As I observe from the edge of the forest the situation goes from bad to worst. Two hunters? Warriors? Wave their hands and point towards Boar Valley shouting at their companions to make them believe what they have found. They have three, at least, captives with them and for some reason that is enough. Then one throws something to the ground, fetches his spear, growls at another to follow and storms off towards the forest. The other two follow as well. I wonder if I am about to attack Lord Hob’s allies. I shake this off, no Laughing Tusks Allies will join the Farm while desperate Blood Suns may be more favourable to the idea. I am sure Lord Hob would agree with my judgment.

I scramble backwards on hands and knees and then sprint along the edge of the forest, jumping over a fallen tree trunk, ducking under several low branches, I need to be in position. Panting slightly, I lean up against a tree under shadow, the four approach my location head-on.

I steady my breathing and draw back on my bow; the feathers of the arrow tickle my ear. I release at who I think is the leader. In his rage, he stumbles! The arrow takes one of the two who first reported to him in the chest, he screams in pain and then falls silent. I nock another arrow, the three Laughing Tusk goblins dive to ground. The leader scrambles back until behind my first kill for further protection. Stalemate. I could release, which is what they want, my chances of hitting low, while my number of arrows limited. Those still back at the camp take cover also, shielding themselves behind the bodies of their still alive captives.

The dead goblin rises! No, the leader has grabbed the corpse as a makeshift shield. I scan for an opening and then the two on either side of him sprint off, left and right and I try to target them … this is his plan … indecision and then outflanking. The moment the two flankers are in the forest I act, bow over my shoulder, spear in hand charging. His head is down, he doesn’t expect this as he is the decoy. I am three body lengths from him when he looks up. While I don’t yell my footsteps aren’t silent during the charge. He tries to heave the body at me and even at full speed I dodge, although he spoils my aim. He swivels to grab his spear, now behind him, the one fatal miscalculation for an advancing decoy. I continue my charge and instead of going for his spear, he turns around to face me, flint dagger to hand. My spear runs through his chest as I follow his body line in a late attempt to dodge. The physical shock of spear hitting flesh pulls up my charge. I shake my head and pull on my spear. The few blobs of black blood oozing from the wound a minor distraction – red blood flows in gushes …

I look up after several moments to witness four goblins rise from behind their captive shields, grabbing spears. I awaken to the truth; I am in a battle for my life now and with frantic effort pull on my spear trying to free the weapon. The black blood pooling around the body registering yet again my life is more important.

At last free. The four aren’t charging they are beating off the captives. I rush towards them, allowing myself a free thrust at the closest. Not waiting any longer than to pull my spear out of his flesh I strike another. The last two realise I am amongst them and with frantic desperation try to push away their captives and free themselves to face me. The third hunter falls with my spear in his chest, a captive around his legs wearing a bloody smiling face. The last thrusts his spear towards me while I am trying to free mine, I choose to release and jump back. It is his last triumphant grin. Two captives now free, wielding stolen spears stab him in the back from opposite sides.

The two flankers are now charging back towards their camp and my spear is stuck. With calm grace, the grip of the bow quickly rests in my hand and with one smooth motion, I nock an arrow. Release. The first is thrown back an arrow sprouting from his chest. The second dives to the ground. I charge, bow in one hand, flint knife in the other. He looks up and I see his eyes go wide considering his dilemma, stand too soon and my bow comes into play, stand too late and I will be inside his guard, his spear useless. I am close, so I slow my charge sheathing my dagger and nocking an arrow.

“She-bitch,” he spits out.

His eyes dart left and right and then fear fills them. He throws his spear away and is on his knees. I don’t hear his words as several spears stab into him. His former captives, smiling in triumph stand on either side of me.

“We need to make all of these disappear, somewhere in the forest is probably best,” I say. The words are to no one in particular, yet one of the captives returns my spear to me while the others wander back to the camp.

“You best bind your wounds before you bleed out,” he says and turns to join the others.

The first is easy to locate, there is wetness near my waist, near my baby bump I realise … dropping to my knees I wipe the sweat from my forehead with my arm thanking my luck and I stare at black blood instead of sweat. I didn’t feel a thing in battle, thinking their strikes clear misses …

No point dragging the closest ones to the forest, so I join the captives in the camp. Two captives drag a body, one at each leg towards the forest.

“What’s in the boiling pot?”

