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  [Marrok]

  The cold woodlands as they descended the upper slopes were barren of everything a roving goblin band wanted. Fresh meat being the most important. Discontent had continued to grow as the band made their way and Marrok was beginning to get worried. He dreamt about being challenged, of course he would kill them, but the very thought of being challenged was worrisome enough.

  He still pressed them on, descending quickly, eager for the fertile lowlands that he knew were there.

  Once they made it, they could breed and in the summer, he would rain hell upon the settlements in the foothills. Nobody climbed the northern face, and Marrok hoped the surprise attack would take them unawares. There were many villages in the foothills, and plenty of targets ripe for the taking. If he were lucky, he could push his tally into the two hundreds.

  But that was a ways off. And now, the most important task was to keep everyone alive, even the ones who were plotting his downfall. There were always goblins plotting his downfall; that was their way.

  The goblin band marched onwards, and several hours later, the sparse cold tree-land gave way to a boulder field. Marrok would have been disheartened at such an obstacle, weren’t it for the bright green forest that loomed upon the other side.

  The choice now, go through it, or go around it. If he chose to go through, there was no telling how many would trip and fall, never to get through the rest of the way. There was no-way a goblin could carry another over such bad terrain and, tough though they may be, they were small and if injured they might remain trapped within, starving to death. But if he went around, he didn’t know where he would end up. They were running out of food, and to leave sight of salvation was a blow many of his band might not be able to take. Perhaps it would be a short detour around the field. Perhaps it would lead to a cliff, a dead end.

  In the event, the choice was simple. Goblins were self-centred creatures, and going through the field would fill more of Marrok’s desires, he didn’t really care if a few of their number died, in the process.

  “Forward, through the boulder field!” he called out, in a strong commanding tone. “Let’s pick a careful route through, watch your feet, tell anyone if you discover a loose one. And look to the horizon my brothers. Salvation beckons us.”

  It was slow going, as Marrok had expected, but he hadn’t dared to imagine how slow.

  By nightfall, the band had scarcely made it a fifth of the way through the field, and he was concerned. Already, three of their number had fallen, and it looked like the easy part had been first.

  Pitching the camps had been difficult, the rock ground making finding a place to rest disastrous. Still, they had managed, finding a spot where the rocks were small and could be shifted away. They had had to make do without a fire; no wood to be found, and that meant a hungry night.

  As Marrok stared out towards the forest, he knew they would have at least one more night between the rocks. A night without food and short on sleep.

  Sighing in frustration, he rolled onto his side, shuffling around to find the most comfortable spot and closed his eyes.

  Sleep was long in coming, but eventually the lady claimed him, and he got some rest.

  When morning broke, its pale rays scattering between the cold grey rocks, and bringing with it a measure of warmth, Marrok felt chilled down to his bones. Waking up seemed as if it was down to luck, and it was a long time before he felt right. His blood seemed slow, as if it had thickened with the cold, and his muscles protested any movement.

  Breaking down camp took several times longer than usual, but at least no-one had perished in the night.

  Without breakfast, the goblins continued onwards, carefully picking their way through, and by noon they could begin to see individual trees. With excitement speeding their actions they continued pressing forwards, and as if by some unspoken decision, everyone knew they wouldn’t be stopping to make camp until they had reached the tree line and their future.

  The Wier woods had been tainted, but a new home summoned them.

  Dusk took hold in the final stretch, and it seemed as if the one God had truly kept an eye on them, for throughout the day and into the night, not a single goblin, tripped, stumbled or otherwise injured themselves. With joyous hearts, the goblins made camp beneath the shelter of vibrant trees and slept well on the soft loamy earth.

  Marrok felt relieved and proud. He had made the right decision. It was truly coming together. He couldn’t wait for summer.

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  Lying down on the comfy earth, he knew he would sleep well tonight. If only he had had some dinner…

  Even a chieftain sometimes had to go without.

  Dawn bloomed and the goblins rose early, keen to get started. Sleeping on the warm earth had rekindled their spirits and Marrok didn’t hear a single disparaging comment. He felt good about that.

  Still, the growling of his empty stomach tempered his mood.

  Food!

  Food was definitely the first order of business.

  “Everyone… gather!” he bellowed. They ran to follow his command. Grouping up into sub-bands.

  “Goblin scout bands one, two and three. Do your jobs, I want to know everything about this land, and our recommended borders by nightfall. If you see any food, grab it, we’re short.” He pointed at each one in turn and they scurried off.

  Once they had departed, he continued. “War bands one through five, food duty. Warbands six through ten, get that earth broken down.”

  They too scurried off, about their business.

