The Trek, Chapter 8

“Conq’aro, Hoggoch.” Said Grundei.

“Conq’aro Grundei.” Came the tired reply.

Well met in peace indeed thought Hoggoch. Like this damned trek hadn’t been one long battle from the get-go. The long walk from the place-of-all-lands would have been bad enough. The constant skirmishes and the need to move both quickly and without sign of their passing had left all of the members of the new and nameless sept weak with hunger, irritable with fatigue and sore from the few running battles they had entered into, made things almost unbearable. For almost a week now it had been a long cycle; run all day, fighting if necessary, hiding if possible then furtively gathering what food they could find and eating in a cold camp, before snatching a few precious hours of unsatisfying sleep. Then up before dawn to do the same over again. Everyone except Grundei.

Grundei, the young shaman, flew instead of ran and ate whatever he could catch on the wing. Hoggoch knew he shouldn’t complain, after all at least he wasn’t stuck like poor Mil’onuq. The lanky bastard was almost a full head taller than the rest of them, and being from one of the mountain tribes, had no training at running and absolutely no grass sense, what his people called Fal’un Tyrpi’i. Still, it must be nice to be able to turn yourself into a bird.

“What do you want Harachim?” asked Hoggoch, a bit sharper than he had intended, the formal title an attempted sarcasm that the smaller man seemed to ignore.

“To give you this.” Replied the smaller man, holding out his fist, closed side down.

Hoggoch instinctively put out his hand before experience made him hesitate. “What is it?” he asked cautiously.

“Just a berry.” Replied the little man, his eyes twinkling in delight at the taller man’s discomfort.

“One berry?”

“One berry.”

“What good will one berry do?” Hoggoch was puzzled.

“Remember, Eris-Tull, the earth mother will provide shelter for the weary, nectar for the thirsty…” began Grundei.

“…and food for the hungry, they that do but ask.” Finished the taller one. “So.”

“So, I asked”

“And Eris-Tull the earth mother, the goddess of all, she who nurtures all life gave you berries?”

“Yep.”

Hoggoch thought it over for a moment and realized, that if Hoggoch could commune with the spirits and the goddess, the Hoggoch would be the one flying about disguised as a raven. He opened his palm.

“OK. Are there enough for everyone?”

“Of course there are.” He answered. “Call them in will you:?” The small man seemed to look about on the ground, then rummaged in his sling bag for a moment, withdrawing three sticks tied about the middle with a thong and connected to each other at one end by a scrap of hide. He fiddled with it for a moment, the twisted the sticks against each other and then sat them on the ground upright.

Hoggoch pursed his lips, warbled like a thrush and then took a knee while he waited for the rest of the sept to head in from the brush. He turned to ask what the devil Grundei was doing with the sticks, only to find that the small shaman seated upon a three legged camp stool. Suddenly he spun and rolled to the left, whipping out his Seax as something crashed through the brush into the small clearing.

It was Cerug’ip, laying face down, just inside the clearing. The half hidden rock he had tripped over was just visible under his foot.

“What the hell was that, stonefoot? You trying to imitate an aurochs?” called Helgli, coming in from the other side. All three of the sept members entering the open space chuckled at their unfortunate friend, who was looking up at the rest of the group sheepishly.

“Sorry Hoggoch.” He said dolefully

“A true warrior keeps his weapons close, his armor cinched and his feet light.” Quoted
Hoggoch sternly as the prone man leapt to his feet.

“And a true leader knows when to lead and when to drive.” replied the heavier man curtly, dusting off the knees of his breeches. “What do you wish of us, oh Korg’n?” he used the honorific for One-Who-Is-Wise-In-Battle as a barb.

“Grundei has been talking to the goddess, and she has sent us a present.” He held up, between thumb and forefinger one brilliantly green ovoid.

“Berries?” Asked Helgli

“Unripe berries, looks like.” That was Mil’onuq

“Not unripe, you bandy-legged son of a cliff-ape, duckberries!” quipped
Tormak-The-Drum.

“Tasty, but not exactly filling.” Said Cerug’ip doubtfully.

Grundei lept to hi feet and struck the ground with his spear. “You doubt the wisdom of the all-mother?” He thundered.

A chorus of denials returned the allegation.

“Then take the gift that Eris-Tull has sent for you!” insisted the shortest member of the party.

Each member in turn held out a hand and received a bright green slightly translucent berry. Looking around at each other they all tried to guess who would be the first to eat.

“Korg’n, will you lead us?” intoned Grundei in the formal tones of the shaman asking for the battle leader to stand forth to take command.

“As you ask, so I obey the will of the elders” came the reply. It was almost automatic, despite never having been called upon before.

Hoggoch popped the small fruit in his mouth and chewed gently. The burst of sweetness, flavor and then shocking tartness that exploded in his mouth was not the tart-sour taste one typically found in duckberries. In fact it was as if all the good tasting fruits in the world had been packed into this one tiny pod and given up, just for him. He reflected on the thought and then on the source of the gift and was awed.

“Harachim, you do the sept great service.” He intoned gleefully.

The others were now eating, encouraged by their leader’s obvious pleasure in the fruit. One by one, Hoggoch watched the faces of the sept members split in a grin of absolute pleasure. Then he noticed, that his tiredness had faded, and if the cuts and scrapes of battle were still there, then at least the bruises did not bother him as much. In fact he felt almost like one of the people again.

“Great service indeed!” he once again intoned respectfully, the others echoed his sentiment.

In the distance, the unmistakable gibbering howl of a gnoll could be heard. Everyone’s head perked up, straining to hear the reply. It was heard moments later, closer and off to the east.

“Shit! Grundei, high sentry, Tormak you’re up front, Cerug’ip in the back and try not to fall on your ass. Mil’onuq you’re in the middle with Helgli on the left, let’s move, we’ve miles to go before we can sleep.” Directed Hoggoch.

The band of Halflings separated and melded invisibly into the grass, and all that was left was the lonely raven, spiraling up, flapping frantically to gain altitude.

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The place where the small one had made his mistake was clear to even the poorest of trackers. Gerrolph was not the poorest of trackers. In fact he was the best tracker in the Red-Fang tribe, which was why he had been permitted to pick one of the females for his own. Usually he would not have been allowed to mate unless he could defeat one of the larger males in combat or at least make him back down, but Gerrolph had proven his value to Grith-knaak, and the flind had had told him to pick one of the unattached females from the bitches’ moiety.

The place of the mistake was just at the edge of a small clearing. The trails of the small ones were only barely visible, but one of them had made a mistake about where to put it’s paw, and had tripped over a rock. Casting about, Gerrolph found a strange thing, three almost identical marks, indentations in the ground. He could not figure what had made the marks, nor could he under stand why only five trails left from a place where six pairs of tracks entered. No matter, small ones always traveled together, never would one be left behind. With a lifted head, Gerrolf howled instructions to the rest, and the hunting group set off at a lope, in pursuit of their fleeing prey.