The captive with the bloody face answers, “They were about to start cooking.” She shows me a black bloody grin. “Their leader wanted to eat first, and you are looking at boiling water instead of a stew.” She cackles then, breaking out into a belly laugh.

I slice several strips from their linen clothes and throw them in the pot and then dip another spear into the water, boiling as much length as possible. Satisfied, I fish out a couple of strips using the boiled end of the spear and wave it about in a cooling action. I twist the first using the spear shaft as a stay to wring out any water and then wrap and tie it off over my waist wound, shallow yet bleeding. The second I do the same and tie the cloth strip around my head to stop the bleeding from my scalp.

I glance around on instinct, a pair of eyes stare at me.

“Why do you do that?” The blood smear on her head nods towards the boiling water.

“My husband told me to, he calls it infection. Boiling helps kill it, and your wounds heal instead of festering.”

“Can you bind my wound?” she asks.

I grab a strip and prepare it, then use a cloth to wipe away the blood. With the bloody bruise exposed I apply another strip.

There is one body left and I grab both heels and head towards the waiting group of captives with the dead Laughing Tusks goblins.

“This is one of their temporary postings, they don’t go into the mountains but place a watch on them,” she says as we join the others.

I jog off to a virgin part of the forest, break off a couple of branches and return to hand them out. “Please use the leaves to rub away the body drag marks as best you can, the better you do, the safer you will be. We will need to free carry these through the forest.”

The former captives groan yet don’t otherwise protest.

Early afternoon and the first lift to the start of the game trail is complete. Fortunately, Tor and a couple of villagers venture out searching for me. With everyone’s help, the bodies are piled up in the cooking pit, including all their weapons and camp goods. They have disappeared, although some rain would help seal this.

“I apologise.” The Head Goblin blesses me with a curt bow.

All I can think of at this moment is I should be tired, yet my body is bouncing around ready for more …

“We need to find a set of stairs. They will be narrow and winding … easy to defend. I am also told there are dead ends.”

After an extensive search, one set of winding narrow steps leads to the sanctuary. Five others lead nowhere. The food stores are found quickly as everyone races about trying to explore this wonder in the middle of nowhere and claim everything.

“To me,” I shout.

Tor is beside me as is his daughter and granddaughter.

There is grumbling and return shouts asking why. I meet each of them face to face and stare them down with either my eyes or spear point until they are silent.

“The food will run out unless you ration it. Many others will discover this place no matter how you try to keep the secret, after all an entire village is on its way now, yes Head Goblin?”

He slowly nods.

“This is at best a safe place before you need to move on, nothing more. I have heard the mountain pass is the destination for some, especially those trusting world guide Pud here.” I fling a hand in his general direction. “I propose a different destination, as another option for you to consider.”

The villagers fold their arms the captives step closer.

“North of here there is a slow winding river, once you find this river travel West unless until you find a branch flowing North. Cross the river and continue North until you find a wooden path, follow this until you reach the Farm of Lord Farmer Hob Klug, my husband.”

Several villagers march about, raise their fists and shout out words like absurd, betrayal and lies. The captives are quiet and thoughtful. As the din dies down one of the captives raises her hand, bandage around her head.

“I have never heard of a Hob taking a wife, do they do that now?”

“No, my husband is different.”

“What a stupid question,” retorts the Head Goblin. “The village wishes to stay with the original agreement …”

“If you wish. I am simply offering an alternative.”

A different captive raises his hand. “Why is the Hob Farm better than the mountain pass?”

I lean on my spear to gather my thoughts. “I know the Farm, my husband and when I promise you a welcome awaits you and safety, I know I can keep that promise because I know my husband. Who knows anything about what will happen to anyone who crosses the mountain pass? Pud? Your chance is now.”

“We agreed to get the villagers to the mountain pass, they need to walk through without us. I don’t know anymore …”

The Head Goblin tosses his head about. “No! The safer journey is to the mountain pass. The journey to the river means trying to avoid Laughing Tusks and others, impossible!”

I smile. “Head West as if you are going to the mountain pass and then once beyond the Blood Suns tribal lands journey North. The river runs the length of the valley. You will know you have gone too far West when you spot a hill, from across the river, the only one in the middle of the valley, or if you miss that sign you will walk into Head Village.”

Laughter. Genuine unexpected laughter, including a couple of chuckles from the villagers.

A shout out asks, “Will you be guiding us?”