  “I need the women, to start setting up a permanent camp, and children, we need firewood. Don’t stray too far, the dry ground wood will be good for now, we’ll work on cutting down some trees later. Let’s go everyone…”

  Once all the bands had dispersed, going about their jobs, Marrok was free to do what he wanted, which in this case, was hunting. Unlike the bands, he wasn’t after food, he was after a challenge, and he hoped to find one nearby. Getting food would only be a bonus.

  He grabbed his hatchet and crossbow, slinging both across his back, before belting on his small skinning knife; the leather sheath, stained black with blood. His recent activities only adding to it.

  Trekking through the frosty morning grasses, soaked Marrok’s skin boots and he felt his toes numbing with the cold.

  He forged onwards, pushing through the trees, and across the mountainside, in search of prey.

  Marrok lost count of the number of rises and falls he crossed, but soon the camp was far away, out of sight and then some. But he knew he wouldn’t get lost. Goblins had an excellent sense of smell, and he would be able to track down the camp with ease.

  A few deer crossed his path, but he left them alone, it wasn’t a challenge to kill a deer, and without any brothers to help carry it back it would be a waste. He needed something that would put up a bit of a fight, a deer wouldn’t do. He was hoping for some wolves or a bear or something. A predator! Not a prey!

  The trees started to thin again, giving way to rocky outcroppings and small boulder fields. Marrok was contemplating giving up on this route and turning back. Perhaps towards the foothills?

  He sniffed, something catching his attention. What was it? There was something here. The faintest scent, he couldn’t place it. He needed more.

  He paused in place, nostrils flaring, trying to capture more. He was confused. Was there something? Marrok had never known his nose to be mistaken. But the scent eluded him. Not even a single small iota graced his powerful olfactory.

  No, he trusted it. There was something better than him around.

  Elves? No, the stuck-up bastards would never venture from the great forest. Dwarves, Humans and Beast men stunk to high heaven, there was no way it could be one of them. He thought to himself, puzzling through the options.

  What could it be?

  Eventually, he decided to move on, making sure to keep aware, something was lurking, tracking him down. He felt his heart racing, adrenaline pumping. He lived for this.

  As he wandered, he felt the tension rising, like a bow string being pulled back. More and more, further, and further. Eventually it would release…

  There…

  Like an arrow, shooting down the mountainside towards him.

  Silent and deadly.

  Marrok caught it in his periphery, a white blur. Like a cloud, it floated over the terrain, seemingly unaffected. Though it had to be said it was a fast cloud, storming towards him.

  Marrok managed to turn towards it in time. It barrelled into his chest, knocking him flying.

  Not a cloud! He thought, grunting as he slammed into a tree.

  He pushed the cloud that was not a cloud away, slashing out with his hatchet. Blinking, he saw that it was some sort of cat.

  He raised his arm, blocking the cat’s attack and made to punch at it. He heard his arm crack, turning his head and watching as the arm bent backwards, hatchet flying free. Pain washed up into him and he smiled, thoroughly enjoying it. He grabbed his small knife, diving forwards and slashing madly. Burying the blade in the creature’s gut.

  Not used to its prey fighting back, nor it being so injured, the cat fled, parting with a pained hiss, leaving him panting, and thoroughly unsatisfied.

  Marrok grabbed his arm, wrenching it around until it sat back in place, picked up his hatchet and followed along.

  Now that he had its scent, he could trail it, although he was surprised at how hard it was. Tracking the cat was a challenge, and Marrok loved it.

  It was only a few rises later that he found it again, hunkered down in a cave on an outcropping that overlooked the path he had been walking.

  It was a mottled white cat, with a long bushy tail. Large and peaceful-looking. Deadly, and it blended in absolutely perfectly with the rocks. If it weren’t for the blood and the scent buried in his nose, Marrok wouldn’t have been able to spot it again.

  He crept forwards, jumping as he watched the cat’s ears turn towards him. As it was, he barely caught the cat, slicing through the shoulder muscle. He doubted he would have caught it with his blade if the cat had been healthy.

  It batted at him, claws extended, and Marrok felt the sharp points dig into his chest. He slammed into it, cutting deep with his hatchet, as he felt his side tear open. He laughed, pain racing through him, making him feel alive.

  The mad scramble that ensued pushed the two over the edge and they tumbled down the mountainside. Although Marrok was a fleetfooted goblin, far more than his peers, he was a far cry from the cat, even injured. And he watched the cat catch itself as he continued to roll away.

  He came to a stop, between two rocks, breathing heavily.

  Fixing his arm again, he wrapped bandages around his wounds to stem the bleeding and ran off smiling.

  Marrok made it up to where the cat had caught itself, eyes scanning for any trace of where it had gone. A blood trail revealed itself, and Marrok followed, nose and eyes guiding his path.

  He was fast, but the cat was faster and soon he reached the end of the path.

  A gaping hole in the mountain, black as night. No hint of sun graced the depths. The blood trail led right inside, and Marrok wondered what in the one God he had stumbled across.