On the way back, they were accompanied by a transport of dried and smoked fish led by an orc trader and several goblin helpers. Thus, their group grew even larger, at least temporarily.

  Gra’sha had plenty of time for reflection, as the trail was quiet. After Sha’dru had given her a piece of her mind, she admitted to herself that her mother had warned her about shamans, but she assumed that her parent couldn't have explained all the nuances to someone so young; surely she had meant those of the Shamanic Circle—at least, she fervently hoped so. She judged that Sar’swa, as a researcher of phenomena related to essence, was simply keenly interested in a case like hers.

  During evening training, she also tested her new weapon. The mace performed well. As expected, she could use it one-handed along with a shield, much to the admiration and frustration of her larger teammates, who could indeed replicate her feat, but the speed and precision with which they operated that iron left much to be desired. For many, it was a confirmation of the correctness of their choice to join this squad. The more physically and technically proficient a warrior was, the more one could learn from them, win more battles, and—who knows—perhaps even save one’s skin in the process. Orcs engaged in the trade of war had a knack for finding and following those more powerful than themselves on the path to their own growth.

  A day and a half from the stronghold, in the early afternoon, she caught the scent of kobolds on the wind. Over these past few days, the goblin children and the grateful adults of that group had earned her sympathy. Thus, even though the kobolds were nowhere near the trail, she quickly convinced herself of the necessity of removing this threat. The deciding factor, however, was a feeling of hunger for essence. She ordered the unit to slow down and distributed orders.

  "I scent kobold on the windward side. Half will come with me; the other half will continue to protect the transport. We will all meet at Lone Rock. Set up camp there and wait for us."

  A flurry of activity began, and they immediately divided among themselves who would go to which group. Sha’dru, still somewhat angry at the younger warrior's imprudence and wanting to save herself the nerves, stayed behind, merely sending Mal’gor a telling look to keep an eye on her—which he caught instantly.

  The trail turned out to be quite distant, and even though she pushed a solid pace, it was only late afternoon when she signaled them to stop, as they were nearing the goal. She told them to lie low, and from the forest thicket, they approached far enough for her unit to see what she meant, though she had spotted the kobold camp much earlier.

  A group of sentries—of the same or a similar variety of kobolds she had seen dead a few days before—guarded the entrance to a wide rock fissure that seemed to descend straight down at a gentle angle. Several laborers were carrying improvised cages with small farm animals and other equipment inside. Beams used for reinforcing mine corridors were visible there. It looked as if they were moving into a new seat. These creatures preferred to live underground in tribes of various sizes, where they cultivated mushrooms and raised small creatures, while preying on smaller tribes, goblins, and—if an orc clan was imprudent enough to let them nest on their lands—on orcs as well, if a significant numerical advantage allowed it.

  "I’ll flank them and draw their attention. Then you charge the entrance. I don't want them scattering," she explained to the unit and looked at each of them until everyone nodded to signal they had accepted the order.

  Keeping her head low, she circled the area in a wide arc, staying within the forest thicket. Excitement swelled in her at the thought of essence; her fingers itched, and when she was finally on the other side, she charged the nearest armed kobold without ceremony, unable to suppress a smile. Like a shot from a sling, she crossed the distance, and the poor wretch only had time to make a surprised face before she stood before him, finishing a swing with the heavy iron mace. He was perhaps half her height, and his simple spear and wooden shield were of no use when the impact of the blow crushed his torso and right leg, throwing his already dead carcass onto the logs of wood with such momentum that it rolled to the other side. The modest but electrifying essence of the creature was immediately absorbed by Gra’sha, bringing her great relief and whetting her appetite for more.

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  The second one managed to shout a warning; a blow from above almost pressed him into the ground where he stood, as if a boulder had fallen on him, with an ugly squelch and a crunch. It was then that she caught sight of her unit moving toward the cave out of the corner of her eye, but she still had a few moments for herself. Two warriors of this tribe ran out to meet her, and she walked calmly toward them. Effortlessly and with economical movements, she avoided their spear thrusts, only to flick one aside with her mace into his center of mass like a ragdoll and strike the other in the head with her shield, with a very similar result.

  If while fighting ogres and waves of Crescent Moon warriors she had to worry about both the spearhead and the sword blade so as not to break them on enemy armor, here she could vent her frustration and test her strength after her last transformation. She liked what she was discovering.

  More kobolds crowded into a passage about two orcs wide and firmly set their spears in a defensive position. However, she was faster; she ran between them, knocking aside the tips of their blades, and with a frontal kick sent one of them deep into the cave, while knocking down the rest as they tried to reorganize. Breaking and crunching their bodies.

  Panic broke out in the cave. Individual kobolds formed a unit to face her, while the rest scurried into recently carved corridors and passages. More tools and construction materials lay here; they hadn't had time to settle in yet. Gra’sha gave them a few breaths, relishing the flowing essence. She walked toward the forming unit, unhurriedly, and when she was two spear-lengths from them, she struck in a terrifyingly fast leap at the left side of the group. Again, their thrusts were a fraction too slow, and one that by a stroke of fate might have reached its mark, she took on her shield. There was no turning back, and there was no escape.

  When Gra’sha’s unit ran inside, crowded, defenseless kobolds were milling about in the side passages, with a large portion in the right corner of the entrance cavern. Females protected baskets full of straw and eggs, and their young, clinging to their mothers' tunics, covered their eyes from what had happened. Their commander stood amidst scattered corpses that looked as if a herd of ovibos had trampled them. There must have been at least three dozen of them. One of the kobolds, on his knees with open palms, presented his spear to her in a submissive gesture.

  The girl took the weapon and broke it in her hand like a dry twig, then announced:

  "Accepted!"

  She cast a gaze full of energy and youthful fervor at her people; their expressions were grim. Many of them had seen her in combat during the defense of the stronghold, but this was something else. They approached their commander hurriedly, however, leaving a pair of warriors at the entrance.

  "Resistance is broken. Now, find me who’s in charge here."

  Her brethren nodded energetically and moved among the kobolds. After a few moments, a one-eyed old male was thrown before her. He was hung with numerous ornaments and colored thongs; he clattered like a primitive instrument as he fell to the ground at her feet.

  "Your tribe will keep the eggs, the women, and the young, but it will not stop until it is far to the north, in the lands of the Crescent Moon clan or beyond. Do you understand?"

  He only nodded in agreement, not daring to look her in the eyes.

  "You have until sunset," she decreed. She gave a hand signal to march and was the first to leave the cave. When they were outside, the youngest of her unit approached her with a wet rag and ventured, "By your leave—" and when she nodded, he set about wiping the spots where kobold blood had sprayed her gear.

  Mal’gor looked around at the rest, making sure he spoke for everyone before he began. "Gra’sha, they're only kobolds, but it would be... tactically safer if you waited for us before going inside."

  The warrior, still invigorated by the fresh and densely gathered essence, looked at him, smiling broadly before replying:

  "I didn't want them to have time to pull themselves together." But seeing their uncertain looks, she added, "Next time, I'll plan it so I have you closer, eh?"

  After which she patted him on the shoulder and dismissed the youth with a nod of her head, deciding that was enough cleaning. She looked around the plaza in front of the cave, where none of the remaining kobolds dared even poke a nose out as long as they were nearby, and when she found a barrel of water, she rinsed her weapon and shield, shook them off, and gave the order to march; they still had to reach Lone Rock.