Chief did choose this way, my new path should cross his, I hope. Surely the Chief wouldn’t be a greater glutton for punishment than me and venture even higher into this doom of a mountain range. Decision made, a burden lifts from my shoulders and I need to resist the urge to stretch out tall to physically reset as well.

Struggling to turn around at first, I slow down and once free of the barbs backtrack along my tunnel of pain. I don’t rest and climb to the top of the last ridge I crossed. A crisp cool breeze caresses my cheeks as I take in a long deep breath, my arms reaching for the sky. The trees are sparse and the evil bush absent; I don’t know why and too tired to care. A swing of water and I climb one of the trees, a trunk of bends and twists, surface roots gripping into any available soil, one splitting rock.

From my perch the northern view before me is perfect, I need to follow this ridge down its entire length. Scanning East and towards possible destinations, the mountain range is in a word, tamer. I smile in relief. I linger for several moments longer, the warm bright sun above me instead of being hidden by vegetation. The endless sky allows my eyes to find and follow the wide and meandering river to the North, flowing East, which separates the Blood Suns from the Laughing Tusks as well as other tribes, I am sure. There is a lush forest on either side for most of the way until draining into a lake or lakes and then beyond I spy the great plains. Endless they are, forever. A shiver rolls down my spine as I realise, this valley we call home is a small part of a wider world and I wonder what is out there … who is out there.

---

Mid-afternoon and at the end of the ridge proper the vegetation is green and healthy, not clinging to life and bristling with barbs plotting vengeance on those who, if they wish, can leave.

“Who goes there?”

The shout an instant order to my body to freeze, no point in creating any more noise to give my position away. Next, I crouch to present as small a target as possible, while still being able to react. Inwardly I curse myself, my escape from the accursed vegetation lulling me into a false sense of relaxation, my usual huntress caution found wanting.

“You sure you heard something?” The voice feminine.

“Yeah!” Anger in his response. “These ears have never let me down.”

“Spread out and circle,” she says in a whisper, yet I am close enough to hear.

Blood Suns and Laughing Tusks hardly ever arm and train their females, hunting and war not for the weaker sex as far as their males are concerned. The other three tribes though not so squeamish about such things. The question my life depends upon is, do I think any of those three tribes would have sent their warriors or hunters into the foothills of the mountains. When I left the Farm with Lord Hob and Koria those three tribes swore allegiance, could I trust such an arrangement to still hold? Goblins sniffing for power turn nasty, the politics within the Flint Arrows, an internal contest for power yet no different from these tribes playing the same game with Lord Hob.

I don’t have a choice and shuffle further into cover and wait.

Before my eyes two boots land, thick soles, neat stitching draws together the neat cuts of soft leather, rising to below the knees, soft leather pant legs tucked into the tops. Swallowing, I consider I may need to slay the boots’ owner. That means being close, probably their blood spraying on me and if I don’t mess up, possibly witness the light of life leave their eyes. I slay prey from a distance and afterwards skin and dress the animal, red blood doesn’t bother me. Spilling black blood up close, the inevitable struggle, possible pleading … Koria’s supportive presence and the distance of separation from the Farm making my first kills of goblins away, beyond my immediate ownership. Their blood not on my hands, I did as my sister instructed. Collecting the arrows difficult, yet once dead, any corpse, animal or goblin doesn’t protest. My mind rattles through what I have faced, trying to prepare me for the next possible step.

My rock throw is accurate, luring my prey – not goblin, not animal, I silently chant. Kill or be killed, therefore prey. Her boots move, spreading apart an alert response I also use and by design, given my throw, the toes of my prey’s boots face away from me. I rise out of cover, left arm around the shoulders, right arm, the hand gripping my knife at the prey’s throat.

“Drop your weapon or I slit your throat,” I hiss, mustering as much threat in my voice as I can.

There is a thunk. I assume a weapon, a guess on my part but none would search for a possible enemy empty-handed.

“How many with you?”

“Ten,” she hisses. “You may slay me if you wish but your death will soon follow.”

I chuckle, trying to exude confidence. “Lies. Another and I will cut out your false tongue. How many?” False bravado on my part, but ten? She should have chosen five or maybe four …

“Three, we are nothing, have nothing,” she whimpers.

“Call to them.”

“Father! Daughter! Don’t hurt them …” she pleads.

Her call isn’t at the top of her lungs, displaying caution. Not the actions of someone safe and secure, although my knife on her throat could be the issue.

A young female goblin sprints into the clearing from the left, an older goblin rushes in from the right. These are her ten companions surrounding me …

“My name is Tor … the friendly, we are on our way elsewhere, no-ones, release my daughter and we will run away, and you will never see us again, I swear.” His hands reach out in front of him cradling air, eyes pleading. His crude knife, a flint piece bound to a length of wood hangs off his belt. The young female under my gaze throws down her fire-hardened tipped spear.

