The next morning was bright and clean, signaling the first true day of spring. The mist that had clung to the den for weeks was gone, burned away by the rising sun. The air smelled of wet pine and thawing soil, but also of something new: warmth. Around the mouth of the cavern, the Ironfang moved with quiet purpose, the rhythm of boots, low voices, and the soft creak of harness leather filling the air.

  Kesh stood near the entrance, her cloak thrown back against the growing heat. Three scout parties waited before her, each made up of three scouts and three riders. The riders sat astride the full-grown dire wolves, broad-shouldered and restless. The riders would guide and control the wolves, carrying the scouts through the forest in search of a battlefield faster than any runner could travel.

  “Three directions,” Kesh said as she addressed the three teams. “We’ll search the east ridge, the southern hollow, and the river valley between. Mark ground that favors us in battle and ground that doesn’t. Use the riders for messages if needed. You have three days to bring back a field that gives us every advantage possible.”

  The scouts nodded. The wolves’ breath no longer steamed in the air; their coats gleamed faintly in the sunlight. Tails flicked once, then went still.

  Grub waited beside Sable, checking the straps at her shoulder. The wolf pressed against his leg, calm but alert. Rika stood with Hask nearby, the older goblin watching as she tightened Ashpaw’s bridle with practiced efficiency. Two scouts stood ready near the treeline, packs secured. They would travel north with Grub and the others to seek a meeting with the female Bonegnasher chief.

  Dravak stepped from the den’s shadow, and conversation thinned. His gaze passed over the gathered goblins, lingering a moment on each group before he spoke.

  “You know what you’re walking into,” he said. “The Bonegnashers are divided. That’s their weakness and our chance. Move steady, do not let yourselves be found, and come back safe.”

  He turned to Grub. “If Vexa listens, good. If she doesn’t, don’t let her warn the other.”

  Grub nodded once. “Understood.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face, then asked, “Is there a goblin sign for peace? The humans use white cloth on a stick. What do we use?”

  Dravak’s eyes flicked toward him. “We use the Bound Hand,” he said. “A spear with its blade wrapped tight in leather so it cannot cut. Below the binding, tie a flat stone marked with your handprint in mud or ash. When you carry it high, it shows you come to speak, not to fight. If it’s thrown down, talks are finished and blood follows.”

  He gestured toward the interior of the den. “Make one before you go.”

  Grub moved quickly to the storage alcove, selecting a straight spear and wrapping the point in thick leather cord until no glint of metal showed. From a pile of excavation rubble near the builders’ corner, he chose a broad, flat stone, tying it beneath the binding with loops of vine. He pressed his palm into wet earth and left a dark print across the stone’s face. When it dried, it looked like an open hand against gray.

  He returned to the entrance and held it up for Dravak’s inspection.

  The chief gave a curt nod. “Good enough. She’ll know what it means.” Grub slung the Bound Hand across his back beside his staff. “Then I’m ready.”

  Kesh and the other scouts all mounted their respective wolves as they prepared to depart. She turned to Dravak, and said "We'll return in three days, with ground that we can fight on." Dravak grinned slightly. "And Grub will go and try to make sure we won't need it."

  Meanwhile, Rika was helping Hask and one scout climb onto Ashpaws back behind her. The giant wolf shifted slightly under the extra weight but did not seem to mind. Grub glanced at Dravak as he helped the second scout mount Sable. “Even if I do manage to convince Vexa to turn on Skarn, he won’t go down without a fight. We’ll still need that field. Better to be ready.”

  Dravak nodded once. “True enough.”

  Kesh raised her hand in signal, and the wolves surged forward. Grub, Rika, Hask, and the scouts fell in with them, the combined column cutting north through the bright morning. For the first few hours, all four groups moved together, the wolves pacing in quiet rhythm. The sun warmed their backs and turned the lingering frost on the leaves to silver droplets. Then, in the early afternoon, at the fork where the river bent, Kesh split the forces with a sharp gesture. One team veered east toward the ridges, one south toward the hollow, and one down along the river valley. Grub and Rika continued north.

  The others vanished quickly, their passing marked only by the thud of paws and the rustle of thawing brush. The envoy pressed on beneath a clear sky, sunlight spilling through the pines and glinting on damp stone. Sable and Ashpaw padded through the forest, their breath steady, their shadows sharp against the moss.

