Daana’s first week of travel through the flatlands was uneventful. The long days were spent in the saddle crossing a seemingly endless stretch of flat tundra, following the horizon and Snag’s innate sense of direction. Daana’s steed was of the same bloodline as Wormy. The breed was native to the flatlands and fared the cold winters and limited nutrition better than their southern cousins. It was not uncommon to see wild herds of tusked, shaggy horses roaming the tundra as they traveled.

The horses were not the only creatures to call the open tundra home. In the last two days alone, Daana had seen giant elk, cinnamon-colored bears, and herds of small deer with antlers so ornamental they looked as if they’d been designed by an overzealous artist and not nature. There were also goblins. Lots of goblins.

On her own, Daana would not have noticed them. But Snag certainly did. He was on high alert at all times, announcing whenever he saw a glimpse of an ear or yellow eyes peeking out of a burrow as they passed. The goblins would keep their distance with Ashwyn in tow, he explained. Although the area didn’t get very many orcs passing through, goblins knew an apex predator when they saw one. Aside from a few looky-loos, Snag expected their passage to go unhindered.

Which failed to explain why, on the eight morning, Daana awoke to the shrill shriek of a flute murdering what might have been a song. It was some distance away, carried to them on the wind which, unfortunately, did nothing to damper its horrific sound. The butchered flute playing ceased after several sharp trills and the meadow grew eerily quiet once more.

Daana tentatively uncovered her ears, prepared to snap her hands back into place the moment the “music” picked up again. Her stare darted to Snag. “What was that?”

“Give me a minute here.” Snag withdrew the carved pipe from his pocket and responded with several piercing notes of his own.

“Good goddess.” Ashwyn rolled upright out of bed with a groan. She plugged her forefingers knuckle-deep in each ear, still wincing at every horrific sound emitting from Snag’s pipe. “Are we under attack? ‘Cause this is starting to feel like acoustic warfare.”

“No, we’re just havin’ a conversation. This is how different clans communicate with another. Now hush, I gotta listen for the reply.” Snag fanned his weathered ears like sails catching the breeze and listened.

Three sharp notes and a trill followed. Unable to read Snag’s concentrated expression, Daana asked, “Are they friendly?”

“Friendly?” The goblin swiveled his head at her, brows pressed together in disbelief. His answer, fortunately, had far less of a bite than his bared teeth would imply. “Of course they’re friendly, girl. What kind of question is that? Do you think a baddie would’ve signaled first if they intended to rob us?”

Heat flushed over Daana’s nose and spread to the tips of her ears. The sudden warmth stung against the crisp morning air. Overhead, the sky was overcast and gray. Dense blankets of fog swept across the open plains, herded by the wind.

“It could be a trap,” Daana said, attempting to offset her embarrassment. “Maybe they’re trying to lure us into a false sense of ease.”

“Suppose,” Snag conceded with a lackluster shrug.

His ears stood at attention when the flute sounded a third time, noticeably closer than before. Snag nodded along until the song playing finished. He responded with two sharp staccatos and a low, drawn out note before stowing the pipe back into the confines of his jacket. “They claim they just want to barter. They’re on the lookout for medicinal herbs and spices. Said they’re willing to part with some firebrew for hard to get stuff.”

“And if it’s a trap?” Daana said.

“Only one way to find out, girl.”

Ashwyn unplugged her fingers from her ears and repositioned them on either side of her forehead. Gritting her teeth, the orc massaged her aching temples with slow, deep circles. Despite an uneventful trip so far, her appearance was ragged, bordering on threadbare. She put on a brave face when she knew Daana was watching, but the disheartened sighs and dark rings beneath her eyes grew more prevalent with each passing day.

“You got all of that from a couple trills, Snaggy?” Ashwyn said.

“Nifty, ain’t it? I tried teaching your sister’s crew, but none of them had the ear for it. Just accused me of playing sounds to torture them.”

“You did play sounds just to torture them,” Daana countered.

“I mean, in the end, sure. But it didn’t start out that way.” He scurried over to his saddlebags and rummaged through them as he talked. “Now, our guests are probably just being nosey little fucks and wanna see what we’re doing this far out. But I brought spices just in case they intend to do some actual bartering. Stick to our story and watch what you say. Just because they’re not speaking to you in Utotrian doesn’t mean they don’t understand it.”

