The Wolf tribe training ground was a wide field of trampled grass and packed earth, ringed by tall wooden posts. The air smelled of dust, sweat, and the faint iron tang of old blood. Wooden dummies stood in rows, their surfaces scarred and splintered from years of weapon strikes.
Ebb stepped onto the field, forty goblins filing in behind him. They moved in loose formation, their weapons clutched tight in their hands. The Wolf warriors who were already training slowed and turned, their eyes narrowing as they took in the sight of the green skinned strangers.
At the far side of the field, a massive figure stood with his back to them. His fur lined cloak hung heavy on broad shoulders, and the two handed axe in his grip looked as though it had been carved from a single piece of dark steel. He turned as they approached, and Ebb saw the wolf ears, the streaks of white in his dark hair, and the golden eyes that seemed to cut through the morning haze.
"You are the ones sent by Adair," the man said. His voice was deep, the kind that carried across the field without effort. "I am Brurik, Great Warrior of the Wolf tribe. I will decide if you are worth the time it will take to teach you."
Ebb met his gaze. "We learn."
Brurik's eyes swept over the goblins, lingering on their mismatched gear and uneven stances. "We will see. Line them up."
The goblins shuffled into two rows. They stood still, but Ebb could feel their unease. These were not warriors born into a tribe of hunters. They had been made, and they had only the beginnings of discipline.
Brurik paced in front of them. "Before we begin, you must understand the measure by which all warriors are judged. It is called the Weapon Arts ranking. It is universal. It is the same for all races and lands, from the smallest tribe to the greatest kingdom."
He stabbed the butt of his axe into the ground, the impact sending a dull thud through the dirt. "The lowest rank is Initiate. You know how to hold a weapon, but little else. Above that is Trainee. You can strike and defend, but you are not yet a danger to a skilled opponent. Above Trainee is Disciple. A Disciple has discipline, technique, and enough power to defeat untrained fighters with ease. After Disciple comes Warrior, then Veteran, then Knight, Warlord, Weapon Saint, and finally Weapon Master. The last two are names most will never see in their lifetime."
He let his gaze rest on Ebb. "Even I, the Great Warrior of the Wolf tribe, am only a Veteran. That is enough to make me one of the strongest in the Beast Plains, but there are always stronger."
Ebb felt the weight of that truth settle in his mind.
Brurik moved down the line, evaluating each goblin with a sharp eye. His verdict was blunt. "These forty are not even Initiates. They do not hold their weapons correctly. They do not know where to place their feet. If they fought now, they would die before they landed a blow."
Some of the goblins shifted under his gaze, but none spoke.
Brurik stopped before Ebb. "You are different. You have learned already. You are a Disciple. It seems the training you have had was worth something."
Ebb gave a small nod. "I stronger after time."
"You will," Brurik said. "But you will do it here, with my tribe. You will train with them every day. Your goblins will train as well. They will learn to stand in formation, to strike as one. You will see what a week of real discipline can do."
The first day broke cold, the grass silvered with dew and the breath of every goblin and wolf warrior hanging like faint smoke in the air. Brurik's voice cut through the morning stillness, deep and commanding.
"Perimeter! Move!"
The goblins hesitated only a heartbeat before starting into a clumsy jog. Ebb went with them, keeping pace, his eyes darting to see how the wolf warriors ran. Their strides were even, their arms steady, their breathing measured. The goblins looked like loose sticks thrown into a stream, all bending and shifting differently.
Brurik's men did not shout encouragement. They barked corrections.
"Back straight!"
"Arms do not swing like that!"
"You are warriors, not chickens!"
Every time a goblin faltered, a wolf warrior was there, snapping their weapon shaft lightly against the offender's shoulder or shin, forcing them to pick up speed. By the third lap, the goblins' chests were heaving, and their legs shook. Ebb felt the burn too, but he matched the wolf warriors' rhythm.
When Brurik finally called a halt, the goblins sagged in place, some nearly dropping their weapons. Brurik stalked among them, sharp eyes taking in every stance.
"You hold your spears like you are afraid of them," he growled, grabbing a goblin's hands and twisting them into a proper grip. "See the shaft? This is your backbone. Do not let it waver." He shoved the goblin lightly, and when the spear tip dipped, he bared his teeth. "Again!"
One by one, he moved down the line, striking weapons aside to show how easily they could be disarmed. When a goblin's fingers fumbled, he made them grip the weapon until their knuckles whitened.
