“What do you say, One Stone?”
“You keep getting into trouble,” he said.
“I’m just helping a goblin whose teeth have been knocked from his mouth eat some lunch.”
“All right. Go make a fire.”
“There’s not supposed to be any fire,” Preemie said. “We’re not supposed to make any sound or smell. The humans might be out there with dogs, and whoever stole our horses and food could be tracking us. She keeps breaking our rules. She keeps complaining about Noe. Don’t talk to her anymore, One Stone.”
It struck Thistle that Preemie might have been the one who had told Noe about her comments to Wren. She faced the boy.
“What’s your problem with me, Preemie? What did I do to you? We’re on the same side.”
She knew she could shame him by revealing his having frozen up outside the walls.
“You’re as bad as your brother. You won’t fall in line and do what you’re told.”
“You can say what you want about me, but don’t bring Spicy into this. He did more to save us than anything you ever did.”
She felt instantly bad when he flinched as if she had struck him.
“Look, Preemie. We’ve been through a lot. What we’re doing now isn’t normal. I know you’re trying, but so am I. And right now, all I want to do is make a wounded warrior some soup. Can you help me with that?”
But Preemie just put his head down.
“One Stone, go help her make a fire,” Noe said. She was sitting just out of sight around the base of a large pine. She leaned forward and held out a small pot. “Take this. Make your soup.”
Thistle climbed over and grabbed the pot. “What’s going on here? Why the meeting?”
Noe sat back and closed her eyes as if she were trying to sleep sitting upright. “They’re deciding if we’re going to continue with the raid.”
“And why aren’t you there with them?”
The goblin woman let out a scornful laugh. “This coming from you? They’re also deciding if I should be the one to lead after last night. Now get out of my sight. Your voice makes my head hurt.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The council continued to deliberate.
The fire snapped and popped. Several goblins had placed their own pots at the flame’s edge, each filled with water. Ingredients were shared. Soon there simmered several batches of makeshift soup consisting of pine nuts, bitter herbs, rosemary, and pieces of goat meat.
There wouldn’t be enough for everyone, but Thistle had her broth. She fed some to her patient.
A hunter cooking alongside her sampled his work and nodded. She was surprised when he passed her his soup.
The flavor was underwhelming. The dish needed more time and salt, but she slurped down a few warm spoonfuls and even chewed on a piece of gristly meat with relish before giving it to a waiting goblin crouched behind her. When the pot was empty, the aspiring goblin cook added more water for a second batch, adding a few chunks of fresh squirrel meat.
They had been at their camp for more than a couple of hours, but still no news was shared from the gathered officers.
Her patient finally slept peacefully.
But Thistle was tired of waiting. Was there any way to correct their course? As much as she didn’t relish the idea of facing Noe again, she had experience in curbing anger, whether it had been Somni’s sullen funks or her mother’s memorable rages. Her mom always returned to something of a normal mood with time, but this process could usually be accelerated by a cup of herbal tea.
She took an empty mug someone had left near the fire and filled it with a ladleful of soup. Then she walked to where Noe still dozed.
Thistle crouched before her and set the mug next to her and waited.
Noe’s sharp eyes opened.
“It’s soup,” Thistle said.
“I can see that.”
“You need to eat like the rest of us.”
Noe sipped and appeared surprised at how hot it was. She noisily chewed the few morsels of meat before draining the cup and handing it back.
“Will this be something you add to your journal?”
“I’m not out to see you fail. What happened to our horses and supplies?”
“I don’t need you to rub my face in the fact that we lost all my preparations.”
“But none of us got hurt. It was the same humans who were in our camp. They’re different than the men in the village.”
“They’re all our enemy.”
“There might be something more to them. I spotted one when I fell behind yesterday. The men near Mother Mountain worshipped the dragon. Maybe they’re like them. They run barefoot. The man I saw tied a tiny fetish to a tree after the last of us passed.”
“A fetish?”
Thistle studied the woman’s face. “I refuse to believe you don’t know what that word means.”
“Watch your tone.”
“You and your husband have a library at your disposal. I hear the words you use. You don’t speak like a simple hunter who can’t be bothered to know her letters.”
“You pride yourself as better than us because you’ve memorized a dictionary. Tell me, Thistle. When you were inside the village last night, who did you see among the human dead?”
“I counted over fifty slain,” Thistle said.
“Any soldiers?”
“It’s like the last village. I told Gelid and Ramus this. None of their able fighting men were there.”
Noe jabbed a finger towards her. “But that’s fifty who won’t grow up to fight us a decade from now. Mothers who won’t bear more children to their zealot husbands. Last night was a victory. Losing eight was a small price to pay. We need to stomach such losses. We’ll find their soldiers and face them. Of course we risk losing warriors. But this is why we’re here.”
“We had a number of them sealed up in the chapel. They were burning them alive. Is that what you want?”
“The result is the same. And if there’s a second band of humans stalking these hills, we’ll kill them too.”