“Oh! I could practice my Laftak,” Daana said.

“Knock yourself out, kid. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good laugh.”

“I’m not that bad.”

Snag glanced over his shoulder at her, still grinning. “You should try asking them where the library is again. They won’t be expecting that.”

“Har, har, har.”

Once upon a time, Daana would’ve been insulted by Snag’s taunting. Her pride had learned to take a bashing since then and, on the grand scale of personal insults, his teasing barely made it on the board. With that said, her insatiable need to be a helpful, contributing member of the group was still alive and well, and demanded to be validated. Fortunately, there were other meaningful ways to contribute that did not involve making a fool of herself.

Breakfast, for example, did not require one to be versed in any language but hunger. And in that category, Daana was an expert.

She threw her warm bedding aside and ambled over to the firepit, ignoring the protesting twinge in her stiff legs as the cold seeped through her wool leggings. The fire from the night before had died down to embers, but it would do. Daana set the cast iron pan over the top of the glowing coals and filled it with water.

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Their campsite butted up against a solid wall of rock formation, sheltering them from the harsh winds that buffeted the land from the east. They were surrounded on all sides by a sea of yellow and brown tundra grass. The vegetation was tall, well over waist height, and provided convenient cover for the approaching goblins.

The wall of swaying tundra grass parted without warning, and a trio of goblins came traipsing through. They were small and thin, like Snag, with similar moss-colored skin and adorned with bits and bobs of jewelry. Unlike him, however, their faces were not creased from the decades of life in the saddle. Their hides were smooth and relatively unblemished. Daana wasn’t an expert on goblin age by any stretch, but she guessed the trio were on the cusp of adulthood. This was further confirmed by their choice of jewelry. A goblin earned each decorated band through accomplishment. As a result, it was the elders that often sported the more impressive body modifications. Snag claimed the young often used whatever shiny substitutions they could get their claws on to appear more impressive to outsiders.

If anything, it only made them look silly, but Daana supposed that probably wasn’t something worth pointing out.

The young goblins gave Daana a courteous once-over. Ashwyn’s visual inspection lasted a little longer on the account that there was more of her to take in, including the rather impressive array of weapons arranged on the ground around her. It was Snag who commanded the brunt of their attention. All three stared at him wide-eyed, unable to tear their gaze from him long enough to feign interest elsewhere.

It was just as well that Snag was handling the negotiations. Daana didn’t think the trio would’ve been able to break from their mesmerization had they tried.

Snag noticed this as well. He threw his hands in the air exasperation. “Oi! Are you here to trade or gawk?”

The bravest of the three edged closer, wringing his gnarled hands together. He spoke slowly, voice riddled with hesitance. If Daana’s Laftak was to be trusted, he said something along the lines of ‘are you him?’

Oh dear. This was the exact scenario they’d hoped to avoid. The flatlands still had an active warrant for Sbaglebrag Flint’s head. And while Snag had packed enough gold to ensure he could bribe his way out of a situation if necessary, he would be reluctant to part with it so soon.

Daana added two scoops of dried oats to the pan of boiling water as she watched the scene unfold with bated breath. Snag kept his expression perfectly blank. Alas, his response was spoken far too quickly for her to catch anything of significance. The young goblins all replied at the same time, gesturing with their hands as they rocked back and forth on sinewy legs, speaking over one another.

Snag attempted to quell their enthusiasm by switching back to the common tongue. “Nah, nah, nah,” he said, waving his clawed hand dismissively. “I know what bloke you’re talking about. But he ain’t me. Last I heard, that ol’ traitor was still causing havoc down south in the territories.”

“Traitor?” The smallest of the three piped up. She was the most curious-looking of the bunch. She had more fashion statements strung through her ears than anyone else around her, including Snag. Amongst her unusual collection of faux-jewelry were fish hooks, a lure, and what looked to be several modified spoon heads.

Spoon Ear placed her balled hands at her hips and marched up to Snag with the unearned confidence of a teenager. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! How long have you been out of the lands, huh?”

“Judging by his accent, too long,” one of the others added. He was the tallest, hovering an inch or two above Snag, but looked thin enough to get snapped in half by a light breeze. Twig, Daana decided, was a befitting name until she learned otherwise.

