Scanning the surrounds, the clumps of bush and brush, the odd corpse of trees upon the plain provide a respite from studying the partial remains of the boot prints we follow. There is no mystery here, we know our destination. Each step we jog or run laughs at me due to the waste of time spent backtracking, each drop of sweat, judgement. To console myself I extract two simple joys from this toil. First, I cut the return distance by taking a more direct line to our objective, a cheat to save time and sweat. The other is from slaying the fools who thought they could go unpunished for their deception. The sun sets behind us as we reach the point on the trail where the Laughing Tusks group, the six, joined the Blood Suns group, the three in the pursuit.

“Did we rely on speed to avoid any danger sister-wife? The risk of ambush,” asks Duzsia.

Her question matter of fact, one of interest or perhaps learning from the first wife.

“Hardly,” I reply. “The hills and dales perhaps, although any would need to crest the hills themselves and if they spotted us first, be able to skulk about without being seen to position themselves, which is why we ran. The bush and brush dotted plains would require an ambush waiting on the oft chance travellers would pass by their specific hiding place … what travellers? And no permanent paths.”

Our mission depends upon a single truth from the false Chief, another three, two escorting the real Chief and the ransom hid while the chase passed them by. They needed to go somewhere and to do so leave the trail, either on the left side or the right side. The right side would take them closer to Head Village so perhaps the least likely direction.

“We eat and rest, our quarry would most likely run to the mountains so we will try to pick up their trail in the morning light.”

Duzsia takes in a deep breath, stretching up tall, the setting sun outlining her athletic body and the petite roundness of her baby bump. Lord Hob would be envious of my view right about now I am certain. My hand slides across my stomach, once pregnant Lord Hob in his ignorance kept bedding all his first wives, myself included of course. None revealed to him our condition, especially so after the new wives joined as each of his original wives claimed our respective turn. The order of importance must be maintained, how else will tradition grow.

---

Waking at dawn and after a brief meal, we commence our search. By early morning I make out a swept area. I step back and try to imagine a strong wind sweeping aside the loose grit, twigs and leaves and yet … I stay searching for another clue. This is what I am looking for; a short, close to the trunk stub of a broken-off branch, which I find on a nearby bush. My step quickens as I search for a second and give Duzsia a shout when I make the find. Sending Duzsia back to stand at the first clearing I picture the Chief and his two companions creeping between the two points, working around obstacles until I am satisfied. I believe I know their general direction of travel and hug Duzsia in celebration. She holds me to her, a full wet kiss on my cheek and we dance in circles giggling. For an instant, I see Luda’s smiling face instead. The cool drying of the moisture from the kiss … this was her way of celebrating … I need to finish this; she is alone and vulnerable without her big sister.

The occasional broken off branch keeps us on their brushed trail until they finally give away the effort upon entering the thicker forest leading towards the mountains. We continue following their trail searching and finding sign, our reward a full bounty. Boot scuffs on proud tree roots, an odd break at the end of a leafy branch and the best tell, bark chaffing, which means this upward climb by them needed handholds on trees. They are tired.

Their tells lead us to a familiar trail, South is the mountain pass while to the North lies wild fields, beyond them, Redagar’s wooden road, running North East to the Farm and West to Head Village. I tap Duzsia on her shoulder and flick my head. We sink back into the forest proper.

I whisper, “They are tired, pushing themselves, would they stay on the trail?”

Duzsia jumps and faces me. “I … I didn’t expect … never mind, yes, I agree, also this isn’t their tribal lands or any others for that matter. We can assume they, like other Blood Suns, fled before the culling and I don’t think they had any destination in mind …”

Duzsia grabs my chin tapping finger, giggling. “I am thinking with that!” I prove this to her. “Running away, now returning, the Chief believes his stolen special knife can make a difference. How?”

“Fix it to a spear shaft first, for reach. One on one combat challenge?”

“Why would any of the three tribal leaders or Meb accept? What do they have to gain, with the cull almost done …?”

Duzsia leans against a tree, shoulders down. Is she tired? Doubtful. Even after today’s efforts, I have already recovered and over these past few days, she has done so as well. Is she sulking?

“Your idea of one-on-one combat is a good one sister-wife, especially for a Chief without a tribe. Please accept my mumbling as thinking out loud since you took my finger tapping away.” She returns my bright smile. “I am trying to figure out how he could still win …”

She stands tall. She did sulk, does everyone discard her council or just me? Perhaps I am guilty this one time while on this task which we now share equally? I did lead us here, yet her tracking skills would have accomplished the same, would have been up for the challenge without a doubt …

“He is going to call on long-forgotten tradition, he has nothing else,” she offers.

“You’re right about forgotten,” I quip. Then bite the inside of a cheek. “Continue.”