Ebb trained alongside them. His partner for the morning was a broad-shouldered wolf warrior with arms like braided rope. The man moved with surprising speed, his strikes a blur. Ebb's first attempts at countering were useless. Each thrust of his spear was batted away. Each attempt to close the distance met with a stinging strike to his forearms.
Brurik's voice cut through. "Watch his feet, not his weapon. The body moves before the blade."
Ebb focused. It was true the man's right foot slid forward a heartbeat before each attack to the left. The moment Ebb caught the rhythm, his own stance shifted. He turned one thrust into a feint, spun the shaft of his spear low, and drove the butt into the man's ribs. The wolf warrior grunted, stepping back.
"Good," Brurik said. "That is the instinct of a Disciple. Now hold your guard."
By midday, sweat poured from every back and arm. The goblins had been run through drills of striking from above, from the side, and from below, each movement repeated until it became less of a thought and more of a reflex. They practiced turning in formation, moving their feet as one, until even the most uncoordinated among them could follow the pivot without stumbling.
The second day began before the sun cleared the treetops. Brurik introduced the shield wall. The goblins stood shoulder to shoulder with wolf warriors, heavy wooden shields locked edge to edge. "These are your teeth," Brurik said. "If the wall breaks, your tribe dies."
They held formation while wolf warriors slammed into them with full force, testing their balance. Any goblin who staggered found themselves shoved back into place and made to hold again. Their arms trembled under the weight, but by the end of the session, fewer shields dipped.
Ebb learned a different lesson that day, close-quarters fighting inside the wall. With barely a step of space, he had to thrust past the edge of his shield without opening a gap for the enemy. Brurik taught him to use short stabbing motions, to drive the point home and withdraw fast enough to strike again.
On the third day, they moved to footwork. Brurik drew lines in the dirt, making every goblin and wolf warrior hop, step, and shift through them. "A warrior who stands still dies. You move, you live. You move wrong, you die faster."
Ebb found this came naturally to him. His balance was good, his movements precise. He danced along the lines like he had been doing it for years, earning a grunt of approval from Brurik. The goblins struggled, tripping over their own feet or crossing their legs in ways that left them vulnerable. Wolf warriors were relentless in correcting them, shoving their legs back into proper position until they learned.
By the fourth day, they sparred constantly. Ebb faced different wolf warriors every hour, each with their own style. Some rushed, some feinted, some hung back and waited for a mistake. He learned to adapt quickly, to feel the weight of his weapon as an extension of his arm. More than once he found himself smiling faintly at the flow of it, it was almost like hunting.
The goblins improved too, though slower. They began landing blows on one another during matches, their strikes less wild, their guards tighter. Brurik's corrections grew shorter, more like fine adjustments than full re-teaching.
The fifth day was endurance. They ran drills until their muscles burned and their lungs ached. Brurik forced them to repeat shield wall holds with heavier wolf warriors pressing against them. Ebb stood at the front each time, teeth bared, bracing his legs until they dug grooves in the dirt. The goblins behind him saw it and pushed harder.
That evening, as the firelight flickered across the camp, Brurik called Ebb over. "You are different," he said. "Most Disciples need months to make the progress you have made in a week. If you continue at this pace, you will reach Warrior before the season turns."
Ebb met his gaze. "I keep going."
The sixth day brought weapons other than spears. Ebb took to the short sword easily, its lighter weight allowing quicker combinations. Brurik had him switch between spear and sword mid-fight, teaching him how to adjust his stance instantly. The goblins were given the same chance, though most clung to their original weapons with stiff familiarity.
By the seventh day, the change was clear. The goblins no longer stumbled when turning in formation. Their grips were sure, their shields locked tight, their strikes aimed instead of thrown wildly. A few could even hold their ground against younger wolf warriors for more than a minute.
That final afternoon, Brurik gathered everyone in the center of the training ground. "You have trained well. You are still far from ready for the battles ahead, but you have taken the first step." His golden eyes moved over the goblins, then lingered on Ebb. "Some of you will rise faster than others. All of you will fight together when the time comes."
Ebb looked at his forty goblins. They stood straighter now, weapons steady, eyes sharper. They were not yet warriors, but they were no longer just creations of the dungeon.
The Wolf tribe's warriors clapped them on the shoulders, sharing rough smiles. Fires were lit, and food was passed around. They sat together that night as one camp, the earlier suspicion replaced by a shared respect that only came from bleeding together on the same ground.
Ebb stared at the fire, wondering what Adair was doing at the moment.