This tribe had already been subjugated.
But the wéréns had given shelter to fugitives, or so they were suspected, and that alone was enough for the kobels to bring them punishment.
They reached their houses a bit after noon, to find the hamlet waiting for them. Once again gifts were laid at their feet. Once again the tribe bowed their head to them.
Tunu had forty warriors with him, half of them scarred kobels seeking recognition. He was escorting Etelet who, he had agreed, would conduct their punitive expedition. And so he stood back while the shaman apprentice went forth.
That stubborn kobel still had nothing but his pitiful coat to accompany the leather clothes.
If anything that helped him approach the savages. They exchanged gestures for a while, then he came back followed by a female wérén.
"She will lead us to the rebels." He said.
"Good."
"If!" Etelet hurried. "If we don't touch their village."
"Is she defying us?"
"That's not something she said. But if we inflict harm on the settlement, she would be too distraught to serve as guide."
The scaled kobel weighed that puny wérén with a gaze. Nothing but disgust for famed warriors that had turned to be so vain.
He scoffed.
"Fine! We'll settle that on our way back."
"Is it worth your time, champion?" A warrior questioned. "We'll just wander in the forest for hours, pursue them for a few more, all for a bunch of cowards. Why not stay behind and deal with that lot once we're away?"
"No!"
Etelet had almost panicked.
"No, that would still stress her too much."
"Who are you defending, really?" The warrior sneered.
"Enough."
Tunu clenched his fist. He didn't need to, at just his voice everyone had gone silent.
"We are going after them. Etelet, you go back to the mountain."
"I..."
"You go back. We'll do the same as soon as we have dealt with the fugitives."
For a moment the apprentice seemed torn, but finally those words reached him. Tunu was telling him he would spare the wéréns.
So he nodded and the champion detached eight warriors to escort him back.
That left him with twelve he could count on, and twenty more scarred.
At one motion of his fingers the group moved, that female wérén at their head, deep into the woods.
Kobels rarely ventured this far. Any further and they risked not being back by night time. This would be one such occasion where they expected to sleep among the trees. Already the group, broken by trees and bushes, had turned into a sparse file.
Nothing but a boring, uneventful march through quiet woods, disturbing only the occasional animal.
Their guide seemed hesitant at times, yet kept finding landmarks that they themselves could not even guess. Familiar trees, rocks or openings, even just the rays of light through the canopy could serve for those used to these parts.
She could feel some thirty killers following her, their small talk barely held under breath and too close to her the gaze of that legendary kobel.
At the top of a mound he gestured for the group to halt.
Warriors grouped, with a few playing sentries while the rest just sat there and took out their canteens. Some had alcohol but most just enjoyed water.
One offered their guide a sip.
"Eh!" Another called him on it. "You'll never be one of us if you sympathize with the captives."
"Why not? Your shaman does."
"And he's answering me, that rascal! Empty your flask, right now. Go on, spill it all. That'll teach you to waste your saliva."
They took another few minutes of rest, then departed again, back onto an invisible trail far into those depths they had never explored.
The sun was starting to decline.
Still plenty of time but already the warriors worried more about finding a place for the night than catching their preys. None expected to find them today anymore.
One had to understand just the boredom of hours of walk to get why they were so unprepared when the wérén got struck by an arrow.
Then a kobel, then another before they could even turn their shields to the threat. The woods all around looked so quiet, without a trace of their attackers. That ambush had been prepared with care.
But it was still thirty against a few. The kobels spread out and pursued, straight into the directions those projectiles had come from.
Two more hit the shields and finally they caught the silhouettes of the bowmen.
One was a wulver, two fawns with him with nothing but wooden spears for protection. Once they saw their arrows fail, that trio fled.
Tunu followed the movement to chase after them.
He got ahead, he naturally got ahead with that speed of his and was gaining on that group of fugitives. Just a few more seconds to catch up and then, just with his claws, he would show them what it cost to wound his tribe.
The ground opened under him. A pit hidden by branches. He had run right into it.
It was filled with wooden spikes.
Outside, the warriors had barely had time to see their champion fall. Suddenly the whole forest woke up with warcries from all sides. Warriors fell on their spread out ranks from all sides. In just moments the tide had turned and kobels were fighting for their life.
He could hear all of that, the clamors, the screams, his own scream from a body pierced several times. He could feel every piece of his body in agony.
All but his heart.
His heart, after having beaten furiously through the chase and missing a beat during the fall, that heart now had calmed down. A small, quiet pulse that dampened the pain.
Tunu could not believe how calm he was at this very moment. His mind panicked: he needed to get up, to get out and help the warriors before it was too late. He needed to move and could not, torn as he was. And yet, his body was calm.
Two wéréns appeared above the hole. They threw fuming wood in, twigs whose tip had turned to embers.
The whole pit was filled with poix.
Small flames burst first but quickly it was a furnace. Tunu felt the heat lick his scales, boil his flesh and the smoke start to choke him. And now he had even forgot about helping others: his own life was already forfeit.
So he struggled, he thrashed, he fought to try and get free, all in vain.
But that heart still remained stubbornly calm.
It was almost a silent question. One he could imagine if anything. That gift would soon be lost in the fire, if he so wanted. He had, after all, kept neglecting it the whole time. And so, as retribution came for his own reluctance, the weakened heart waited for their end.
Or he could call on that hidden power.
And suddenly the heart started to beat faster. Just a bit faster, just a bit more, as Tunu remembered his own words. The more the kobel thought of his blood, of that heritage and the dreams that had brought him here in the first place, the stronger that heart grew.
Until his arms ripped off the spikes, until he broke them and broke free. Until he stood up, crouched and leapt to catch the pit's edge.
In the chaos of battle around, no one noticed the burning scales escaping that trap.
He could, in turn, perceive everyone. Every single enemy, no matter where they hid, he could even hear their heartbeat. He could feel his own warriors in disarray, falling one after the other, getting massacred on the ground.
His wounds had closed, his scales intact, the flames had turned to smoke. Nothing but a throbbing pain remained.
So he roared.