“The ancient tradition preserved life, two Chiefs, their armies, drawn up ready for slaughter would choose a one-on-one challenge, winner takes all instead. He would need to sneak into the enemies’ camp and make the challenge, although why would another leader accept?”

She says nothing I didn’t know, but I am being supportive and allow her to finish. Although finishing with an answer would’ve been better than a question though. I bite the inside of my cheek again. My turn to lean against a tree since I can’t tap my chin. I imagine him sneaking successfully into the tents of either Meb, Grol or Bor. Issue the challenge, they laugh at him, their bodyguards slaughter and dispose of him as if he were never there. Maybe he gets lucky and has a knife at their throats, you challenge me, or I cut your throat he declares. They agree of course to save their immediate lives, challenge starts, their bodyguards take care of him.

“He challenges the Matriarch!” Duzsia shouts and then places her hand over her mouth.

“She wouldn’t have left her lands …” I muse.

Duzsia grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “He sneaks in threatening her with death, she accepts his challenge by nominating a champion. His bodyguards hold her, knife to her throat while the challenge is being decided. But he doesn’t challenge to win the tribe! He challenges for betrothal!”

She stares at me, eyes wide, while I try to comprehend how this works for him …

One, time-honoured method of securing a bride is to kidnap one, although not usually done when the target is close to the leadership, especially not to a Matriarch. Not usually done, doesn’t mean never, … what does he offer? Legitimate claim upon Blood Suns Tribal lands, perhaps the gathering of the survivors of his tribe to add to hers …

“He wants to unite the two tribes as a final last grasp to hang onto leadership!” I blurt out.

“Yes, sister-wife!” She looks coy. “Took your time …”

I punch her playfully on her upper arm and she smiles.

“What do we do about this? We need to return to Lord Hob and advise him for a start …”

Duzsia places a finger across my lips, shaking her head. “Running there, preparations, running back, two days. We could have Chief OuzOuz dead by then.”

“And Lord Hob’s ransom recovered,” I add.

“How do we find him and slay him in two days?”

“Why do we only have two days?” I ask.

“Because even hiding and skulking, in two days he will be on Grim Weavers’ land and I am uncertain about their welcome. The chaos of Blood Suns’ land the better to find and slay him.”

“They should welcome us, but you are right, they will do whatever their Matriarch commands … do we separate to cover more ground?” I look under my eyebrows trying to hold back any sign of concern.

“Yes. The real choice is who will stay close to the mountains and who will stay close to the river?”

The mountains must be the safer path, the terrain rough, plenty of places to hide in and therefore cautious going … “I will take the river.”

“No discussion – you trying to protect me?” She raises her eyebrows.

“No …” I toss my head. “No way.” I pfft. “There are the caves of the elder, a more perfect sanctuary for fleeing goblins there never was. Hurry there and I am certain you will have many ears to put the word out for you and perhaps they will spread to the river and ease my task.”

“You know exactly where the caves are and could be there well before me …”

“No. I only know where the campfire is, where we met Lord Hob, anyone you meet would be able to tell you where that is, or you could follow others. I also think once you have done this you will be best placed to hunt for OuzOuz, the mountains are his best choice, fewer warriors or hunters from the three tribes because of the difficult ground for a start.”

Her eyes stare into mine. “You are giving me this honour?”

“Maybe or possibly the more dangerous task. Plus, I am trying to read the mind and intentions of someone I have never met, odds are he thinks different to you and me!”

“We eat and camp?”

“No, you need to take this trail to get into the mountains easier. I suspect he would have also and if we find any proof we will stay together. Also, this trail is an ambushers’ dream, you will proceed slowly as I will be trying to stay ahead of you following in the forest proper. Anyone with ranged weapons sighting the trail will be West, the setting sun behind them, so favour the West side of the trail and the shadows cast by the eaves of the trees should shield you.”

“I know,” she replies, in a deadpan voice as she climbs back onto the trail.

“Argh!” I growl at myself internally, of course, she does. I hurry to follow and position myself.

Early on she tests me, I suspect some anger drives her as her pace isn’t, the amble I imagined. I made the issue; I need to accept the consequences and do better.

---

A distinct bird tweet sounds across the forest. I hurry and shortly after splash into flowing water. The stream. No urgency, probably letting me know where she is …

I climb up to the trail, hiding amongst green leaf brush. She is on her haunches sipping from the stream. A ruse, her head turns slowly, she searches for traces of trespass.

“Anything,” I whisper.

As she bobs her head down to take another sip and whispers back, “Nothing in the water. There are other boot prints in the soft soil by the stream …” She doesn’t drink, the water slips between her fingers and then she climbs to her feet. My signal to descend and follow once again.

---

The trail opens where I follow now, the trees close in are sparse and I am therefore further away from Duzsia than is ideal. Late afternoon … almost dusk. Those sighting the trail will lose a lot of their advantage as long shadows now provide substantial cover.