“No. My husband has given me a task to do and for his glory, I will complete it or die in the attempt.”

I note my statement kills any lingering mirth.

The mother faces me and asks, “You are pregnant are you not?”

“I am far from giving birth …”

“What of the dangers of battle? Even now one of your wounds …”

“I will be more careful,” I reply. “Tor, I leave Pud in your care. All his and his partner’s treasures are mine, but you can claim a fair portion for your efforts in keeping Pud safe and guiding future visitors after fully explaining their choices. Unless there are any more questions I must leave now. Pud I intend to take the villagers passage through the brambles so either you or a villager will need to lead me to this end’s entrance.”

“I will take you.”

I smile at the Head Goblin. “Why?”

“I owe you more than an apology and doing this I feel makes as even.”

“Well lead off, I will be on your heels.”

---

Somehow, I thought this a ruse to betray me, but I stand in front of a wall of brambles, which he says hides the entrance.

“Well?” he asks for the third time.

I wish to be Koria, for this moment … “You will need to show me.”

He points to a particular place in the wall. “You will need to pull the bundle back towards you.”

I approach and try to pull a section towards me yet there is no real give.

“Lower,” he advises.

I bend over and try again, although this time I position myself so I can glimpse his shadow, which is longer than usual thanks to the sun sinking in the West.

“That is where it should be, perhaps lower, on your hands and knees and try?”

I feign to drop down and fall away to one side, somehow losing my balance. A flint knife swings by striking nothing and he overbalances as a result. On my back, I kick out at his ribcage, my reward a loud crack. He falls away stumbling, grabbing at his chest until he collapses.

As I roll to my feet I ask, “Why?”

“Goblins can’t trust a Hob, that truth has been in place ever since they first arrived. Your death would have saved many.” He coughs, black blood splatters upon the ground.

The broken rib has pierced at least one lung.

“I think you’re dying … you probably should have waited until my hands were on the bramble.”

“Ha-ha, the joke is on you this is nowhere near the bramble gate, and I did enjoy ogling you while bent over and after, on your hands and knees lowering yourself before me! High and mighty Hobs’ wife!”

My leg acts before my brain considers the ramifications. I kick his head and it doesn’t spring back. I stomp away a short distance hands clenching and then stomp back and somehow find my foot crashing down upon his neck. There is no cry of pain, no protest and no personal satisfaction. I will lose time needing to backtrack and request another guide while facing the somewhat difficult conversation of why. A scream forms in my throat …

“Duzsia, is your anger quenched? Am I safe to approach?”

I look behind and under my eyebrows. Tor. “Yes.”

He pulls on a rope and Pud stubbles forward. Pud immediately points to another location along the wall of brambles. Does his hand tremble? This part looks no different to any other, yet I test, and a section comes away.

“Thank you, Tor, thank you Pud. Can I trust you to take care of the Head Goblin?”

“Honestly is best, we will take the body back and retell everything, they can choose to believe or not. I think the former captives will side with me due to their gratitude to you, so we will be safe for a while until the rest of the village arrive.”

“A goblin like him will have enemies and if not that, then others envious of his position,” I offer.

I duck through the gap and pull the bramble section back into place behind me. Peering back through the hedge and the Head Goblin’s body, Tor and Pud have disappeared from my view.

So much time lost, this is my chance to make it up, the Chief would need to lay low to avoid Laughing Tusks’ patrols, while I can sprint in perfect safety.

---

Why did I stop to rest? A swig of water, a brief close of my eyes, nothing more … In an instant each death replays in my mind, the shock and surprise on their faces, black blood spilling … my hands shake. I open my eyes and my hands are covered in their blood, I flick them, the blood remains … there is no escape. I curl up into a ball and roll on my side and then I remember no more.

---

Children’s laughter. Impossible.

Pressure on an eyelid, a haze of light blinds me. A pull on my ear. Giggling.

“No fair when I pull on my mother’s ear, she wakes up yelling …”

“Try again while I flick her nose …”

I growl, “I wouldn’t if I was you.”

“Nib and Mika away from the strange warrior girl erm woman, stranger. Now!”

“Argh, mum you always spoil our fun …”

“Nib, now run to your mother and tell her what you’ve been doing, all of it and I will check up to make sure.”

Small feet pad lightly away as I right myself. A mother has a child standing in front of her, both arms protecting the young goblin.

