Three goblins exchanged uneasy glances in the Shaman’s chamber. Were Strum still able to sweat, he knew he’d feel a bead run down his brow. As it was, he moved stiffly next to Gikx’s side. Presenting a united front.

Gikx cut through the tension first, setting his palms on his hips and turning his nose up at the religious head of the Shadow-Axe tribe. “Smell bad. Bad burn!” he pointed an accusatory finger at the incense lit on the tabletop. Mallik shook his head, the feathers of his traditional headdress swaying loosely, accompanied by the clink of his staff on the cave ground.

“Do I have an obligation to please you, within my own chamber, hero? I demand an explanation for both of your presence. To be interrupted while in the middle of a conversation with the chieftain—a conversation about your recent exploits, if I may add. Had not the Ground-Father whispered in my ear to return, I shudder to think of what you'd have done in this holy place.” He took slow deliberate steps to the table, falling onto the cushion with a tired sigh. “Explanation now, or the Ground-Father will seek punishment.”

Strum’s breath hitched. By some miracle, Mallik hadn’t noticed the concealed mirror.

He knew that the ‘Ground-Father’ whispering in the goblin’s ear was a lie. Maybe he didn’t have the same level of proficiency with magic, as Mallik to determine how he knew, but he had enough to tell. Casual blasphemy by their religious head. An absolute disgrace to the title of Shaman.

Strum let it go, turning his eyes to Gikx. “The uh, the Hero has a complaint against the uh, Chieftain.”

Gikx shook his head enthusiastically, collapsing on a pillow across from the shaman. His abrupt movement hit the edge of the table, resulting in mushroom-water spilling from the cups as it shook. Mallik frowned, yet Gikx didn’t bother to apologize.

“Gikx angry! Rurk bad! Owe apol-o-gy!” Gikx slammed both hands on the table and growled. Closing the distance between himself and the Shaman. Strum saw a chance and took small steps towards the exit—careful to keep only his front facing the shaman.

If Mallik caught even a whiff of suspicion and took a closer look at Strum, they’d be in a load of trouble.

“Ah. That’s it then? Rurk offended our tribe’s hero?” Mallik yawned, setting an elbow on the table, and leaned on his palm. His eyes snapped to Strum. “Leaving so soon?”

“I uh, just figured I’d let Gikx say his piece. I’m here for support.”

“That so? Ground-Father below forgives. But I’m afraid that this discussion involves more than our poor hero. Come, Strum. Sit.” Mallik gestured towards a spot next to Gikx.

“I’ll keep standing,” Strum shot back. The further away he could maintain from the shaman, the less likely that Mallik might spot the stolen mirror.

“So be it. Do be aware, the Ground-Father forbids an early exit, should you violate that commandment, you risk His wrath. Those who oppose Him find themselves buried deep in the earth.” Mallik opened his palm, a surge of mana burst into a ball of purple flame. He gave a crooked grin, before closing his fist, extinguishing the violet fire.

An invisible wave flowed through the air, triggering his new sixth sense. Something coated the exit. Even if his eyes told him it was empty, a part of him warned that the magical flame in Mallik’s palm had not vanished. Instead, it lurked in the tunnel, a hidden burning wall of mana. The bastard trapped them.

“Please, go ahead Gikx. Explain your grievance.” Mallik grasped a cup, taking a deep sip of the mushroom-water. His pupils slowly dilating to the size of saucers.

Gikx cleared his throat, twitched, then slammed a scrawny fist on the table. “Rurk attack Vraz with hob-ies. Vraz friend. Not okay!” He smacked the table again. Mallik gave a slow nod.

“I see, I see. Ground-Father below preserve. How wildly ambitious of our Chieftain, to take such measures. Truly brutish, tell me, hero; what sort of resolution do you seek?”

“Gikx want challenge!”

Oh no.