Birdcall. I dart from tree to tree and rounding one, squelch. I step in something and instinctively look down. I lift my sticky boot away, not a something, a someone and by the size of erm, him, it can only be him, a Hobgoblin. Naked, dead many days, head missing, body facing the trail with a decent line of sight. Should scare the casual traveller, I chuckle. An enemy defeated by Lord Hob; therefore, I should be able to sight the mountain pass from hereabouts, yet my sister-wife calls to me. I hurry following the trail back to her keeping to the western side.

“Down!” Duzsia hisses and I dive. An arrow quivers in a tree trunk above me. I huff, judging the aim poor, a miss and no need to eat dirt and leaves. From the West, arrow feathers up … the hunter high above us all.

A distant sound of crashing through branches and leaves ends with a heavy thunk.

“Stay down sister-wife in case there are more …” she whispers.

On the cusp of dusk, more crashing through the forest to the West, from branches and leaves again the sound diminishing.

“Out of the dirt sister-wife, the chase begins!” There is a hint of mirth in her speech, which I don’t begrudge her, climbing to my feet and shortly after on her heels as she must blaze a trail through the undergrowth.

We pause after a time, listening. Nothing.

Duzsia taps my arm and points. A tall peak reaches up into the sky above us.

“My kill somehow climbed up there.”

“Let’s search for his body while keeping an ear out. I don’t think the Chief would leave behind his bodyguard, it doesn’t fit with the plan we imagined for him at least.”

---

We study the body, flat, many broken bones, bathing in a pool of black blood, the arrow point pushed through his mangled body marking his grave.

“Not Laughing Tusks, no bones stuck anywhere, although to be sure I would need to touch it,” says Duzsia, lacking any enthusiasm.

“Not Blood Suns.” I sniff. “No smell of mead.”

Duzsia finds his head a little away from the body. “Argh.” She stands. “Mystery solved.” Between two fingers trying to avoid contact, a necklace of bone, no, a necklace of different size teeth swings.

“More likely Grim Weavers then.” I kink my head to one side. “This side of the valley?”

She nods and asks the same question I have. “Why would Grim Weavers watch the trail to and from the mountains?”

I chuckle. “If I didn’t know otherwise, I would immediately guess Lord Hob is somehow involved, after all, Grim Weavers watching here, highly unlikely, almost impossible except there is dead proof at our feet …”

“Let’s camp elsewhere and in the morning, we go our own ways?”

“Yes,” I say.

---

We hug without words to exchange. Duzsia breaks our embrace first, turning away crashing through the foliage, her form diminishing until leaves and branches steal her away from me.

I shove through the foliage, forcing a trail, heading North, well downhill at least and I wonder why I dismissed following the trail back to the plains. Surely no one would be using the convenient, easy-going pathway since yesterday? Perhaps I am overcautious.

Reaching the stream takes twice as long, now late afternoon, the first day. I refill my waterskin and spear a couple of fish of modest size forgoing a fire to eat them raw while following the stream. Muffled crying mixes with the water bubbling sounds of the stream and I crouch down, shifting into foliage away from the streambank.

“There isn’t any food …” pleads a young voice.

“There must be fish, grab a stick and try to stab one.” The weariness in the reply plain.

Edging closer, I spy an early age teenager scouting beside the stream. In the stream, a mother tries to cup water into the mouth of a young child twisting and turning their head away while trying to pull away.

“I mean no harm,” I say while leaning on my spear attempting to conceal the point in the ground, trying to suggest I have a walking stick instead.

The mother wraps her child in her arms and bolts along the stream calling to the teenager.

“I have food to share.”

One child on her hip, the other under her arm she stops, turns about, the shallow stream water rushing by.

“You mean us no harm, but we are Blood Suns all seek us and we can only run …”

I daggle my second fish and then walk along the stream bank until level with them. The mother turns as necessary to follow my progress. Gathering dead leaves and twigs I strike my flint to spark a fire, leaning over and blowing upon the feeble flames to grow them. As they take hold I add more, including a small dead branch.

“Boy, fetch me a long live branch from the tree there.” I point out one nearby.

His eyes look up, and after receiving his mother nodding consent runs to obey. She edges to shore, the other child still on her hip.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Information,” I reply. The boy returns with a choice of several and I choose one, poking the branch lengthways from mouth to tail in the still fresh fish. I then hand the end of the stick to the boy.

“Hold it over the fire, rotate often and don’t let the stick burn otherwise you could drop the fish into the fire.”

He nods while wearing a serious expression on his face, eyes coming alive.

I know her eyes are upon me fretting over her child and yet allowing me to be this close due to desperation.