“I apologise for any offence they are young, and we didn’t think while in the tunnel we would meet anyone else.”

Climbing to my feet, I notice the mother slide a couple of steps backwards and hear her breathe in deeply. I place my bow crossways on my back like always, check my quiver and finally pick up my spear and waterskin.

“You are tall,” she blurts out.

I take a step forward, my eye line is slightly higher than hers, nothing more.

“You are tall, I am the tallest female in the village …” she trails off.

“Growth spurt …”

She nods, her head agreeing her face disagreeing.

Three older males rush up behind her and then stop and stare at me, their eyes needing to crane upwards. They are shorter than the mother, therefore …

I do remember picking at the stores in the cave each time I chased down a villager or a captive for the meeting, did I eat a lot then? I am still hungry now, so probably not then.

To break the silence, I ask my question. “Have you seen three Blood Suns Warriors, one would be in absolute command, they should be heading East?”

Their heads shake slowly from side to side.

“We don’t want any trouble, just to pass by, that’s all,” says the bravest.

“This is morning? Dawn?”

They nod.

“Can I ask a favour? Can you ask your people to lean against one side and I will sprint down the other? I am late.”

They nod, one of the male goblins flicks another who runs off.

“Thank you.” I sprint down the bramble tunnel, occasionally having to shout a warning but in the main, I pass the thirty or so goblins in quick time and continue. I don’t notice any blood on my hands, real or imaginary.

---

Crawling on my belly I am now under a hedge with a direct line of sight upon the village below. It appears deserted and undisturbed. Huh, there are jugs of mead set out. If the Chief came by here, I am certain they would be the first to be claimed. Perhaps he didn’t take the mountain way. Am I depending upon jugs of mead as my only and therefore absolute undeniable piece of evidence? The state of the village though, not burnt out suggests Laughing Tusks haven’t found this village, another impossibility.

My present hide is the culmination of a late afternoon arrival, quick distant observation to survey the village, and then an overnight stay in a small grove near a stream. Now, after spying out the perfect vantage point at dawn and an early morning crawl to position myself there and the subsequent wait, I am deciding if jugs of mead mean my search is over. Am I going crazy? I do know, with the various delays, my two-day allowance is over. Do I wait some more, or do I go? Do I try to sneak deep into Blood Suns lands to continue the pursuit?

“What of the girl asking about us?” says a gruff voice.

I almost let my water go …

Then there are a couple of tinkles further along the hedge and I squeeze down until they stop. Then the sweet sound of leather bindings being tied reaches my ears.

“Asking, we don’t know her reasons, and even after beating on a few in that valley none knew.”

“Kog, keep watch, my turn.” Unlacing of leather and then tinkles.

A slap and then a yelp. “Watch out!”

“No, my good battle partner Muz you watch out. Jugs of mead!”

“What? Where?”

“Tuck it away and lace-up, left side, front of village …”

“Wait both of you.”

There he is, a voice of command, the gruff voice now authoritative, Chief OuzOuz?

“Nothing is down there, this is a good spot to watch from, hedge for cover on rising foothills above the village, empty clearing beyond the village. Someone here could call a warning …”

“Good assessment Muz. You stay and stand watch, Kog and I will investigate and if clear we will be sure to bring back some jugs for you.”

“Chief? Why me? A good assessment needs a good reward … don’t it?”

“Next time.”

A loud slap on armour. “Sorry battle partner the Chief has spoken …”

They crouch within a couple of body lengths of me and thankfully dash off to the next piece of cover, the remains of a shed, then inside through a collapsed wall and I lose sight of them. There must be a drop there. I wait. They dash to the corners of separate cottages working their way forward until the Chief slides along one larger building, the jugs on a table across the path from him. I leave them there. A footfall warning me that Muz is also following their progress and is stepping along the hedge towards my position drawn by the thought of reward. Also, it must be said my position in the hedge superior to any other …

I slip my flint knife slowly out of its sheath.

“Huh?”

Muz stares directly into my eyes and begins to open his mouth. I stab with all my strength aiming for an eye socket hoping for anything.