Mallik smiled like a goblin child about to torment a weaker goblin. “My, my. You wish to challenge the Chieftain? For what stakes, and what claim? After all, if I’m not mistaken—Vraz is a servant of the dungeon, and he was the one assaulted on the Chieftain’s orders—unless you also represent the dungeon, you don’t have the proper standing.”

“He, uh doesn’t—“

“Gikx does!” he declared, shooting to his feet and pounding his chest like an ape. Strum’s stomach turned over as Mallik’s face displayed unsuppressed joy. Just a couple of mushroom-water gulps shy of breaking out into dance.

“So our hero represents the dungeon, and wishes to challenge the Chieftain on its behalf!? Such a loss would, of course, be a public loss to the dungeon, due to you choosing to represent it."

“Gikx not lose!”

“Well. Well. I have deemed this to be a satisfactory reason for a challenge, and it shall be arranged by the Ground-Father’s blessing.” His eyes closed, and his head tilted downward. A quick gesture at the exit, and the invisible flames blocking it snuffed out. “Normal circumstances would see my two helpers go and retrieve our Chieftain so we may sort the details; however, they have mysteriously vanished. I wonder, perhaps. Strum have you heard any rumors about their whereabouts?”

“I uh, no. I haven’t.”

“Mhmm. Of course, of course. A moment then, this shall have to work in their stead.” His fingers wiggled briefly in the air before he leaned forward and pinched the burning cherry from the incense. He leaned in and whispered into a cupped palm—before spreading his hand to reveal a miniature robin, made of burning ash. It quickly launched into the air, gliding down the tunnel, a trail of small embers in its wake.

Strum kept his expression straight at the casual display of complex magic, so as not to show his amazement. Though, Mallik locked his attention to Gikx, still smirking like a wolf before tearing into a goblin babe.

This conversation sorely required a change in direction, deescalating the challenge declared by Gikx. But how could he accomplish that without drawing more attention to himself and the mirror? Contradicting Gikx weakened his position. As much as he hated it, Strum bit his tongue and kept quiet, regretting his choice of dragging along the dimwitted hero.

Heavy footfalls eventually echoed from the tunnel. Strum took a few steps back, pressing himself against the cave wall.

Rurk plodded into the chamber, snarling.

“I am not your thug, Mallik! I do not come at your beck and call!” He screamed, cutting himself off as he noticed Gikx and Strum. “The dungeons vermin!? Are you here to submit to your justice?!”

“Now, now, Rurk, calm. They’re here for an official purpose sanctioned by I and the Ground-Father below. They’ve sued for the right of challenge, seeking recompense on behalf of the dungeon for your malicious actions. Heeding the wisdom of the Ground-Father, I’ve determined their right.” He grew happier as a range of expressions crossed the chieftain’s face. From a snarl to a flared nose. Transforming into widened eyebrows as he gazed at Strum, putting him at the back of his heels. No doubt the chieftain already heard how the dungeon’s manager let loose magic on his men.

“Don’t be afraid, dear Rurk. Just what kind of leader displays weakness when his mettle is tested by the Ground-Father. Do not worry, Strum did not issue the right of challenge. No. He has not the social standing, despite being a creature of the dungeon. Our hero here—a valued member of this tribe—issued the challenge instead, on behalf of the dungeon. As a goblin whose great services included slaying a direwolf, he is worthy of consideration. And the Ground-Father below spoke and proclaimed this to be a righteous contest.”

Rurk sneered at Gikx, suddenly finding that lost confidence, he swaggered over to the hero—standing at his side. A disgusting glob of spit flying out of his mouth, inches away from Gikx. “Fine. I get to pick the challenge.”

“You are correct. Such is the Ground-Father’s will.”

“Fight Gikx!” the hero flexed his bicep.

Rurk hemmed and hawed, a goblin that detested being told what to do. Fighting with the fact that if it were a straight brawl he’d mop the cave floor with Gikx. But, Strum knew he’d never accept the suggestion of someone he saw as so far below him. A saving grace that left Strum with a sliver of hope.

“…No.” Rurk finally spat out, making the face of a goblin chewing rancid meat. “We do what I want.”