“In your travels have you seen three warriors, one would plainly be in command, and they would be in hurry. Blood Suns avoiding detection, probably willing to slay any who come across their path.”

The young one’s bottom lip quivers as she looks to the older goblin for reassurance.

“We haven’t, we thought you a rabbit or the like otherwise we would have hidden,” says my captive.

I shift my grip around her shoulders, stalling for time while trying to think.

“Let my daughter go and you won’t see us again …”

I ignore his plea. They haven’t said but I suspect these are runaway Blood Suns, except they lack the smell of mead about them …

“Are you Blood Suns?”

The old goblin straightens, his mouth opens for a moment before smiling. “No, certainly not, traders caught up in something, not of our making …”

“Pity.” I then tense my right arm preparing to draw the blade back.

“No!” he shouts. “We are … we are Blood Suns, our village ransacked by Laughing Tusks, although most in the village escaped before they arrived and could only look on from a distance as the smoke rose …”

“Surely the Laughing Suns would have searched …?”

He grins. “Yes and no, any mead in the village, not much I grant you left in plain sight. We thought to get them drunk or addled and perhaps they would leave well enough alone. Worst case the distraction would buy us time to escape into the mountains.”

“Mountains?” I spit the word out with a vengeance.

“Argh, so you’re familiar with them? Not pleasant but refuge until our food ran out and then most left in family groups, all trying to avoid the conquerors.”

“Where are you heading?” I ask.

During our conversation, the wily old goblin has been shuffling forward … waving his hands to distract while sliding his feet. Nice trick. Obvious though since his granddaughter has remained statue-like in place.

“Anywhere, everywhere, most of us talk about a mountain pass into the next valley …”

“I wish you luck.” I release my hold on my captive, who runs into the arms of her father. Recovering quickly her face turns to look upon mine, assessing, judging …

Her daughter joins them.

“Thank you,” says the father.

I don’t sheath my knife and instead, wave it as a salute of sorts and turn away …

“Wait!” calls my former captive.

I turn back and wait.

My former captive opens her arms, palms up. “We haven’t much but we can share if you are hungry?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Do you know the whereabouts of a narrow valley defended by a giant boar?”

The old goblin glances down at his daughter. “Yes. All know to avoid that place of death except for the desperate …” His forehead furrows as a certain thought drops into place.

I chuckle. “The beast has been slain and I am certain the caves are full of food so visit to restock and then continue your journey.”

“How do you know this?” he asks.

Do I reveal who I am, is this boasting purposeful?

“My husband slew the beast.”

The teenager rushes forward before her mother can stop her.

“He must be the greatest of warriors! You … you are married to him?”

I smile. “Trust me, go there and then start your journey.”

“We have … well the valley is half a day away.” He points East.

“Lead on,” I say.

“You wish to join us?” asks the mother.

“I prefer travellers taking the same path for mutual protection …” I reach down not knowing what to expect, glad my face isn’t visible to them. I pick up her stone attached to a wooden handle type club and hand the weapon back to her.

---

They lead and we retrace their steps, leaving them only when needing to pass into the valley entrance. Old-growth Forest, alive with vegetation, green and certain to contain much game, including boars stands before me. I know this place isn’t the actual forest of the Flint Arrows, yet the sameness strikes at my heart and a wish to return briefly overcomes me.

“Stay, I will confirm what I have been told and return.”

I take to the forest locating a game trail and stealth along for a distance; wait undercover and listen then repeat. Dusk is approaching when I make my way back to where I left the family. My ears pick up conversation and I crouch, listening.

“Folly, who says the boar is slain? We only came here to camp because of the valley’s reputation, planning to have our first worry-free night of sleep. If others know they will come looking and if the boar is slain the refuge will be lost …”

“She says her husband!” I recognise the voice of the granddaughter goblin.

“Husband! Lies. We will set our camp a ways over there, you can join us or stay here and wait for this wife of a mighty warrior husband if you want.”

The group which marches away is more like the ten the mother told me they were, so I wait for quiet and then sneak up to the three.

“Tor,” I hiss.

“I hear you. Wait. Someone approaches.”

“We were told by Lig the boar was slain. Stop spreading that rumour now. Many villages are planning to use this valley as a rest stop on their way to the mountain pass. Once rumour of the boar gets out the Laughing Tusks will come to investigate and catch many families and close this way for good.”

“Ouch. No need to hit an elder, we hear you, no more rumours …”

“Good!” he replies and then stomps away.

I tap Tor on the shoulder, and he jumps. “Sorry.”