A cottage shattering scream blasts my ears and echoes off the foothills. My knife handle is sticking out of his nose, which means the entire blade length impales through the nasal passage. Hunched over like he was he rolls back taking the knife with him. I scrabble forward crawling over his body unsheathing his dagger along the way beating his pawing hand by a heartbeat. He then tries to roll to one side and as he does the flint dagger, which I have pressed against his throat slices him open from ear to ear, the cut far superior to anything I could have done. He gurgles while trying to swat me with his errant fists and I throw myself forward over his head. He thrashes, gurgling as I fetch my bow and spear from the hedgerow.

I am expecting the Chief and Kog any moment yet there is no movement in the village and the roofless shed is quiet.

My single thought, I need to pee.

A battle roar draws my eyes to the village, Kog throws a jug away and I hear the crash. He guzzles from another while advancing through the village towards me. OuzOuz though is where? I rush to the corner of the shed. I figure the Chief will need to adjust if I have relocated and I can’t allow Kog to reach me. I aim for his head, by luck or instinct my arrow hits the jug of mead he drinks from, shattering it in his face. I curse and so does he.

I release again, he begins to charge, and the arrow takes him in the leg. He growls and pulls the arrow out without breaking stride. I send another, chest, the arrow falls away. Not the chest, his armour is too strong. He is closing and there is a wide smile upon his face. This can mean only one thing. I release as he flings his head back to yell a victorious war cry or something equally useless. I don’t know and I don’t care. Immediately after I release the arrow, I jump down the drop. His shouting ends before I land and roll to return to my feet.

“Bitch!” growls the Chief.

Welcome and eat this, are my thoughts as I release an arrow. He ducks behind the shed wall. No time for fear as I run half the length of the terrace, there are two more below me, each one slightly wider than the one above. I can’t spot Kog’s body where it should be if he died. I realise while scanning around for Kog and the Chief, the terraces run the width of the village but still can’t make out their purpose.

A gurgling cough from the terrace below warns me as a body length away Kog is trying to climb up, his hands on my level his biceps straining with an arrow transecting his throat. I don’t look away, but ensure my peripheral vision can catch any movement above my terrace. Kog is living on borrowed time … this must be a diversion and I play along. Quickly I place my bow, a loose arrow and my quiver a body length behind me and then reach for my spear, the spear point hanging towards the mead berserk.

A flash by is all the warning I get, and I swing my spear point up. OuzOuz is impressive, his right-hand grasps my Lord Hob’s ransom, in his left hand a plain flint dagger, yet I know the damage they can do. His entire body is leaping airborne towards me. While the chest is the easiest target, I assume the Chief’s armour is as good if not better than Kog’s and instead target higher below the neck and between his collar bones planting the spear butt on the ground.

His eyes grow wide, as he realises what is waiting for him.

The spear point tears through his upper chest the point sticking out of his back. As his body continues to slide down the spear shaft, he drags his daggers with him and realising the danger I release the spear and roll back favouring my right-hand side. The flint dagger impales my upper right thigh his grip dragging the weapon down slicing through more muscle. I scream in pain. The bronze knife, shorter than the dagger clips my left boot, slicing through the covering, the side of my foot and the sole of my boot before impaling the terrace, my scream continuing.

OuzOuz hits the ground with a thump my spear passing completely through him, the shaft glistening black from his blood.

Kog’s climb up the side of the terrace is about to finish with him flopping his chest forward. I shuffle my bottom across to the edge of the terrace and aim my bloody foot at the arrow sticking out of Kog’s neck. The shaft turns and the hole in his neck winks at me. His face locks up as he weakens. Losing muscle strength his body slides down the side of the terrace, his chin and the feathering of the arrow clip the edge rocking his head back and destroying his throat and neck.

OuzOuz shakes his head trying to recover; notes his empty left hand and glancing at me realises I have his flint knife in my thigh. He pulls the bronze knife out of the ground and pushes his torso up on arm strength, rises to his knees and then gains his feet. His determination, rejection of death intimidating … what do I need to do? My water is about to release.

The Chief greets me with a black blood smile, I can see blue sky through the hole between his collar bones as he lumbers forward another step. He can’t possibly breathe; this effort must be from mead induced willpower. My right-hand reaches out for my bow, and I grab the loose arrow as well. He staggers forward another step, now level with my boots and I nock the arrow. He draws back his arm and strikes down as his body falls forward. I release my arrow two arm lengths from his face and then roll right until the terrace wall stops me.

Silence.

I roll back and can’t roll again, OuzOuz body is prone beside me, the flint arrowhead poking out of the back of his head, and I can no longer see Kog. My pain reminds me I live …