  The scouts rode silently, eyes scanning their surroundings with practiced eyes. The forest smelled of thawing earth and running water, the last breath of winter fading into warmth.

  Kesh led the eastern group herself. Two scouts rode with her, each perched behind a rider as the wolves moved along a jagged ridge overlooking the valley below. From that height, they could see faint traces of smoke in the distance, sure signs of the Bonegnashers’ camp.

  They dared not go closer.

  The ridge narrowed to a shelf of hard earth and sparse grass. Kesh signaled a halt and slid from her wolf’s back, crouching to test the soil. It was firm, the slope gentle enough to stand but steep enough to slow a charge.

  “This would serve us well,” she said quietly. “A narrow line, high ground, solid footing. The wall could hold here.” She gestured for the others to mark it down.

  One of the scouts drew a rough map on a strip of bark, marking the ridge’s curve and slope. Kesh added a clean sketch beside it. “Nothing left on the ground,” she reminded them. “Nothing they can find.” When they finished, she smoothed the dirt flat with her palm before mounting her wolf. “We’ll call it the Ridge,” she said. “Let’s see if anything better lies ahead.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  They rode until dusk, mapping trails and gauging distances by the sun before making camp beneath an outcrop of stone. The wolves lay close to the fire, ears twitching toward the dark, while the scouts compared their drawings in the flickering light.

  To the south, the second group moved through the lowlands. The trees grew thick here, roots twisting through wet soil, the air heavy with the scent of mud and rot. The wolves picked their way carefully across patches of soft ground.

  By the second day, they found what they sought, a broad hollow ringed by shallow pools, the center firm and dry. The lead scout dismounted and walked the circle slowly. “If they rush us here, they’ll hit the soft edge first,” he said. “We hold the center, they sink before they reach us.” The rider beside him nodded. “And there’s cover enough for the wolves to circle unseen.”

  They studied the terrain in silence, then each drew quick maps, tracing the rise of the trees and the curve of the marsh. When finished, they smoothed their tracks and left no sign of their presence.

  That night they camped on a low rise above the hollow, their small fire hidden from the valley below. “We’ll call it the Basin,” one said quietly, staring into the flames. The others agreed.

  The third team followed the river valley north. The wolves carried them swiftly along the bank, their paws splashing through shallow water and mud. The air was cooler here, filled with the steady roar of the river against stone.

  By the morning of the third day, they reached a wide bend where the land opened into a flat, dry plain. The slope above the water gave clear sight in both directions, and the ground was firm beneath their boots.

  “This is perfect,” one scout said, eyes bright. “Room for every unit to move, and the river covers one flank.” The others dismounted, spreading out to measure distance and draw what they saw. One sketched the curve of the river and the rise of the banks; another noted where the tree line thinned, where archers might stand unseen. They worked quickly, leaving nothing behind when they were done. The scout gave a satisfied nod. “We’ll call this one the Bend. If we must fight, let it be here.”

  On the evening of the third day, the three teams met again at the foothills west of the den. The wolves padded in from three directions almost at once, muzzles flecked with dirt and foam but uninjured. The scouts were tired, their cloaks streaked with mud, but they carried their maps and drawings carefully wrapped in hide.

  Kesh looked over each record as the others reported. “Three grounds,” she said. “The Ridge, the Basin, and the Bend. All close enough to draw the Bonegnashers out, each with its own advantage.”

  She rolled the drawings together and tied them with cord. “Good work. We return home at dawn. Dravak will decide which to prepare.”

  The others nodded, setting about their evening tasks. The wolves were fed, cloaks hung to dry, and the scouts settled in for one last night beneath the trees. The forest was warmer now, full of insects and the sound of running water.

  When morning came, they rode for the den together. Three days gone, three fields found. The choice would soon fall to their chief and to whatever Grub discovered in the north.

  The air grew heavier as Grub and his group neared the Bonegnasher territory. By the second morning, the forest had gone quiet. No birdsong, no chatter of small creatures. Even the wind seemed to move around the camp’s unseen borders rather than through them. The wolves slowed of their own accord, noses low to the ground, ears twitching at every sound.

