( Yor POV )

We can’t stretch this any longer without it becoming obvious as a distraction.

We’ve given Kali as long as we can. If he hasn’t betrayed us. Or fled. Or been imprisoned. Or killed. Or forgotten what to do.

This was not my plan.

Jormund strides into the centre of the clearing, axes in both hands. The Headman doesn’t move. I’m not sure he’s even blinking. He’s watching, learning, looking for weaknesses in our champion.

He’s not scared.

They circle for a few moments, as is traditional for single combat, but it’s not long before the Headman breaks the stalemate. The goblin seems almost impatient; he’s fought duels before, and he’s used to this game in a way Jormund isn’t. Still, Jormund blocks his first flurry easily enough, and dodges the second. I feel a momentary rush of pride: I trained him well.

But it’s already clear to me that the Headman is better. He’s a little faster, his moves a bit more economical, he attacks and defends in every motion. If he weren’t smaller, weaker, and worse-equipped than Jormund, he would already have won. A nagging edge of doubt begins to worry at me. I cautioned Jormund against believing his own legend, but now I suspect I might have made the same mistake.

Then, just as I’m really starting to panic, Jormund takes the initiative, and drives the Headman back a half-dozen paces with a blistering whirlwind of slashes. The big goblin dances back, but I suddenly realise, as Jormund has already, that the little bastard is used to fighting other goblins. He’s used to being bigger and stronger than his opponents, rather than faster and more agile. He fights accordingly, and his retreat isn’t quite swift enough to escape a human’s reach: Jormund catches the hunter with a slice that half-splits the Headman’s thigh open.

They circle again, but one is limping, blood staining the sandy earth into clumps.

A whisper of fear rises from the gathered throng. Everyone knows that it’s over, now. All that’s left is the killing, whether it be quick or long.

Time to prepare for what happens next.

"Be ready to rush to Jormund’s side the moment their headman falls."

Silent, terse nods let me know that both Forgu and Ralnt have read the situation as I have. Then, suddenly, a dust cloud rises from one of the entrances. The goblin crowd stirs, uncertain, a murmur of panic filling the air. To his credit, Jormund doesn’t even shift his gaze for a second, but then, he knew it was coming. The Headman doesn’t so much as glance away, either, which is even more impressive.

A shame he has to die, one way or another.

Then, the air fills with dust as the other hollow entrances collapse, one after another, and the goblins begin to panic in earnest. Time to move.

I don’t see the Headman go down, but by the time I reach Jormund the goblin’s champion is already dead, head lying three paces from the corpse. Although most of the goblins are too preoccupied with escape to think of hunting us in the dust-clouds that have enveloped the scene, a few blunder into us. We’re prepared, they aren’t. More goblin blood churns the ground to mud. And then the howling of wolfkin fills the air, and the rout is begun in earnest.

More chaos. More unsuspecting death through sand-filled eyes. More goblins die, surprise and terror etched across their features.

By the time the dust settles, it’s long over.

"I was expecting a fight. Anyone hurt?"

"No fight here. Only slaughter."

I turn to Ralnt. His face is grim, he looks unhappy.

He’s covered in blood, but a moment’s inspection shows it’s not his. Similarly, Jormund and Forgu have emerged practically unscathed, prepared as we all were.

"Only a few goblins put up resistance, most panicked. No organisation, no tactics. Taking out the Headman first was far more effective than we’d expected."

"And that’s it? We defeated the entire goblin horde in what? Twenty heartbeats?"

Ralnt snorts.

"Twenty four."

The clearing is a scene of carnage. Our hunters dot the edges of the bloodbath, but it’s clear that the Wolfkin have done the bulk of the killing, unimpeded by the dust-choked blindness. Their howls echo through the woods, hunting down stragglers, or at least preventing any nasty surprises.

We’ve done what we came to do. It’s not quite the glorious victory I’d hoped for.

Back to the matters at hand.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Alright, party. We’ve still a job to do. Let’s track down the back entrance, find Kali and his kin before some ravening wolfkin eats them."

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( Zane POV )

I pry my eyes open. It would be easier with a crowbar.

"Sir? Sir! Is everything alright?"

"I’m… I’m fine, Anno. Just tired. Again."

I roll upright, and perch on the edge of the pod, face in my hands. Perhaps I can keep the LEDs from burning my corneas for a little longer. But no, I shouldn’t worry Anno so. He gets so upset.

"Right… right. Is Jade online yet? John?"

"No, sir. Or rather, it seems like they are still logged into the game. Very unhealthy!"

"Shucks, still? The hell are they doing? Probably still dealing with the fallout of battle, knowing them. Given their intent to keep a light hand on controlling the tribe, they seem to spend a lot of time in vicarious micromanagement. Still, I don’t think I screwed too much up in my command."