“And that uh, would be?” Strum asked, thanking the Ground-Father for the hubris of goblin-kind. No matter what it was, anything other than a fight gave them better odds. But Strum didn’t like the smirk on the chieftain’s face one bit.

“You worked for that dungeon, didn’t you, Gikx?” Rurk tapped his fingers on the wooden table.

“Gikx did. Fight Gikx! Only way! What is, scar-dey go-blin!?”

“I’m not scared of a twig. We gotta prove something. To all the goblins, I know what challenge is the right tool for that. A cook-off! Between me and you, scrawny runt.” That smirk turned mean, the chieftain leaned forward. Gikx’s jaw dropped, his large round eyes darting to Strum. Fuck. Gikx couldn’t cook if his life depended on it. “One week! Then everyone will know just how shitty that dungeon actually is! Hahahaha! Perfect! Dumb dungeon can’t even teach a stupid goblin to cook!”

Rurk paced away from the table, pausing in front of Strum. Eyes drifting up and down, Strum’s heart hammered, sure that the chieftain noticed the edges of the mirror tucked away behind his back.

“When I win—I want you, and your mad dungeon out of my tribe, forever!”

Strum cut off a reply, hoping the belligerent asshole would just leave and not pay him any more mind. He’d deal with the repercussions later. Rurk snorted, swaggering off. As he left, Mallik gave a small smile, taking a deep gulp of his mushroom-water. Quite pleased with himself. Damn, damn, damn.

“We’ll uh, be leaving. We have to prepare.”

“Oh? Is that so? Do not worry. I’ll sort out the details of this—it is the job of the Shaman, after all—we’ll construct a small kitchen where everyone in the tribe can watch. Good luck, Gikx. May the Ground-Father preserve.”

“No want cook!”

“Come, we’ll talk later,” Strum gestured for him to follow, taking slow and deliberate steps towards the exit. Paying close mind to where the shaman gazed. Fortunately, Mallik seemed unconcerned over him, like he didn’t matter. As if he’d already dismissed them from both his mind and this tribe. Let him. Gikx didn’t seem pleased, but got the message, sitting and sulking his way over to the exit. As soon as they left sight of the shaman, Strum sped up and practically dragged Gikx back to the dungeon.

So many things might go wrong. This contest with Rurk—what the shaman might do when he noted the absence of the mirror. Yet there was no clean solution to the issues. Strum felt like a rat stuck in a trap, with no escape. He needed a solution, a way to shift positions and take control of the situation. Their futures rested in the cooking ability of a goblin who’d once used the tip of a knife to pick his nose. Ground-Father below. We’re doomed.

They reached the kitchen and filled Regis in on what happened. Forming a small plan, a bit of a measure to try to prevent their loss. Vraz took on the responsibility of running Gikx through a crash course in cooking, as soon as they completed their ‘bribes,’ the goblins would be spending each hour awake training. But Strum feared it wasn’t enough.

Regis flat out refused to personally instruct Gikx. Likewise, the hero proclaimed he’d rather be stabbed than serve under the dungeon once more.

Strum moved on to the things he could control—dealing with the twins. Once they moved past the upcoming disaster, Regis diagnosed the mirror to activate with an injection of mana. Though, it was tied to an unknown source—meaning, he refused to use it within the kitchen, and bid Strum investigate it on his own.

Uncertainty wrapped around them all, unease even bleeding into Wort, causing the big toad to nervously pace. All they could do now was prepare, and try to win over what goodwill they might manage through the tribe.

After that? Maybe this time Gikx would choose to listen and learn from his mistakes. Perhaps Vraz might be the key to getting him to be semi-functional in a kitchen—Strum suspected that Rurk didn’t have much talent for cooking either. If they failed, this loss of face and influence would be enough to give Rurk the backing he required to push their exile from the Shadow-Axe tribe. Strum left to rejoin Jilde with the twins, finding himself looking forward to seeing her smile. Maybe that might relieve him of the ball of stress formed in his chest