  Grub rode Sable near the front, her fur dark against the moss and half-melted snow. Rika followed close behind on Ashpaw with Hask. The two scouts shadowed them on foot, quiet and watchful. They stayed off any visible trails, moving instead along narrow ridges where the trees grew close together.

  The sun climbed higher, turning the lingering frost to mist. Faint traces of smoke drifted from somewhere to the east. The air smelled of blood and damp wood, a clear sign that the Bonegnasher camp was near.

  In the early afternoon, one of the scouts appeared from between the trees and crouched low beside Sable. “We saw her,” he whispered. “The female chief, Vexa. She left the camp not long ago, heading west with five hunters. They’ve taken the narrow trail past the ridge. We can track her and find a good place to make our approach before nightfall.”

  Grub listened quietly, then nodded once. “You know the ground. Lead us in.”

  The scouts vanished into the underbrush, and the group followed, moving slower now, careful with every sound. The wolves padded light and low, their paws barely stirring the fallen leaves.

  As the sun began to dip, the forest opened into a shallow clearing dotted with ferns and scattered stones. Smoke curled faintly upward through the trees beyond. One of the scouts returned, pointing ahead. “They’ve stopped there, butchering game. The fire’s small, the light’s low. If we announce ourselves here, she’ll hear us.”

  Grub nodded. “Then we do it properly.”

  He lifted a hand to Rika, who guided Ashpaw forward. The two wolves tilted their heads back and barked, deep, commanding sounds that rolled through the forest and shattered the stillness.

  Then Grub urged Sable forward into the open. Sunlight streamed through the treetops, touching the bound spear in his hand. The leather-wrapped shaft gleamed faintly, and the flat stone tied just below the tip caught the light, his dark handprint clear against its gray surface.

  Behind him, Rika, Hask, and the two scouts followed, stepping out from the trees to stand in the open. The wolves slowed to a halt, ears forward but still.

  From beyond the smoke came movement, shapes emerging one by one. Six goblins stepped into the clearing, eyes wary, weapons held high. Five were lean hunters with crude spears and bone knives, bows slung across their backs. The sixth was taller, her presence cutting through the dusk like a drawn blade.

  Vexa.

  Her skin was pale green, streaked with darker lines across her shoulders and arms. Her hair was bound back with leather strips, and at her belt hung a curved blade of polished metal. Slung over her back was something rarer still, a crossbow, its wood dark and smooth, the bow arms wrapped in iron.

  “Vexa of the Bonegnashers,” Grub called. “We come to talk.”

  Her sharp eyes moved from Grub to the wolves, then to the Bound Hand. “You know my name,” she said, her tone carrying surprise more than threat.

  “I do,” Grub replied evenly. “We’ve learned much about you, Vexa of the Bonegnashers.”

  Her hunters tightened their grips, but she raised a hand and they froze. Her gaze lingered on the Bound Hand again, the wrapped spear and the stone with its dark palm print. Her expression softened slightly.

  “You bring the sign. A goblin that doesn't respect the Bound Hand is no goblin at all,” she said. She motioned to her warriors, and they lowered their weapons, though they still stood close in a half-circle around her. “So. We are here. You wanted to speak, then speak.”

  Grub nodded once, then swung down from Sable’s back. Beside him, Rika and Hask did the same. The two wolves lowered themselves to the ground at a quiet word from Rika, heads resting on their paws, bodies still as stone.

  The hunters watched warily, tension visible in every muscle. When the wolves did not move, their stances eased.

  Vexa stepped forward a few paces, her blade still sheathed, the crossbow glinting faintly in the angled light. “It’s been a long time since anyone came to speak to me with peace in their hands,” she said slowly. “You’ve got courage, walking this close to my camp.”

  Grub met her gaze. “Sometimes a little courage can save lives.”

  The faintest curve touched her mouth, not quite a smile but close. The wind stirred through the clearing, carrying the scent of smoke and pine.

  “Then speak, stranger,” Vexa said. She settled down into a seated position, and Grub matched her. When they were sat just a few paces apart she spoke again. “Let me hear why you’ve come.”

  The forest fell silent again, save for the soft breathing of wolves and the faint hiss of cooling coals beyond the trees.