“After his punch, I didn’t need the surprise that is for sure. What now?”

“You can’t stay here. Grab your things and each hold onto a part of your granddaughter’s spear, Tor you grab the end of my spear. I will lead us into boar territory, but we need to hurry before night falls.”

A brief wait and then I feel a tug on my spear.

I jog with the family in tow, the dark of night falls quickly due to the foliage cover and natural shadow. I estimate we are about halfway there by my reckoning. Good enough to prevent the family from being questioned by the larger group and a good start point for tomorrow.

“Stay together and ease yourselves off the game trail and shuffle about until comfortable, sleep where you end up.”

There is no reply except the faint rustle of leaves and branches. I do the same and then all is silent, as we try and sleep.

---

Bird song wakes me into the pre-dawn, glorious and wonderous. I examine the undergrowth across the game trail and the family did well, with no obvious sign of their presence. With that assurance, I backtrack and listen. None follow, perhaps they thought the family moved on during the night, I can only hope. I track back to the family and notice movement.

“Tor, stay alert while I scout ahead.”

He pokes his head out from under leafy branches. “Will do. None followed then?”

I shake my head and set off. Out of sight of the family, I inspect the game trail for boot or feet prints and find none. After searching for a good time under the dawn light I race back.

Hearing voices and pulling up in an instant, I am not fast enough to avoid being spotted.

“Hey, you! Stop! What are you doing on this trail and where is the family?”

“Yeah, I track real good, I know you took them with you!” calls out another.

The family lay under cover between them and me, otherwise, where the tracks reduced from four sets to one, they would have found them.

“They feared you even after promising not to spread the rumour, so I led them down this game trail and then hacked through the forest to find another so they could leave the valley. I am just returning to make certain no one follows.”

“Well,” says the first who then smiles. “Looks like you found us … and … my friend and I would like nothing better than to look after a young lady like yourself, isn’t that right Pud?”

“Yep, yep for sure.”

I have a bow strapped to my back, a quiver of arrows hanging off one hip and I lean of a spear with a copper spearhead. What tells them I am interested in their offer; let alone how do they think to force me to be interested?

“I am sure you are both too busy for me, those you accompanied here must be missing you by now …”

“Well yes and no, they have to wait for us.” He chuckles and his backhand taps Pud on his chest, who giggles.

“Yep, you can say we are the hired help, and they depend upon our guidance. You can’t believe how many goblin-folk don’t go beyond their village all their life and know nothing about the big wide world …”

They step closer and I lower my spear.

“Now girl, careful you may poke your eye out or worse, you should pass that dangerous thing to me so I can look after it for you.”

“Come and take.” I shake the spear.

He turns and smiles at his companion, and I don’t hesitate. I charge. His eyes go wide, while his companion’s arms flail about. Both going with flight, back peddling and then turning and sprinting. I jam the spear between Pud’s legs, and he nose dives into the trail.

“Tor jump him,” I shout, as I sprint by and chase after the other.

He looks over his shoulder at my shout and the slowdown of the action costs him. My spear is between his legs and with his head in a half-turn looking back, his crash-landing heavy. I pull up beside him and shake his shoulder. No response, although his head flops about. I sigh, taking a deep breath, I didn’t intend death. Looking over my shoulder Pud’s eyes bore into me despite Tor and his family sitting on his prone body.

Making eye contact with Tor, I say, “Accident.”

He nods as I approach Pud, placing my spear point upon the back of his neck.

“Search his friend, he should have many valuable things on him, including his clothes, boots and pieces of leather armour.”

“That’s stealing,” squeals Pud. “We earnt them things fair and square for guiding folks.”

“Bone needles,” reports Tor. “Flint arrowheads, two leather cutting knives, several copper squares, gemstones.”

A voice erupts from behind me. The mother. “You scum, those things represent livelihoods, how can the folks survive after you guide them!”

“They didn’t have to …” Thump. “Oof!”

I turn to see the mother readying another stomp. “One is enough, he doesn’t know any better …”

Her boot hangs over his back and then drops to the side. “I say he still deserves more …”

“What’s this,” asks Tor. He waves a piece of leather between his fingers, with squiggles written upon one surface.

“Show me,” I ask. “Hold the thing out in front of me please, my hands are full at the moment.” The entire family laughs at my poor joke and I join them. The release of tension, a relief.

As I read, the grip on my spear tightens.

“Ouch!” yelps Pud.

I glance down and my spear has drawn blood. I release and place the spear tip on the middle of his back.

“Do you know about this Pud?”

“No, all he said was it’s a surprise.”

I look over the script at Tor. “This is an agreement of sorts. For paying off the debt of escorting an entire village Pud and his friend are entitled to choose any two from the village at journey’s end to serve them for five years.”