"Oh, sir! You were simply marvellous, sir! We didn’t lose a single wolf or human! A few wounded, naturally, but none critically so!

Ah! A message has just arrived from John."

"Go on?"

"Ah… he says to get some sleep. He says there’s nothing so urgent it can’t wait until the next meeting."

Dagnabbit.

Well, I shan’t complain. I’m so damn tired that I might just sleep inside the pod. Actually… Yeah, I think I’ll do just that.

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( Kali POV )

I follow grandfather towards the battlefield, the smell of blood hanging heavily in the air. He decided that I should accompany him to the negotiations. Apparently Kali is a political animal, now, horror of horrors.

"So, my wandering ankle-biter, who is it I shall be negotiating with, hmm? If ‘negotiating’ is the right word. Perhaps ‘pleading’ might be better, hmm? Terrible, quite terrible, but nevermind. So, these leaders, who are they?"

"Jormund speaks for the humans, I think. He did when there was just the hunting party, although Kali makes no assumptions. Perhaps he has a different standing in the tribe in total. And the wolfkin are lead by one called ‘the Alpha’."

"Of course he calls himself Alpha. That’s hardly a revelation, young one. But how shall I recognize him?"

The rebuke stings a little, because I knew it was obvious. Grandfather is still sharp, and it can cut both ways. Kali shouldn’t forget it, not after years of working with fools! Do not speak before I’ve thought!

I’m halfway through formulating my answer when a third shadow joins those at our feet. Larger, furrier, and much, much quieter. Also terrifying.

"Kali, good day. I see you still live, for which I surprise myself in being pleased! And your elderly companion?"

"Ah… Trai. It’s… nice to see you’re alive, too. This is my grandfather. He wishes to clarify, formalise, shine light on the details of our arrangement and which promises will be, ah… honoured. Could you escort us to the Alpha? It would be even less sensible to walk alone amongst wolfkin now than before, I think."

Trai nods. It goes unspoken that, if any wolfkin had not developed a taste for goblins before, they most certainly have now. But Grandfather is sharp, and sometimes quicker than Kali.

"Actually, wolfkin, it would be ever so appreciated if you could escort me to the wounded, first. Details can wait, but the wounded cannot, eh?"

It’s hard to understand wolfkin facial expressions, even with a mind as cunning as Kali’s. I can recognise disgust, hatred, and disbelief, though, very well indeed. And now, I think, I can recognise surprise.

"Uh… Of course, of course. We have wounded, none serious, but the care of an actual healer would help greatly. And… I suppose it might buy you some bargaining power, too, eh? Clever."

He leads us around the outskirts of the camp. Wise, to avoid risking us. Wolfkin are always hungry, even after a feast, or at least hungry enough to munch a stray goblin.

"Tell me, furred one, how did you know me to be a healer?"

"Oh, subtle clues, here and there. The smell of dried herbs, the way your eyes appraise the plants we step over. The fact that you wear more pouches than any sane wolf would need. That sort of thing."

Grandfather looks down to his belt and the many pouches that hang from it.

"Hmm. That’s fair."

He looks away, eyes distant. Hopefully he, too, will now bear in mind that wolfkin can be cunning as well as strong. Don’t underestimate them.

We cut into camp, now, and find a group of bivouacs, within which lie the most grievously wounded of the humans and wolfkin. Given the devastation I’ve visited upon my people, the casualties are almost nothing, but no doubt painful nevertheless. No goblins lie beneath the leaves. If there’s any prisoners, they’re us.

Still, this does not deter Grandfather for a moment. He does not see human, wolfkin, goblin. He sees sick, wounded, whole. He sees work to do.

"Who is in charge here?!"

Up until now, nobody has taken much notice of us, but there’s now some consternation. It was wise for Trai to accompany us. Still, some of them recognise me, and some recognise Grandfather as a healer. A young human joins our trio, brisk and angry.

"What is going on here? Why are there goblins in the camp, Wolfkin?! I’ve told you people, if you must eat your captives, do it where I can’t see it!"

She is talking to Trai, ignoring us entirely.

"Bah! The young are always foolish and disrespectful of their elders, no matter the species, it seems! I am here to heal your wounded, and you would do well to listen rather than talk!"

"An Elder?! You’re a damn goblin! You live in a hole in the ground and steal food from other tribes who are smarter than you! Don’t you dare touch any of my charges, I won’t have you packing their cuts with mud or any of your goblin nonsense! Wolfkin, fetch Jormund, have him deal with these damn hollow-dwellers, but keep them out of my way!"

Grandfather has turned a most alarming shade, a green so dark that you might not see him amongst the undergrowth. I have only seen him so angry when the hunters tried to stop him from leaving the hollow to forage for herbs. I start backing away.

Only fools stand too near a goblin medicine man when he is throwing a tantrum. And Kali is no fool.