I wave her to shore. “Have you seen three, maybe less, maybe more Blood Suns warriors in your travels? They would be tired yet determined, one would be in command and none would rebuke him.”

“N … no, sorry.” She cries, tears flowing. “Do my children still get to eat?”

“The fish is yours.” I climb to my feet and glance sideways. “That’s enough boy, take a bite and share with your sister and mother.”

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes flush with tears.

“I will spear a few more fish and then be on my way. You don’t mind eating raw fish, do you?”

Her mouth drops open as she shakes her head.

---

Three fish should be enough, two for the family and one for me and time is passing me by.

Spear in one hand, a green stick piercing the tails of the three fish in the other I work my way back to the mother utilising the afternoon tree shadows for cover.

“How many are you now?” asks a gruff voice.

I crouch and lay aside my string of fish and then return my spear to a sheath across my back retrieving my bow and nocking an arrow from the quiver on my hip. The transition smooth from years of habit. Taking to cover behind trees further away from the stream I circle wide trying to spot the voice’s owner.

“Three turns,” the reply.

The mother, her children elsewhere, although I hear a familiar whining not far away, is being held beside several other females. The one holding her arms licks his lips while another male goblin approaches … I have witnessed enough. Lord Hob agreed to the cull expecting a portion of females and young, none need to be mistreated before delivery.

I resist the temptation for justice as I need a sure kill, I aim high trying to target this goblin’s, small heart. His body flips back as the arrow strikes true. His friend looks about peering into the forest, good instincts. My second release impales his cheek, and I am certain the flint tip scraps along the bone of his skull to scramble his brain. He falls back dead. The screams of the captives add to the confusion and will cover the sound of my next move.

Dashing deeper into the surrounding forest I circle wide of the slain and the captives. Five goblins, their armour made from lengths of wood, identifying them as Laughing Tusks hold various poses over their slain. I release an arrow upon the one closest. My second arrow is in flight when the remaining four notice and begin to stand. The second arrow finds its mark as they begin looking about, the third arrow in flight. When they point and gesture at me the third arrow finds its mark and the fourth is in flight. The remaining two dive for the ground and the fourth arrow strikes the tree behind them with a thunk.

My fifth arrow ready, I charge as they dive. As they begin to peer above the prone bodies of the slain and captives, I release my fifth arrow. The strike is unusual, along the length of the throat due to the angle. His companion screams while crawling backwards and into the shadows of the forest. I resume my charge, reaching the edges of the trees as the last finishes standing, thinking he has time to look back. Staring at me, my sixth arrow strikes his abdomen under the bottom edge of his wood armour.

I place my flint knife in the hands of the mother. “Slit all their throats, alive or dead, free the captives and gather all the dead together and I will need my knife back when done.”

She swallows and nods.

I chase down the hunter-warrior in the forest. His wound not sufficient to prevent him from dragging himself deeper, hoping for a lucky escape. Standing over him I wiggle my arrow, he screams.

“Quick death or long depending upon your answers …”

Black blood spills out between his clenching teeth, otherwise silence.

“Have you seen any Blood Suns warriors recently? Did you capture, avoid or slay them if you did?”

His head turns slowly one way and then the other.

“You certain?”

His head responds quickly, nodding up and down.

I remove my arrow, he screams. Plunging the same arrow through his eye, he screams for a heartbeat and then silence. Retrieving and cleaning the arrow I return it to my quiver and then grab his ankles and drag him back to the stream bank and add him to the end of a neat line-up.

The mother and other captives, women and older males approach me, halting immediately as my eyes greet them.

“Thank you,” from more than one tired mouth.

“Search these for food and whatever else you think you may need. Have any seen three, maybe fewer, maybe more Blood Suns warriors in your travels? They would be tired yet determined, one would be in command and none would rebuke him.”

They look to each other, with hope on their faces willing someone to answer and none do. I sigh.

“There is a brace of fish further along.” I point to them. “They are yours and some free advice if you want it, which you can pass on to others if females or children are present.”

“Y … yes,” answers the mother.

I read the dread on her face; she is near breaking point. “Travel North, make sure your shadow falls on your left in the morning and the right in the afternoon. You will discover a river, wide and slow. Follow the river West, up the valley until you find a branch turning away to the North. Cross the river anyway you can and continue North until you find a wooden road, follow this until you find the Farm of Lord Farmer Hob and ask for sanctuary.”

“A …a Hob, sanctuary?”

“Tell whoever challenges you when you reach the Farm, Koria Keen-eye, first wife of Lord Hob Klug sent you.”

“Hobs don’t marry they take and throw away …”

“This one is different, and do you really have a choice?”

The mother shakes her head slowly, while others mumble behind her.

Her son presents me with five clean arrows, which I take and return to my quiver. I place a hand on his shoulder and then jog off, ducking into the shadows of the forest.