“Oof!”

I look back, the mother throws me a sweet smile.

“How many more need to be escorted Pud?”

“Answer her or I stomp again you scum!” growls the mother.

“Not the ribs again …” he whines. “The first came with us, the rest will follow using a map to get here, safe because of the boar. Then the plan was to take smaller groups to the mountain pass.”

Tor resumes his body search of Pud’s partner.

“Why is travel from the village to here safe?”

“The villagers cut a path through the mountain brambles …”

“Why didn’t they all just follow?”

He tries to raise his head, can’t and lays it down again. “What if noise brings Laughing Tusks, what if they can’t carry enough food and water for the slow journey, what if any get injured. Only need ten or so to hack at brambles in turn, while we guide them and carry water.”

I shudder while remembering. The partners can look out while on top of a ridge and correct the direction of the work and then they would resume. This valley an exception because there is no slope or rise the further you venture in. It is like a giant hand came down from above and scooped out the soil between two ridges leaving behind a special place surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs.

“How many other villages Pud?”

“What? Don’t understand …”

I nod to the mother.

“Oof!” he screams. “Not the ribs, hurt.”

“How many other villages?”

“Two, maybe three, not sure.”

“What made you think there were more?” asks the mother.

“A hunch. They are guides, they need work while they can get it and if one village works out why not ask others. On my way here I passed by two hundred Blood Suns heads on posts, all males.” Mother and daughter gasp and I don’t blame them. “By any measure, you would think there can’t be any more Blood Suns left. So, I doubt the Laughing Tusks or any of the other tribes are going to be searching in the mountain brambles for what they believe are twos or threes trying to escape. I think our well-travelled friend here knows this as well, either overhearing Laughing Tusks chat or possibly one of the other tribes. Does it matter?” I finish.

I look up, “Tor.”

“Oof!” sighs Pud.

The mother again, I don’t need to look.

Tor looks up from his pile of treasure.

“How many villages in Blood Suns tribal lands, near the mountains?”

He shrugs. “No one knows except perhaps the Chief or his agents. They collect mead and leather armour in exchange for his protection.”

“Alright time to go. Bind our friend Pud and escort him and the treasure back to the valley entrance, avoid the villagers though. I am going to quickly confirm if the boar is slain or not and then sprint back to catch up to you.”

Tor nods and then stares at me. “Do you have a name?”

“Yes. Duzsia.” Then I am sprinting down the trail, hopeful I find a large cooking pit and not an angry boar, nature after all doesn’t like an empty boar territory.

---

Returning to the valley entrance, I only need to walk in the direction of the loud voices to find everyone. Tor and the villagers must have found each other.

One goblin, I assume the Head Goblin is shaking his head from side to side to the point he could lose it.

“The deal is off, this scum and his dead partner can no longer honour the terms, your village is free,” says Tor, while waving around a piece of leather, the piece of leather.

“While one lives, he can guide us. We pay him both shares.”

I lean on my spear trying to ooze confidence while trying to ignore the dance of butterflies in my stomach. “Firstly, you should all lower your voices or follow me into the valley proper if you have to shout at each other. Second, your guide is my prisoner, his crime, attempting to have his way with me. I will also add now, his partner’s death was an accident, but my actions did kill him. Therefore, his share is mine regardless. So, any arrangements you had with your guides are now mine, to agree to or not.”

No matter my swagger, I think I overreach, but they need to call me out otherwise I am going play this until the very end. That end different to the original as envisioned by the scheming guides.

The Head Goblin looks back over the villagers before facing me. “You, a girl, alone bested our two guides? Pfft!” laughter erupts from behind him while he smiles wide and points at Tor and his family. “They obviously helped, and you, my girl, probably bait.”

“Pud, did I need any help to overcome you and your partner’s stupidity?”

“No,” he whispers.

“Louder Pud or I will ask Tor to stomp on your ribs.”

“No,” he says loud enough for the villagers to hear, but not a shout. He is aware we aren’t entirely safe here and I take his free advice to heart.

“Tor and family, escort Pud down the game trail. If the villagers want to discuss future arrangements, they can follow or wait here until they starve.”

The villagers press forward as Tor heaves Pud away.

I thrust my spear into the ground, flick my bow from my back and have an arrow nocked before they can even gasp.

“I am better with a bow than a spear. If you doubt my skill with a spear let us ask Pud. Pud?”

“You didn’t try to kill us at least …”

The Head Goblin replies, “We will follow, what other choice do we have?”

“Good. Follow Tor. I will scout around a bit and see if your shouting attracted any unwanted attention. Oh, and it goes without saying, but I will say it anyway. When I return, if Tor and his family aren’t alive and free and Pud isn’t alive and their captive, I will be most upset.”