“How many will be enough?”
“What kind of question is that?”
Thistle fought to keep her voice even. “I know you want all the humans dead. That’s not possible. You know that, right? But now I’m starting to suspect you want to fill my book with the names of our fallen. That will give you something to carry home to motivate those who wouldn’t fight alongside us.”
Noe stood to lean closer. “You think you have me figured out. A list of martyrs won’t solve what ails our people. My desires are far simpler than that. I want to see every human pay for what they’ve done to us, and I’m not just talking about the raiders who attacked your home.”
“Then be smarter about it. Our band won’t weather the losses if you spend goblin lives like they’re seeds scattered on rock. You attacked without scouting. We should have known about the geese. We went after that group of soldiers with the sun in our eyes. I’m no student of military matters; Somni only had a few books on the subject. These are just the facts obvious to me.”
Thistle prepared herself for another assault as she watched Noe’s face cloud over.
“It was brave of you to come talk to me,” Noe said. “I wish you were a warrior so you could fight by my side. Perhaps I need to seek counsel before acting, but there won’t always be time for it. And I stand by my words with you earlier. If you speak about me and my command with others, it undermines me. I won’t tolerate it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’ll deal with regrets later. See to your wounded. I’ve been waiting too long and will speak with my officers.”
Once Noe joined them, the meeting with the goblin leaders concluded quickly. Thistle had barely made it back to her patient when a whistle signaled for everyone to gather.
Noe stood at the center of the ring of her officers. Gelid and Ramus and the rest all wore stern faces and were either kneeling or seated.
“We’ve suffered ou
r first deaths,” Noe said, her voice carrying. “It stings. But we’re strong enough to bear the losses. I regret we couldn’t bury those who fell. Tonight, we rest here. I’ve tripled the guards as there are humans in the hills. There will be no more fires. We have few provisions and will have to make time each day to gather, but our bellies will be mostly empty. More of us will die.”
She paused to survey the crowd. She glossed over Thistle as if she weren’t there.
“But the decision is made. Chief Gelid and my officers and I speak with one voice. Tomorrow we move. Those wounded and those who wish to return home may do so. I’ll detail a few volunteers to assist. The time for any protest is over. The soldiers we don’t kill in the winter will be at our doors next spring.”
Noe’s eyes fell on Thistle.
“For any who return home, no less will be thought of you. Those who fight with me tomorrow will be remembered.”
When the group of officers rose to disperse, Wren was among them. She had lost track of him and hadn’t realized he had joined the council.
Thistle fell in beside him. “Why were you there?”
He was reluctant to face her. She knew the body language. Spicy would do the exact same thing when he was hiding something.
“Chief Gelid needed my input on the wounded we have with us. How fast we can move with them. What kind of care they’ll need.”
She waited for him to continue but he kept walking. She stepped into the limping goblin’s path.
“Spill it.”
“He thought it would be best if we set up a camp where we can send the wounded.”
“That’s…actually a good idea, although it means he’s expecting more.”
Wren’s face still looked like his mother had caught him stealing honey candy.
“What is it, Wren?”
“Noe liked the idea too. And she’s going to put you in charge of it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I don’t need to explain my order to you,” Noe said. “You either carry it out or you go home.”
Thistle hurried to keep up as Noe marched through the camp. Thistle’s foot caught on a reclining goblin and she stumbled.
“Watch where you’re going,” an irritated voice snapped.
She apologized and tiptoed around several other goblins who were trying to sleep now that the council was over.
The raid was bedding down or eating even though the sky still held some light. The snow had abated but a biting wind made standing exposed uncomfortable. Noe didn’t appear bothered by the cold as she squatted by a group of goblins who were eating and passing a bottle.
“I’m proud to have you serving with me,” she said to them as Thistle caught up. The youngest among the group beamed, and the goblin Thistle recognized as the teen’s father gave him a one-armed hug around the shoulders.
“We’ll be ready tomorrow,” the father said. “No more tears from this one. A long night’s rest will do us all good. May the moon be with you, Noe.”
Thistle cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”
Noe was up and moving to the next huddled circle of goblins. “You’re not cut out for this.”
“You were ordered to take me along.”
“And I’m following my lord husband’s command. It’s not like you’re being sent home. I’ve given my order to you. All that remains is for you to obey. I’m sending five guards with you to watch the wounded and protect you. You’re to find a place upstream from here.”
“Wait. Why isn’t Wren in charge?”
“Because he’s coming with us. He’ll do whatever doctoring is needed before we send the wounded up to your camp. If you have further questions, ask him. But at dawn tomorrow, your detachment moves out. Now get out of my sight.”
Noe’s demeanor and voice changed as she crouched. “I wanted you boys to know I saw you climb that wall. It was brave. We might not have succeeded if you hadn’t shown such courage.”