Snag’s lower jaw trembled as he fought to keep the fury from his face. He was failing, of course, no matter the effort he was putting into it. “Are you here to trade or not? You’re wasting my time.”

The third, yet unnamed goblin shared an eager, needle-toothed smile with the others, earning himself the nickname Smiley. “He even speaks like a realm dog. The words flow right off his tongue all pretty-like.”

“Well if he’s Snaglebrag” — Twig tilted his claw in Ashwyn’s direction — “that would make this one the protector, yeah?”

Spoon Ear turned in Ashwyn’s direction and bowed, dipping so low her jeweled ears swept across the trampled ground. “Your Majesty.”

Ashwyn was unable to contain her snort of laughter. “No, mate. Far from it.”

They obviously didn’t believe her as, if on cue, the trio’s attention shifted to Daana with the sort of wide-eyed reverence she’d only ever experienced in fantasies. It was downright beautiful. Underserved, too, as the goblins had obviously mistaken her for the notorious elf huntress, Ellisar Farrow. Daana decided she wasn’t going to waste her breath correcting the misconception — and no, not simply because she liked the attention.

Denying the accusation would be too obvious. She would have to divert their attention through more creative means.

Daana folded a handful of dried berries into the pan of simmering oats. “You all look hungry. Care to join us for breakfast? I made extra.”

“Extra? What are you talking about extra?” Ashwyn glared at Daana’s single pan of breakfast as if it’d personally offended her.

Thanks to Daana’s culinary exploits, the crisp morning air was now laden with the warm smells of toasted oats and berries. A touch of cinnamon and honey would have elevated the meal beyond its simple means, but Daana had neither on her. There simply wasn’t room for such extravagancies when it came to life on the road.

Ashwyn folded her arms over her chest and scowled. “I could eat that whole pan by myself.”

So much for her brilliant plan to distract the goblins from uncovering Snag’s identity. Daana swallowed the expletive that threatened to roll from her tongue and settled on a sugary-sweet reply instead. “Could you?”

“Yeah.”

“The whole pan?”

“Yes.”

“Well you’re not supposed to eat the pan, are you?”

Having fallen silent during the exchange, the trio of young goblins burst into snorts of raspy laughter. Overcome with mirth, they switched back to their mother tongue and carried on a conversation of their own. Judging from the abundance of finger pointing and knee slapping, the three were deciding what inedible object the big dum-dum orc would try to eat next.

Ashwyn clicked her tusks softly. Her unamused gaze settled over Daana with a weight that could be felt from across the fire. ‘You may have saved our hides, but your ass is mine’ the orc’s dark eyes promised.

Daana shuddered, certain she would feel the full brunt of Ashwyn’s wrath during their next training session.

It wasn’t fair. She’d only tried to help — and succeeded, by the way. The goblins’ attention was no longer on whether or not Daana and her companions were wanted fugitives of the realm. And yes, admittedly, Daana’s strategy had taken a cheap shot at the ‘stupid orc’ stereotype that Ashwyn despised with every bone in her body, but it’d served a purpose! Thanks to Daana’s swift thinking, she, Snag, and Ashwyn were no longer on the cusp of being turned over to a higher authority.

Despite all the very good arguments weaving through Daana’s thoughts, Ashwyn’s stony expression suggested that she wouldn’t care when it came time for payback. Perhaps the orc would feel differently if Daana could lower the trio’s guard even more, possibly enough to get information. Surely even Ashwyn couldn’t punish her for gathering intelligence.

Daana removed the pan from the coals and set it onto the cooling stone. “Who’s hungry? Where I’m from, guests eat first.”

The goblins eyed her up and down suspiciously. It was Smiley who edged a hair closer, sniffing the air. “Is that ‘cause it’s poisoned?”

Daana’s brow furrowed as she considered the best way to handle his slight. Attempting to correct the goblin wouldn’t get anywhere. He was a teenager, after all, and taking flack from a stranger had never been any teenager’s strong suit. Daana would know, she’d been a teenager far longer than most people her age.

Shrugging, she offered the pan to Ashwyn instead. “Good news. I guess they’re not hungry. More for you then.”