Thistle felt numb as she thought about what she was being asked to do. She had already been caring for the wounded, including Wren. But this assignment felt like she was being cut off. Her purpose with the raid was to tell the tale. It was what she had trained for. But with Noe’s order, Thistle realized she was now to be shunted aside to perform nursemaid duties while the warriors went and fought.
She regretted having criticized Noe. The words had come tumbling out. With her gone, Noe’s future mistakes would live only in the memories of the survivors.
The camp was dark by the time she returned to her bedroll. The fire had died to almost nothing. She was tempted to stoke the embers to get a few moments of warmth for her cold hands, but it would violate the new camp rule.
She would follow the rules, for the moment.
She jerked awake at the sound of a scream. It was a sharp, echoing cry and she was unable to tell from what direction it had come. The sky was cloudless and resplendent in a light hue of blue as the night’s stars faded. She had allowed exhaustion to overtake her and the sleep felt good, but the haze in her mind wasn’t easily shaken off as she climbed out of her blanket and crouched, tilting her head to listen for the sound to repeat itself.
The guards were whistling to each other. The sharp bird cries went back and forth a few times before they went silent. A pair of goblins trotted past, their soft shoes barely making a sound as the warriors scampered over rocks and roots. The goblin with the knocked-out teeth was also up and clutching his spear.
A whispered message was passed along the camp.
“We got one of them.”
Thistle headed towards the source of the message. A warrior motioned for her to stop and go back but she ignored him. Just outside of camp, a party of goblins had gathered, crouched in a copse of saplings. They held their bows at the ready and studied a clearing ahead of them.
She tried not to breathe as she crawled up the granite rocks behind them.
One Stone was with the group. “Thought he could sneak up on us,” he said excitedly.
“Not so loud,” one of the older hunters hissed.
But One Stone kept talking. “Thought we wouldn’t hear him. Thought we wouldn’t see like last time. I showed him.”
After a minute passed, Thistle grew impatient. She stood up to survey the open rocky ground past the trees but didn’t see anything. But then in the increasing light, she saw a few dark flecks on an open face of granite.
She sniffed the air. Blood.
“Who did you see?” she asked.
One Stone looked surprised at her presence. “You don’t belong up here.”
“Did you hit someone with an arrow? Was it a human wearing furs?”
He grinned, showing his sharpened teeth.
She cursed under her breath and strode out into the rocky clearing.
“Wait, where are you going?”
The other hunters whispered at her to come back. One Stone hurried to catch her but she surprised him by motioning for him to be quiet. A trail of blood led away into the shadows. The tall shrubs ahead could have concealed a dozen humans. But the stone at her feet had a fresh chalk drawing on it. A line of three tiny stick figures inside a circle.
“Thistle—”
“Describe who you saw.”
“Human. Pale. Painted skin. He was drawing.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Pants, a fur vest, not much else. Come on, we have to get to cover.”
“Was he carrying a weapon? And did he have shoes?”
One Stone pointed to where a bare foot had stepped on a few of the blood droplets. “He had an axe or club. No shoes.”
The trill of a killdeer sounded from behind them. Thistle took a last look at the scene before returning to the edge of their camp.
Ramus crouched with the sentries. He gave both Thistle and One Stone a look of disapproval. “You know better than to break cover.”
“But Thistle was the one who—”
He raised a hand to silence him. “What did you see?
”
Thistle spoke up. “It’s the same human who was following us. He drew something on the rock. Earlier, he hung a small stick figure in the branches after we passed.”
“There has to be more than one of them to have taken the horses.”
“Ramus, you have to tell Noe that they’re out there. We can’t split off. But we also can’t attack them if there’s a chance they don’t mean to hurt us.”
He ignored this. “It looks like we drew blood. No one moves from camp unless ordered. Understood?”
Both One Stone and Thistle nodded. Ramus left them. Thistle watched One Stone. She wanted to ask him about the previous night at the village and the chapel fire, but she held back. Had he been merely following orders? Was he so driven by revenge that such actions didn’t bother him? She was forced to wonder, if Spicy were here in his place, would he have been capable of burning the humans alive?
“You have duties,” One Stone said, clearly irritated with her.
Her duty was to record what was happening, not tend to the injured. But there would be no point in correcting him. She took a final glance at the clearing before heading back.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
If I could burn away every human from the face of the world, would I?
They moved out within the hour.
Thistle was instructed to assist in bringing the wounded along. The plans to send those requiring medical attention away had been changed without comment.
Thistle was left to guess that Noe had reconsidered her plan after the fresh contact with whatever humans were stalking them.
They still avoided the road, and the narrow trail the warband followed was ill-suited for such a large party. They were forced to march single file. It meant they were spread out and vulnerable. But finally they descended into a clearing at the base of a hill. Noe and a large group of warriors were missing by the time Thistle arrived with the last of the injured. A quick head count revealed thirty had gone off with no explanation.
Thistle pored over the list of names of the fallen. When she pondered the task of recording all who had perished in Boarhead, she shut the notebook.
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